I am a pastor. And I love what I do.

Walking alongside people. Seeking hope. Sharing faith. And at the same time: living my own life.

I am married. To David James.

Our love has crossed boundaries: countries. Laws. Times. Four weddings.

Church and queer—for many, that’s a contradiction. For me, it isn’t.

In our congregation, people find a place. Safe. Open. Spiritual.

And sometimes I step onto the stage. As Greta Gallus: drag. Faith. Joy.

Do those belong together?

I say: yes.

What changes when the Church begins to truly welcome everyone?

This conversation will take place in German.

We had lived in Germany before.

But the longing for home was too strong. We left Germany and returned to Ukraine. We built a house. Our family was finally close again, and happiness felt within reach.

Then came the sirens. The drones. The sleepless nights.

War is not just a word.

One day, it is simply there.

Worry for my son. My husband. We all know what war means.

So once again, we had to leave everything behind.

Wiesbaden. A second new beginning.

My mother stayed behind. Alone. Widowed.

For me, it is a nightmare.

How many times can you leave?

And where is home when you can no longer return?

This conversation can take place in German or Ukrainian.

I want to shape my own life.

Step by step.

Taking the bus. Having my own bank account. And soon: moving into a shared apartment of my own.

I work in an office with lots of people.

At work, I am seen.

I belong.

And I bring something with me: good spirits. Joy.

Some people call me the “Feel-Good Manager.”

Maybe they’re right.

Theatre is part of who I am, too: imagination. Being on stage. Creating something together.

And I speak up. As a youth representative.

Because we all share the same world.

Everyone belongs.

What changes when everyone truly belongs?

This conversation takes place in German.

I am one of them.

A Grandma Against the Far Right. Not silent. Not anymore. I watch in disbelief what is happening.

Like so many others, I cannot—and will not—look away. Now is the time to stand up. To speak out. To be visible.

Even when it is uncomfortable.

My family's history is not a distant chapter.

Flight. War. Persecution.

And my parents were caught in the middle.

Between the front lines.

Between Poland and Germany.

In our conversation, I explain why “Never Again” is not just a slogan for me, but a way of life—and a personal commitment, then as now.

What happens when we begin to fall silent again?

This conversation takes place in German.

I started out as a blacksmith, working with fire and metal. What I love is creating something that lasts—something you can see and feel.

Today, I am an emergency doctor and a psychotherapist. And again and again, in my thoughts and my work: Northern Syria.

War, the wounded, and chaos. I want to offer more than medical aid. I want to empower people to make their own decisions.

For women to be free and independent.

To challenge structures of power.

I find inequality and exclusion deeply troubling.

I believe in solidarity and change.

What changes when people realize they can shape their own lives?

This conversation takes place in German.

My body? Fragile from the very beginning. Every step is slow. I live with brittle bone disease. No day can be taken for granted. The pain is always there.

But it has taught me something. Gratitude. For my faith. For my body that carries me. And for a strength that grows, even when everything seems to speak against it.

I am small, but I am not quiet. I am strong. I am a mother, a naturopath, and a pastoral caregiver.

And I know what it means not to give up.

I want to share that with you.

What happens when fragility becomes strength?

This conversation can take place in German or Turkish.

 A pen. Paper. That was all I had. And still: a voice. 18 months in solitary confinement.

Death threats from the police. Torture under detention. Six years and seven months in prison in Turkey. Articles. Videos. Truth. I showed what others wanted hidden. Police violence. Oppression. Then: accused of terrorism.

My “crime” – words. Behind bars: journalists. Dissidents. Silence or break. I chose to write. Poetry. To survive. Now I live in Germany. Life in exile. A new beginning. Not the end. Another arrest warrant is already waiting. And still, I keep writing.

What remains when everything is taken from you – except your voice?

This conversation can take place in English or Turkish.

My Life, Part 1: Mexico, family, tradition, and a love that brought me to Germany. In my luggage: the values my mother taught me—responsibility, respect, and freedom.

My Life, Part 2: A new language, new rules. Culture shock. Something changed. The marriage was no longer right. I was on my own. Another new beginning. Who am I when everything falls apart?

Today I study psychology. I work. I follow my own path. And I hold on to what truly matters to me.

How do you stay true to yourself when everything around you is changing?

This conversation can take place in German and Spanish.

Numbers and colors. I have always felt at home in both. In Brazil, I learned early to “function”: work and study at the same time. Economics. Trade. And alongside it: art. Quiet. Latent. Always present.

