My work lives at the intersection of genocide & mass atrocity prevention, international law, and transitional justice. The big idea: violence isn't a single event. It's a process — one that starts long before the moment history bothers to record, and keeps going long after.
Prevention, in that frame, isn't about reacting to the worst day. It's about reading the long arc that leads there, and the longer one that follows. I'm especially drawn to the parts most analyses skip: the role of historical memory, the quiet machinery of complicity, and the question of what actually helps a community recover once the cameras leave.
“Prevention starts with memory — with refusing to let the process become invisible.
Six threads I keep pulling. They're far more tangled in real life than this tidy little grid lets on.
How societies pursue accountability, repair, and reconciliation after mass violence — and why some attempts heal while others quietly reopen the wound.
The role of local actors and ordinary communities in building peace from the ground up, often long before — and after — international attention arrives.
Reading atrocity through culture, identity, and lived experience — because the numbers alone never explain how neighbors become enemies.
How what we remember — and how we choose to tell it — shapes whether violence is prevented or quietly rehearsed for next time.
The uncomfortable questions of bystanders, enablers, and shared accountability — the parts of the story most of us would rather not sit with.
Using data and emerging tools to read the early-warning signs and anticipate atrocity before it escalates.
If there's a method to it, it's refusing to choose between rigor and humanity. I read the law and the data, but I also read the poems, the testimonies, and the silences — because prevention is, in the end, a deeply human problem wearing an academic coat.
If research can't reach the people it's about, it isn't finished. Access is the work, not an afterthought.
My job is usually to get out of the way and make sure the room can finally hear them.
How we frame violence and survival shapes what people think is possible. That's a responsibility, not a flourish.
Atrocity is a process, not a moment. Remembering honestly is one of the few things that interrupts it.
Presenting the work — and learning, every time, how to make heavy research land for a room full of real people.
Auschwitz Institute Fellow.
Honors, Highest Distinction.
Honors program.