Pushkin. When I was told you're guilty and you're sentenced to twenty six years, I mean everything I thought to be true about the world collapsed in on itself and I had this kind of quick an adaptation in my mind where I thought, oh, I'm not this lost tourist who's waiting to go home. I am a prisoner. Like this isn't just a thing that is happening to me. This is my life, and whether or not it's based in truth, this defines me. I've just been defined killer.
That's Amanda Knox describing the moment when an Italian court found her guilty of a heinous crime she did not commit, the murder of her roommate, Meredith Kircher. Amanda was just twenty years old when this all unfolded. She spent four years in an Italian prison before she was finally exonerated and allowed to return home to America, but the reality of what she faced upon her return was not at
all what she expected. When I first came home, I thought that I was going to get to have the life that I had left behind back that once this is all worked out and everyone agrees that I'm innocent, then I get to go back to my life that I lost that was on pause, and I realized that that life didn't exist anymore. On today's episode, what happens when the world simply won't let you move on? I'm
Maya Shunker. This is a slight change of plans, a show about who we are and who we become in the face of a big change, you know, to begin with it, it's so interesting. Typically for a guest with your story, you know, I would do the work of trying to figure out, Okay, how do I summarize for the listener what it is that this person has gone through. But because so many people have tried to appropriate your story over the years, I don't want to do that.
I want this, Amanda. I want to hear your story in your words, absolutely, and thank you for that. When I was twenty years old, I decided that I wanted to study abroad. I ended up choosing a program and a really small, ancient city in the middle of Italy called Perusia. I moved into an apartment in a small house overlooking this beautiful valley with three other young women, two Italian girls and a British stud who was just
like a year older. Than me named Meredith, and the day after Halloween, on November first, I was hanging out with my new like love fling of five days, Rafaeli Solecho, and Meredith was home alone and a local burglar named Rudy Giday broke into our home and raped and murdered her and then fled the country. And I discovered all of this by coming home the next day to take a shower and noticing that our home was in disarray. I had I brought Raphaeli over, we called the police together.
The police came and discovered the crime scene, meredith body, which fortunately I never had to see in person, but unfortunately there was a lot of frantic energy, a lot of confusion, a lot of fear in those opening. You know. Days after the murder was discovered, it was immediately of tremendous public interest. International media was descending upon Perugia, talking
to any single person that they possibly could. Meanwhile, I'm spending hours and hours and hours at the police station trying to help the police uncover what happened to my friend.
And I spent about fifty three hours over five days in that police office, being questioned over and over and over again, telling them the same story that I've been telling them what happened that night as far as I knew, and they were telling me that I was wrong, that everything that I remembered was wrong, that I was traumatized, and that my freedom and my access to my family depended upon me remembering something that I couldn't remember. And I was alone, I was speaking of foreign language, I
was without a lawyer. I was asking for my mom, I was asking for any help whatsoever, and instead I got slapped and screamed at four hours until I was willing to sign a statement that they wrote implicating my boss Patrick, the Mumba. I caved. It was the only
thing that made sense to me anymore. I started to doubt my own sanity, and I signed those papers and they immediately ran off to go arrest my boss Patrick, and I was finally left alone to breathe and think straight after hours of horrible treatment, and I immediately recanted. I told them, oh my god, there's a huge mistake. I was under a lot of pressure. I don't actually remember witnessing any murder whatsoever. Like they wouldn't listen to me.
They told me that with time, my memories would come back and that I just needed to be quiet, and like, just a few days later, I was brought before a judge and finally finally told you are under investigation for the murder of Meredith Kirture. So there's a few critical moments in what you just described that I'm interested to hear more about, in particular what your psychology was like at the time, as well as how you might think
differently about that experience now. And the first is, you know, when you were trying to be helpful to the police right to help identify who the murderer was, they began using aggressive interrogation tactics on you. As you said, they accused you of having amnesia. It led you to engage in false confessions. And I can only imagine how traumatizing it is to go through something like that, especially when you don't understand that the human mind is in fact
capable of such things, right. I think it is actually really hard for most people to appreciate the conditions under which they would be likely to generate false memories or false confessions. And I think the reason why I feel like that's this is such an important part of your story to bring to light is that when when you are made to question your own sanity, your own ability to accurately reason about the world around you. That is damaging.