Then came Portugal. A new courage. There, I decided to follow my talent. My talent was art. And graphic design became my path.

Today I illustrate books. And I open my studio as a space—for women, for children—who are searching for and finding their own forms of expression.

Nature, silence, and also pain become inspiration and find their expression.

We look closely. And create something new.

With every brushstroke, a piece of healing. Like nests that hold us.

What happens when art is more than just an image?

This conversation can take place in German and Portuguese.

As a German, my path first led me to Yale and Harvard. Endless opportunities. Then came Brazil. Warmth, poverty, and hardship. My realization: don’t look away, take action. I was convinced that people can help themselves.

No charity, but trust through solidarity-based financing models. And slowly, little becomes more. One opportunity becomes hundreds.

From courage, a future emerges. Women start businesses. Villages grow. Our numbers today: 800 rural small enterprises, 120 communities across five states in Brazil. And this is only the beginning.

What happens when people begin to act together?

This conversation takes place in German.

My wife was diagnosed six years ago. Dementia. And suddenly nothing was the same anymore.

My wife is here. And yet she is changing. A little more every day.

I am a husband, a father, and a caregiver. All at once. Daily life requires a great deal of strength and responsibility.

But the hardest part is something else: saying goodbye, even though the person you love is still here.

Eventually the questions come: What about me? What about my longing for closeness? What about guilt and doubt? Am I allowed to keep living?

I have learned: yes. I am still here, too.

What does it mean to be there for someone—without losing yourself?

This conversation takes place in German.

I could have stayed silent. Said nothing. Hidden myself. It would have been much easier. But I chose to become visible. Not all at once. Step by step.

There was a lot of “in-between.” Serbia and Germany, for example. Or what others saw and what I felt. Man or woman. Man and woman?

Or simply me? After many decisions—none of them easy—I know today: my “in-between” is not a weakness. It is my strength.

What happens when we stop hiding—and start being ourselves?

This conversation takes place in German.

Australia was beautiful, but I wanted to sing in Europe. So I left. For my voice. For the stage.

The search led me to Cologne, then to Wiesbaden. Every evening: opera, lights, applause, music. Until it all broke.

My marriage ended and I found myself alone with children. My new life: during the day, mother and continuing education; in the evening, the stage. My inner voice said: keep going, don’t stop.

Today I work as a life and performance coach, supporting others—not only to train their voice on stage, but to listen to their inner voice and find the courage to follow it.

What sustains you when the applause fades?

This conversation can take place in German or in English.

My childhood was a rollercoaster. Foster care. Adaptation. Abuse. Catholic institutions. Rules. And violence. Scars, not only on the skin. At the age of ten, I returned to my mother and her addicted partner.

Things did not get better, unfortunately. I fought for my right to education and followed my own path: vocational training, enduring, carrying on. Ex-wife. Children. Coming out. Self-employment.

I am committed to the protection of children and to human rights. That is what I want to talk to you about.

How often do you have to fall before you start standing up for yourself?

This conversation takes place in German.

I came to Germany with hope. From Kisumu in Kenya. To build a new life. To work. To learn German. To become independent. To give my daughter a good future.

The beginning was difficult. A new language. A new culture. New challenges. Losses: miscarriages. The loss of my daughter Zawadi. The death of my son Gabriel. A pulmonary embolism. Grief. Doubt. Exhaustion.

There were moments when I did not know how to go on. But I kept going. Step by step. Breath by breath.

Today I do not only speak about pain, but also about courage, healing, and hope.

What helps us find light in life again after deep loss?

This conversation takes place in German.

I was 15 when my perfect world began to crack. Sexualized violence was suddenly very close. The victim: my girlfriend.

All at once, there was something I could no longer ignore. Entirely new feelings: fear. Helplessness. And at the same time: a world that acts as if everything is normal. Sexism. Pornography. Images that it seems no one questions. I began to search. For answers. For causes. Why is it this way? And why do so many look away?

Today I make films and give training courses. About the things we don't want to see. Prostitution. Power. Structures. Right here among us.

What would you see if you really looked?

This conversation takes place in German.

25 years as a criminal defense lawyer, with cases, files, and judgments. But in reality: with people, their silence, their decisions, and their breaking points. I saw what happens when things remain unspoken.

Suddenly it was no longer about others, but about me: leukemia. A transplant. Later burnout and depression. A rupture.

Speaking is often difficult for us. It was the same for me.

Today I combine law with coaching. I support people when they feel stuck, when decisions need to be made, when words are missing.

What happens when we give voice to what has long remained unspoken?

This conversation takes place in German.