This is where we are now.

Every journey has a turning point. For us, September feels like that moment. Not a finish line, but a crossroad lit by something powerful.

Since we arrived in Brewton, every step we’ve taken, every conversation, every connection has led us here. Now, something is shifting. Something called SPARKS. But SPARKS is more than a festival. It’s a recognition. A moment where small towns across America are invited to raise their voice and say: we’re here, and we matter. That’s why when we found out Brewton had been chosen as one of the stops for Spark! Places of Innovation: an exhibition inspired by the Smithsonian, we didn’t just feel honored. We felt seen.

The Smithsonian describes it this way: “Spark! Places of Innovation explores the unique combination of places, people, and circumstances that sparks innovation and invention in rural communities.” It’s not about Silicon Valley. It’s about communities like ours, where creativity grows not from capital but from collaboration. Where solutions come from real people, responding to real needs.

And that is exactly what Wudcha is.

Wudcha was born from the same spark that fuels this exhibit. The same desire to fix what’s broken and build what’s needed. In a town where many young people leave because they can’t find opportunity, Wudcha offers a new way forward, not by replacing what’s here, but by reconnecting it. By turning every phone into a living notice board. By helping families find employment, businesses attract customers, and communities connect with one another. In real time. Right here.

To us, SPARKS is not a separate celebration. It’s the natural continuation of what’s already happening in Brewton. We’ve felt it. We’ve seen it. In the council members who crossed political lines to support something they believed in. In the small business owners who sat down with us after yoga class to talk about ways to grow. In the teachers and parents who told us, with quiet hope, that they want their children to stay and thrive.

This town has been quietly innovating all along. What Wudcha does is make that visible. Tangible. Actionable. Whether it’s a farmer looking for help with harvest, a single mom offering tutoring, a teen wanting to sing at the local café, or a church planning a coat drive, these are sparks of innovation. They don’t need algorithms. They need to be seen.

So when we say we’re going to SPARC, we’re not going to showcase a company. We’re going to represent a community. We’re bringing the stories we’ve collected, the hands we’ve shaken, the ideas scribbled on napkins, the hopes whispered across generations. We’re going to listen, to learn, and to bring back something real because the path we’re on doesn’t end in September. It keeps going.

We believe Brewton can become a model for other small towns. Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s alive. Because it dares to believe that something better is possible, even without a giant budget or national attention. That belief is the spark. It’s the same spark that led to Provalus, to the Coastal College campus, to Georgia Pacific, and every other local effort that puts community first.

We’re proud to be part of that flame.

And while we may not have all the answers, we know one thing: when people feel seen, when their ideas are heard, when their town is reconnected, they come back to life. And that, more than anything, is what innovation truly means.

This is our road to Sparks of innovation. It’s paved with gratitude, with purpose, and with a quiet fire that refuses to go out.

Come see us at Brewton City Hall from September 23rd to October 23rd.

Your voice is your power. Don’t let it vanish.

With love,
Marianna Grillo
Co-Founder, Wudcha

Sparks of Innovation

Today, we share Robert’s story. The roots of Wudcha are not just in technology, but in lived experiences of loneliness, faith, and the dream of reconnection. I’d want to take a step back from the typical marketing posts about Wudcha and share with you how this idea came to be.

“I was living in California, part of a band called Mercy Mode, involved with The Vampire Diaries and The Originals conventions. From the outside, life looked good. But even then, I struggled with depression and loneliness. Deep down, all I wanted was to connect with people. Many chase fame thinking it will bring connection, but for me, being famous was irrelevant. What I wanted was to be part of people’s lives, to see them happy, to experience true connection.

One day, I was taking out the trash at my apartment complex in Culver City. The garage backed up against a few houses. As I walked past, I noticed a young woman in her backyard. My first thought was simple: I’ll greet her on my way back. That’s who I am. I grew up in Picayune, Mississippi, where in the 90s everyone spoke to their neighbors. But when the moment came, a thought crept in. Don’t. She’ll feel uncomfortable. You’re a stranger. So I didn’t. And I walked back to my apartment frustrated and sad. I asked myself: what have we done to ourselves over the last 25 years that made something as simple as saying hello feel wrong?