That puts you in a state where I imagine it's easy to feel broken because you start asking yourself questions like how how was I capable of that? How was
I capable of implicating this totally innocent person? Yeah? Absolutely, um, And that's actually a really interesting way of framing that question, because of course, going into an interrogation room, you don't think I would ever say anything that would that I don't know to be true, and that would that would implicate me or not be to like you know, that could be compromising to oneself, Like that's that is it's
so counterintuitive. I didn't know that this was possible. I didn't even know the police could lie to you like I did. I just there was so much I didn't know, and I therefore, like my instinct when all of this became a catastrophe was to blame myself because I didn't know else who else to blame. I didn't know that there was a specific police interrogation technique designed to break
down people to just admit to something. And it wasn't until a cognitive scientist who studies false confessions reached out to me, and it was while I was still in prison, it was after I had been convicted. He didn't share any research with me at first. He just said, please describe everything you can possibly remember about your interrogation and
send it to me. So I did, and it was it was hard even doing that because it was the scariest moment of my life, the most confusing moment of my life, and it's the moment of my life that I felt the most shame about because I just I couldn't explain even to myself why it happened. I honestly couldn't. I just felt like there was something wrong with me, and I was the only one in the world that had that had ever happened too, as far as I knew, And of course everyone was judging me as a bad
person because of it. And then he responded by sending me back his research, and his research showed that the exact way that they had broken me down was just like you know, point for point, just how you break
down innocent people. And that moment of relief and self forgiveness was tremendous for me because it was at that point that I really really understood that my wrongful conviction wasn't really my fault, that I had been set up, and that there were a lot of forces at play, a lot of people who had, you know, a ton of agency in this equation, and I was the least among them. I was at the mercy of people who were not just taking advantage of me, but actively trying
to destroy my life. Yeah. I like to talk for a bit about the time that you spent in prison, because you spent four years in full, but at one point you were sentenced to twenty six years in prison. Yes, and as an early twenty something, twenty six years is like your entire freaking life. It is your entire freaking life. Yes, I want to know what was your relationship with Hope during your time in prison, And I'm just curious if you can dig into that a bit. Yeah, absolutely so.
And it's interesting how I had like this tremendous shift happen because the first two years, while I was still on trial and believing that all of this was just a huge out of proportion misunderstanding, I was convinced that I was going to eventually be going home. And there were moments in that time where I was just like, oh, my god, you know, I've been here so long, Like I missed my twenty first birthday that I you know, I had always thought, Oh I would go and have
a drink with my dad. Nope, that didn't happen. So feeling like I was losing really important parts of my life, but ultimately thinking this is a really really long nightmare that does have an expiration date, and that expiration date is the verdict. And my family, especially my mom, very much like that was sort of our mantra that there's a light at the end of this very long dark tunnel.
And when I then was told you're guilty and you're sentenced to twenty six years, I mean everything I thought to be true about the world collapsed in on itself. I very much felt like the ground beneath me had fallen away and I had nothing to stand on. I literally collapsed between you know, my attorneys, and then the guards sort of had to carry me out of this courtroom where I'm hysterical, like unable to believe what is happening.
And I had this very very i mean kind of quick an adaptation in my mind where I thought, oh, I'm not this lost tourist who's waiting to go home. I am a prisoner, Like this isn't just a thing that is happening to me. This is my life. This is my life now, and whether or not it's based in truth, this defines me. I've just been defined a killer, and I have just been told the only place that you belong is behind bars for the majority of your life.
And all those things that you thought that you would get to have in your life, a family, a career, the opportunity to be with your family and and watch your nephews grow and your kids grow, and all of these things that I thought were going to be a part of my life were not a part of my life. That was never going to be a part of my life. And and what is my life? Then? Who am? I? And my mom had a very different relationship with Hope than I did. She didn't have that shift happen when
I was convicted. She looked at this and I think just out of desperation, like, oh, the tunnel is just longer than we thought it was. But you are going to get out. You are going to be found innocent, You are going to be vindicated. You are innocent. You're my daughter, You're going to come home. And after my conviction, I wasn't sure about that anymore, like I didn't have
any reason to believe that anymore. And I ended up having really really difficult conversations with her where I said, well, I hope that happens, Mom, but if it doesn't, I hope that I can achieve this goal in the prison environment. Or I hope that one day I'll be able to, you know, write about my experience so that i'm you know, at least one voice voicing my experience in this huge, you know, world of voices who are calling me a murderer, and maybe one day it'll matter. I hope that I
stay healthy. I hope that I don't get sick like all these things. And my mom viewed that as a kind of mental giving up, like I had given up on the fight for my innocence, and I hadn't. It's just that I had to live. It was very apparent to me that I was not. Like at the end of the day, every day I went back to my cell, back to my cot and that's where I stayed. Amana,
how do you get through those days? I mean, you said, you're you're having to confront this idea of inhabiting this new identity, this identity that's been thrust upon you, which is prisoner, and it's it's been unjustifiably thrust upon you. Well, um, the first step was acknowledging that this is a community, but it is full of a lot of a lot
of human suffering and a lot of humanity. I lived alongside people who had done really horrible things, and these were my people, I guess is a way of saying it like this, This was my community, whether I liked it or not. And I started to realize that I wasn't just sort of a separate or a part entity of it. I was an integral entity in that community. And I started to think about what is my role in it? What can what can I do? What is the best thing that I can do in that space?
And so I ended up spending a lot of time helping people write letters. Another job was simply acting as translator. There was no translator available to any of the prisoners, so any prisoners who didn't speak Italian had no way of knowing what court documents they were signing, or how to tell the doctor that they weren't feeling well, and so I was constantly called in to help other prisoners
understand what was happening and translating for them. What was your contact with the outside world like during this time? I mean, did you have family and friends, emotional psychological support helping to ground you in your new reality. So the thing that was the hardest for my family was, of course that they at a certain point they couldn't hold my hand right like at the end of a visitation.
They went one way and I went another. And I know that like if my mom could have traded places with me, she would have in a second, but she couldn't. All they could do was try to remind me that I didn't belong there, that I had a home and I had a life, and I had people who cared about me waiting for me. So I had one ten
minute phone call a week. Every every week, my family and friends piled into my mom's house for a six am ten minute phone call just to hear my voice and let me know that they were they remembered me and that they cared about me. And one day I was waiting at my cell door like usual, because I knew the exact time that I would go and have my call and the guard didn't come, and I called out a gente la teta guard guard my phone call and I called again, No one answered. I called again,
No one answered. I spent a good half an hour getting more and more anxious and miserable and desperate and crying and yelling and feeling like a caged animal, until finally a guard came up and was like, what the hell are you screaming about? And I was like, my phone call, my phone call? Have I missed my phone call? And they said, we're not doing phone calls today. We're low, we're short staffed, we're not doing phone calls today. They just approached me and we're like, what are you crying about?
Like shut up? And that was one of those moments where I felt like, Wow, I am sub human right now, Like it didn't even occur to them to tell me.
It didn't occur to them that that would matter to me, and it was I had this moment of worry that no matter how hard my family and friends tried, our lives were diverging so drastically that we would become strangers to each other despite our best efforts, just because I was living such a different existence than they were, and my world and my opportunities and the psychological effort that I had to put in to deal with the situation
that I was in was very different than theirs. Yeah. Yeah, can you paint the scene for me of the day that you were acquitted? Yes? What was that day? Like? That was a really bizarre day that I'll just have to describe it to you. So I got up, I got dressed, I did the normal going down, get into the prison van. I was brought up into the courtroom.