That thought stayed with me. I began thinking about my neighborhood. I lived among artists, directors, musicians, storytellers. In two years, I realized nearly every neighbor was a creator of some kind, but we never connected. Imagine what we could have made if we did. In my apartment, I hosted cookouts and board game nights almost daily. And I knew there were people nearby who would have loved to join in. Kids who deserved to celebrate birthdays like we used to. Neighbors who needed friends.

That’s when my mind ran through all the ways neighbors could connect:

“Would you like to come to board game night?”

“Would you like to listen to us perform?”

“Would you like to join our band?”

“Would you like to start a writer’s club?”

The phrase “Would you” became “Would ya,” and then finally, Wudcha. That’s how the name was born.

But the app itself was born from a deeper conviction. Neighborhoods and communities can and must reconnect. When I returned home to Brewton, Alabama, I decided to stop dreaming and make it my mission, no matter the sacrifice. I don’t come from wealth. I am a disabled veteran with hearing loss, joint and mobility issues, and I fund Wudcha from what little I have. Many days my meals are nothing more than beans, cucumbers, and cornbread. But I do it because I believe Wudcha is holy.

Why holy? Because I believe we are meant to do three things in life. The first is to experience. Both good and bad bring wisdom. Both success and failure bring growth. The second is to create. We are made in the image of the Creator, not to just go to school, work, pay taxes, and die, but to build something that reflects who we are. And the third is to be of service to others. Whether it is to one person, an animal, a community, or the world, it does not matter. Do it with love.

Wudcha is a way to live those three things.

Business owners today are suffering. They took risks, built businesses, only to find the world has changed. Options for visibility are limited: word of mouth, overpriced ads, and social media. Social media, once promising connection, has instead suppressed voices with algorithms. You’ve probably experienced it: realizing someone you thought was gone has been posting daily, unseen by you. That’s no accident. Unless you pay, your posts are invisible. Even then, only a fraction of your audience sees them.

And when people do see posts, they are not about local opportunities or uplifting events. Instead, our feeds are filled with political battles, tragedies from states away, endless debates that divide us. It is designed to keep us scrolling, not to bring us closer. That’s why depression is at record highs. That’s why kids don’t know how to interact anymore.

But there is a bigger storm on the horizon. Artificial Intelligence. Within 15 years, it is projected that over 500 million jobs globally, possibly up to a billion, will vanish. Teachers, drivers, coders, builders, even doctors will be replaced. Governments have no real answers except universal income and telling you to stay home. No purpose. No service. More disconnection.

That’s why Wudcha matters. A musician who gave up because Facebook throttled his posts can now play gigs locally, with real support. A writer can form a group and be read. A business owner can hire without paying LinkedIn $71 a day. Realtors won’t have to deal with Zillow gatekeeping their leads. Wudcha reconnects people to people, businesses to customers, neighbors to neighbors.

Now think: what does the future look like if we do nothing? Algorithms, gatekeepers, monopolies, disconnection.

And what does it look like with Wudcha? A tool that inevitably replaces Facebook and Instagram. A platform that removes Zillow, Redfin, Apartments.com, Realtor.com, and Trulia. A place where no gatekeeper forces you to pay just to be seen. A place where your community comes alive again.

Which future would you choose?

I ask for your support. Support can come in any way: a prayer, connections, or simply spreading the word. Every form of support is divine.

Wudcha: Join us in fixing what social media broke.”

Your voice is your power. Don’t let it vanish.

Robert Amacker

Founder Wudcha.

How Wudcha Was Born: Robert’s Story

Happy Monday, Wudcha Family,

Presence. A word so simple, yet so rare. In a world where everything seems to happen through screens, algorithms, or hurried schedules, the act of being present with each other has almost become a forgotten art. But here, in the quiet corners of Brewton, I have learned again what it means.

When Robert and I first arrived with little more than faith and a laptop, I carried a heavy question inside me: where do we begin? We had dreams, but we also had doubts, fears, and no clear roadmap. And then something small but powerful happened.