Everyone had their final word, and the court was dismissed for the day, and I was brought back to the prison and I knew that it was going to take a long time, that I had several hours ahead of me of not knowing what was going to happen. I tried to distract myself in the meantime, and I had
a very hard time of it. And ultimately my relief came when the prison chaplain, who had become a good friend of mine despite the fact that I'm actually, you know, an atheist, he invited me down into his office like usual,
and we played music together. He had this keyboard and he taught me how to play and so I started playing this song that I had learned, and he surreptitiously took out this tape recorder, which he was absolutely not allowed to have, and he was like, I really want to record you because it's maybe the last time I hear your voice. So we sang, we played music together. At a certain point, I sat down on the couch with him, and you know, he was talking to me about how I was feeling and if I was afraid.
And eventually I went back to my cell, but I spent I spent many hours just in the office with him, just crying and talking. And then finally in the evening, they brought me back in and hearing him say acquitted and that she goes free, I I I broke down at that moment too, like that I had hoped and I was afraid to hope, and so suddenly this hope
was alive for me again. Suddenly I was like, if I'm in this dark tunnel and I've closed my eyes to the light that is about to hit me, I was suddenly just like flooded with light, and I collapsed again, just hysterical, just crying, crying, crying, and to such a degree that the guards who were with me. They thought that I had misunderstood the verse. They thought that I had heard guilty, when in fact I had heard innocence.
So they were trying to tell me, no, it's okay, you won, you won, and I was just like I know, I know. And then they brought me back to the prison to gather my things, but not in a prison van. They put me in a police car where I could actually look out the windows and like a person again. And as I got back to the prison, like everyone was looking out their windows waiting to see it, and everyone started banging pots and pans and screaming their heads off,
just Liberta. And then it was a whole high speed chase out of the prison to get to Rome, to where my family was, to a secret location. It was it was very, very the most Jason Bourne scenario that I've ever been in. We'll be back in a moment. With a slight change of plans. After spending four years behind bars for a crime she didn't commit, Amanda Knox was finally exonerated and she soon headed back home to America.
I was afraid to go to sleep, worried that it would mean that I would actually wake up in prison, like I had that moment where I was just trying to stay awake as long as I could because I was like, is this the dream? Am I just having the most vivid dream of my life? Or is this real?
And when I first came home, I thought that I was going to get to have the life that I had left behind back I thought that, you know, I was under that same misconception that once this is all worked out and everyone agrees that I'm innocent, then I get to go back to being me. I get to go back to my life that I lost that was on pause, and I slowly realized. I realized that that
life didn't exist anymore. And the reason I knew it didn't exist anymore is because I couldn't go out of my apartment building without you know, paparazzi following me to school, and I couldn't. But even beyond that, like I also couldn't meet people who hadn't heard of me before, like you know, people in my classes who were taking pictures of me and posting them to social media and saying like, oh my god, I'm in you know, look who's in my class and the murderer, you know, so I knew that.
I slowly realized and came to grips with the fact that not only was the outside world not going to let me go back to my life, but also I was living now with experience variances that I couldn't just put behind me as if they never happened. Right, I had lived four years in prison, and I had been on trial for murder, and that, despite all of my
best efforts, had left an impression on me. And now I was really really sensitive to certain things, like I to this day, I do not I do not farewell when someone accuses me of something that I didn't do, even if it's small, because it's just it's it's so triggering that I'm very sensitive to it and it hurts a lot. So I had to come to an understanding that the world was not the same place for me anymore.