One afternoon, after a yoga class I was teaching, a few people stayed behind. They didn’t rush out, they didn’t look at their phones. They simply sat down with me, with Robert, and they listened. They wanted to know what we were doing, what Wudcha was about. They asked questions, not out of curiosity alone, but out of care. And in that moment, presence turned into connection.

What followed still amazes me. These neighbors, with nothing to gain, offered us something priceless: their time, their ears, their trust. They gave us contacts, phone numbers, introductions to people who, just like them, loved this community and wanted to make it better. They showed us that change doesn’t always start with grand plans or loud announcements. Sometimes, it begins with a handful of people who choose to sit together, listen, and act.

I realized then that presence is the soil where all growth begins. Without it, seeds dry out before they can take root. With it, communities flourish.

The more we opened ourselves, the more others opened too. It was like a circle that kept expanding. When we volunteered with Kiwanis to support children in our community, we felt that same circle of presence again. Local businesses and ordinary people showed up, not just for the cause but for each other. We supported their events: karaoke nights, small fundraisers, local gatherings, and in return, they supported us. It was never transactional. It was human. One hand washed the other, and together both became clean. That is the essence of community.

And in Brewton, the power of presence has reached even further. In just a week, there will be local municipal elections. Over these months we have met council members and mayors from all political sides, often from competing factions. Yet what has struck us as nothing short of miraculous is this: despite their differences, they have come together in their support of Wudcha. Not because of politics, but because of a shared desire to make life better for the people of Brewton. They have seen in Wudcha a chance to bring jobs to this community, to offer opportunities so that our young people will not feel forced to leave their homes and families in search of a decent salary elsewhere.

This is one of the deepest sorrows we hear every day. Students graduate with talent and potential, yet too often they have to leave Brewton because most local jobs pay around $13 an hour, not enough to buy a home or build a life here. As parents ourselves, with children growing up, we feel this heartbreak personally. We want our kids — and every child of Brewton — to have a reason to stay, to build, to thrive, here in the place they call home.

Presence is not about grand gestures. It’s about stopping long enough to see someone else, to hear them, to say: you matter, your voice matters. And it is in those moments of presence that real solutions emerge, real courage grows, and real change begins.

I often think how impossible this feels in larger cities, where schedules clash, people are guarded, and attention is always elsewhere. And yet, here in Brewton, I’ve seen that presence is still alive. It may be rare, but it is not lost. And if it can happen here, it can happen anywhere.

The power of being present is not just about proximity. It is about intention. It is about choosing to give our time, even when we have little. It is about remembering that the strongest communities are built not on endless resources but on endless willingness to show up.

We are deeply grateful for every person — from neighbors to leaders — who has chosen to sit with us, share their stories, and guide us with their wisdom. Without their presence, Wudcha would still be just an idea. With their presence, it is becoming a movement.

So this week, I want to leave you with this reminder: presence is a gift. Give it freely, receive it humbly, and watch how it transforms everything it touches.

Your voice is your power. Don’t let it vanish.

With love,
Marianna Grillo
Co-Founder, Wudcha

The Power of Being Present.

There are places in this world that seem to live in different time zones, not because the clock says so, but because life moves at its own rhythm. Brewton, Alabama, and Mazara del Vallo, Sicily, are two towns separated by an ocean, and yet connected by something older than maps: the unspoken bond of community.

In Brewton, the morning air carries the scent of pine and fresh coffee. Oak trees stretch wide like open arms, and shop windows blink awake one by one.

In Mazara, the sea is a constant hymn, salty and ancient, whispering to fishermen before dawn, filling the narrow streets with the rhythm of returning boats.

They couldn’t be more different.

One is wrapped in the green stillness of the American South, the other in the sunlit chaos of a Mediterranean port.

And yet, both are keepers of stories that could change more than just their own corners of the world, if only the world could hear them.

Picture this: a quiet afternoon on Main Street.

A small café decides to host a cooking demonstration: nothing grand, just a few friends sharing a recipe that’s been in the family for generations. A couple of wooden tables, a guitar propped in the corner, the smell of warm cornbread filling the air.