My role in it was not what I thought it could be, and I had to figure out what was the best thing that I can do and try to do it despite the fact that I also knew that there were legions of people rooting against me, hoping that I would live up to the Foxynoxi narrative that I would be just as bad as everyone thought I would be. And you are also put back on trial, right, which compounds the narrative that people want out of you. Yeah, exactly. Yeah.
And when the Supreme Court in Italy overturned my acquittal, first of all, I didn't even realize that that was possible because it so goes it goes against what we assume here in the United States, which is when you're found innocent, it's just it's done. No, It's not like that in Italy because it's not done until the Supreme Court decides it's done. So the prosecution appealed my acquittal,
my acquittal was overturned, and they convicted me. I was actually sentenced to twenty eight point five years at that conviction. So what was it like that, Amanda, to be definitively exonerated? What was that day like? That was astonishing because first of all, I'm here in the United States, so I'm like logging onto all of the like the live streaming Italian news channels online to see which one is going
to be reporting first on what the verdict is. And I'm the only one in my entire family who can speak fluent Italian. So here we all are crowded around my laptop. Everyone is around me, and I hear definitively acquitted. I gasped. I was like, I was shocked. And everyone in my family was like what what what was what? What is it? And I was like, it's over, it's over. It's over. Oh my god, it is over. And you know, of course, we're all like squealing and it it was,
it was over. It was. It was astonishing, like the feeling of no longer being a prey animal that is being hunted down was huge. And suddenly I felt like, oh my god, I can actually live my life. I can't just survive my life. I can live my life and no one is going to freaking stop me. I am not going to let anyone feel like they can stop me from living my life anymore. Like I'm done, Like I'm done with that. Yeah, it's so interesting that
you say that. I wonder if it is that narrative in your mind that helps you stave off feelings of resentment, because if you are too resentful, then you have let them own a piece of your future, which is the one thing that you can control. I can just so easily imagine getting consumed by resentment because you know, it's one thing for a tragic event to happen in life, just because like, imagine being struck by lightning, there's no object to your anger, right, But here there was malicious
human intent and they haven't even shown any contrition. Yeah. No, that's that's a great question because I think a lot of people come away from me thinking that I don't actually experience anger, and I do, like I have moments of like deep deep anger about what happened and how it didn't need to happen. But I also am aware that living four years in a room that was locked really really showed me that the thing that I have control over is my own mind, and that's pretty much it.
And so if I am going to live my life, I need to be mindful of how I'm allowing myself to live it and what sort of feelings and thoughts I'm indulging in, because I think the important thing to remember here is that I allow my myself to feel anger,
but I try not to indulge in it. And that's the difference, because I think that especially when you feel righteous anger, you feel like you should intrench yourself in it and like dig deep in like and know that pain and feel that and have that be the driving force in your life, because it is righteous. It's coming from a place of like, I deserve to be angry. But just because you deserve to be angry doesn't mean that it's the thing that's going to make you your
best self. And I don't. I don't want what happened to me to turn me into something that is not my best self. I want to I want to still feel like I'm in control of at least one thing in my life, and that's me and how I'm reacting to a set of bad circumstances. On the one hand, your story is so exceptional and so extraordinary. On the other there are many themes that are so relatable. We all have these moments in life where we think, oh, man,
this person, they really misunderstood me. If only I could clarify to them what the truth was, like what really happened, or you know what I really mean. But we don't always get the chance to set the record straight. And you know, today there are still swats of people out there who think you are guilty of a crime you didn't commit. And I want to know how you make
peace with that. You how you don't allow yourself to be driven insane by that, because if you, Amanda, can come to terms with this, I imagine it could give a lot of listeners a lot of hope who are dealing with far more quotitian misconceptions. Sure, sure, I appreciate also that you say that, like, there's a lot of things in my experience that is really relatable. One because actually, the way that I was wrongly convicted is not very different than the way lots of people are wrongly convicted.
You just don't hear about their cases quite as often. But furthermore, I also appreciate the fact that you are trying to relate to what I'm talking about and how I feel like that feeling of being misrepresented, misunderstood, people finding fault in you are stripping you of context given your situation. A lot of people reach out to me and say, like, how do I deal with the fact that people are calling me a slut in my high school?
Or what do I do about how like my reputation is destroyed based upon this, like one tweet I did
when I was young. And one of the things that I find personal peace with is just knowing that, like all those people who hate me don't actually hate me, Like the person that they think they hate doesn't even exist, so it's not me, Like they're directing their hate at a target that is this sort of false version of me that doesn't really exist, and I just happen to be the face and the name that they associate with
this fantasy. However, that doesn't mean that I don't live with the sort of challenges that come with people having preconceived notions of me as I try to like put my work out into the world or just even you know, exist in public spaces. Can you say more about that? How does that manifest? Oh? Sure, I mean I think a lot of people think that. Maybe people come up to me and are like, you're guilty, But no, it's not how it manifests itself. It's more like I drive
up to the kiosk to get on a ferry. I give them my credit card. The person sees my name on the credit card says are you that a manned Knox? And I go yes, and they say, well, I have some questions of you about your cart wheels and what you were saying in your interrogation. Meanwhile, this is the person who's like holding onto my credit card and not giving it back to me until I answer their questions
for them. So it's that kind of sense of entitlement that people have to the worst experience of my life that at any point that they happen to run into me,
that continues to be this challenge. But again I also understand and that here this person is who has invested themselves in the case, and this is like their one moment in their whole life where they feel like they're going to get to finally have a question answered, and so they think, I can't, you know, let this opportunity pass up, but failing to appreciate that, well, I'm in the middle of my life and my life does not revolve around answering your questions. So it's a kind of
failure of empathy. Aman, I'm struck by the fact that you know, on this show a slight change of plans. It's so much about identity, our self identity, the fragility of our identity, who gets to own our identity, how our identities change over time, And to me, your story screams of these themes, right, I mean, you might experience that with a much greater intensity, which is that your identity in many ways has been usurped by lots of actors out in the world, but many of us feel
that way, like who claims maya right? Like who gets to define who I am and what I've done? So definitely, my ongoing curse is continuing to be defined in the greater you know, human awareness, by a crime that I didn't commit, as opposed to all of the things that
I have done. Like the vast majority of people when they think Amanda Knox, they don't think of podcaster, journalist, writer, They think girl who was accused of murder at at best, right, And my challenge has always been, well, first of all, how important is it to me for me to define my own narrative and legacy? Is that necessary for me to live the life, like to live a happy life?
And you know, ultimately it's not necessary, right, Like I don't have to convince everyone in the world that I'm innocent in order to live a fulfilled life, because ultimately, living a fulfilled life is on me, right. Yeah. However, one of the more traumatic experiences someone can have is to not be allowed to define what their experiences mean
to them. So not only like what their experience was but what it means to them, And so doing constant processing work to define for myself what it means to me is valuable to me and also in turn valuable to others who are trying to find their own meaning to their experiences. Because there is no inherent meaning to any of our suffering, we have to make sense of it and we have to define what it means, like
how big of a role it is in our life. So, you know, everything leading up to everything that happened in Italy, I lived a very charmed but naive life. I was, you know, very sheltered, and you know, had a very limited perspective on things. I thought that only bad people went to prison and that I never had to think
about those issues. But I also think, wow, you know, would be would I be a good you know, would I be a good person if I hadn't gone through something so terrible Because nothing bad had ever happened to me up to that point, and I sort of took for granted that I would just be able to have the life that I wanted in a family and a
career without you know, any problems. Today, I feel like I have and a perspective that I having lived kind of with the lowest possible hopes and and then being able to like take that perspective and try to give voice to an experience that doesn't often have a have a voice, and try to like make those connections between other people suffering and overwhelming experiences and others, because I think there is this this false idea that people can't
relate to each other if they don't have the same experiences, And it's like, no, we can. We can do that of the work. We can understand how the mind works when it reacts to traumatic experiences. We can share that with each other, and we only get better for it. I feel like weirdly better for that experience, even if I would never wish it upon my worst enemy. That's profound.
I mean, yeah, look, I think again, maybe this is just the part of my mind that studies human behavior for a living, but I feel like there are so many common threads in psychology that absolutely transcend the specifics
of an experience. In fact, that's one of the reasons I built this show is to show that the cancer patient in the throes of a stage four A diagnosis might have more in common with you when it comes to psychology than someone who had an experience that in terms of content rivaled yours, right, and so it is
all about finding those commonalities. Yeah, I know that in present day you're actively involved in something called the Innocence Network, which supports the wrongfully incarcerated, and that you have been warmly welcomed to their family. Yeah. So when I came home, one of the things when I came home from Italy, one of the things that I had sort of resigned myself too, was this idea that I was very alone
in my experience and I was isolating. I was isolating in a big way, and my mom was worried about me. She was really worried about me. I kept doing prison things like washing my underwear in the sink and generally just kind of being a loner. And she was reached out to by the director of the Idaho Innocence Project, who said, Hey, just so you know, there's this whole world of people who work to overturn wrongful convictions here in the United States based off the Innocence Project. We
all get together once a year at this conference. You need to bring Amanda, and of course my mom brings us to me. And the last thing that I want to do in the world is walk into a room full of hundreds of strangers who are going to recognize me, Like that is my worst nightmare scenario. And I was still actually convicted at the time. I had just been reconvicted, and I was doing all those like facing extradition, what if I have to turn myself in kind of things.
That's the world I was living in when I walked into that basement conference room with the bad lighting and the bad carpet in Portland, Oregon, and I walked into a room. My mom sort of pushed me into the room, and these two guys immediately ran up to me and hugged me and said, you don't have to explain a thing, little sister. We know And it's like they knew, they knew what I was most scared of walking into that room, that I was going to be recognized and have to
explain myself and be judged. And I was introduced to a not just a community, but a family of people who understood and cared even though they didn't know me.
And what they did for me in that moment. These two men who had each spent over a decade in prison for crimes that they didn't commit, I could probably do for someone else too, And that world has introduced me to some amazing people doing amazing work, and I try to bring light to that work and shed light on people's cases and the issues that get people wrongly convicted. Those are all things that we all can totally understand and totally fix. It is absolutely within our power and
is so worth it. Hey, thanks for listening. Join me next week when we hear from Betty Bagumbe. In the nineteen nineties, the President of Uganda sent Betty on a mission to try and put an end to violence in northern Uganda. Once there, she found herself face to face with a notorious warlord, Joseph Coney. So that moment in time, I was very scared. So I debated within myself, do I a boat this mission or do I go A Slight Change of Plans is created written an executive produce
by Nie Maya Shunker. The Slight Change family includes Tyler Greene, our senior producer, Jan Guera, our senior editor, Benaliday, our sound engineer, Emily Rostek, our associate producer, and Neil Lavelle, our executive producer. Louis Skara wrote our theme song and
Ginger Smith helped arrange the vocals. A slight change of plants to production of Pushkin Industries, so big thanks to everyone there, including Malcolm Gladwell, Jacob Weisberg, Lee Tall Mulat and Heather Fame, and of course a very special thanks to Jimmy Lee. You can follow a slight change of plans on Instagram at doctor Maya Shunker See you next week.
I have to be mindful about what songs I sing at karaoke, Like if any song has like a hint of like a fem fatal kind of character in it, like people are going to read into that, right, Like or you know, if I, like, I dress up in a costume for Halloween and I post it to Instagram and I you know, people read into that and say, oh, look what again, what a weird character she is? She's wearing a costume, and it's like, well, or I'm just a regular person wearing a costume