For most of history, moments like this would live and die within the space of a street. You’d have to be passing by to know it happened, or maybe hear about it days later from a neighbor. And by then, the taste, the music, the connection, all of it, would already belong to the past.

Now, imagine that afternoon shared in real time, not lost in the noise of endless feeds and advertising, but in a space built for towns like this. A place where a post doesn’t have to compete with celebrity gossip or viral memes to be seen.

Within hours, the echo spreads beyond Escambia County.

A former Brewton resident, now living in Boston, writes: “This feels like home again.”

A chef in Sicily asks about the recipe.

A travel blogger in Buenos Aires includes the event in a feature about small-town America’s living traditions.

The café didn’t set out to reach the world.

But that’s the thing about stories, once they find the right wind, they can travel farther than you ever thought possible.

And you begin to see the truth:

It’s not always about budgets or billboards.

Sometimes, it’s simply about being seen.

Meanwhile, in Mazara del Vallo, another scene unfolds.

The day begins with the return of the fishing boats. Men with weathered hands unload crates of glistening fish, the smell of saltwater clinging to their clothes. Nearby, in the heart of the old town, a small group of women sets up a food fair: pane cunzato layered with tomatoes, olive oil, oregano; marinated olives in clay bowls; almond pastries dusted with sugar.

It’s a ritual as old as memory, but one that lives almost entirely within the piazza’s stone walls. If you weren’t there, you wouldn’t know it happened.

Now imagine that morning captured and shared in the same way: not buried under sponsored ads, but given its own place to breathe.

In Brewton, a young chef sees it and says, “I want to serve this bread at my next community dinner.”

A local school asks to organize a cultural exchange workshop on traditional Sicilian baking.

A community radio show dedicates an entire hour to telling the story of Pane Cunzato: how food can be a bridge between cultures.

Within hours, two towns that have never met are sitting at the same table, speaking the same language without needing translation.

And once again, you realize what is local is never just local.

It’s the first chapter of a story that could belong to everyone, if it’s told.

This is how the map is redrawn, not by governments or borders, but by moments.

A song played in a small café in Alabama finds its way to Sicily.

A loaf of bread baked in a Mediterranean kitchen inspires a dinner in the American South.

These exchanges don’t erase distance; they make it irrelevant.

They remind us that connection isn’t about how far apart we are, but whether we’re willing to open the window and let our stories travel.

You don’t need to be famous to matter.

You don’t need a million followers to create an impact.

You need someone, somewhere, who’s listening.

And when that listening happens, when your voice crosses a border, the local becomes global… and the global comes home again.

Your voice is your power. Don’t let it vanish.

Marianna Grillo

Co-Founder of Wudcha

marianna@wudcha.com

When Local Becomes Global.

Hello Wudcha’s Family,

Today, we are going to cover one of the hottest topics of our modern times: visibility. Everybody wants to be seen, and there is nothing wrong with it because that’s what humanity is all about. Being seen means being safe and on many occasions, your neighbor could change everything in any way.

In the early days of Brewton, when we had just arrived with nothing but faith and a laptop, we realized that “visibility” was no longer about popularity but about survival.
Small businesses couldn’t afford ads. Freelancers had no way to be found. People were isolated, not because they wanted to be, but because no one knew what was happening right next door.

While the sense of community in this small town, with nearly 5,000 souls, is still deeply rooted, people’s pace of life has changed, and mere word of mouth is no longer sufficient to keep up with the isolation of everyday life.
Local newspapers do their best to voice the many cultural, sporting, business, and private events, deals, and promotions that reflect the vibrant spirit of this blossoming part of South Alabama, but often, copies of the weekly papers sit untouched on a shelf until the following week.

Over the last six months, Robert and I have been analyzing a triangular visibility crisis with three sharp corners impacting not only our town but communities everywhere, blocking social and economic development in places that deserve to thrive.

We’ve spent countless days walking through town, exploring places of interest, searching for events and hidden talents. We’ve spoken with both influential and everyday people. We’ve listened to their concerns. One recurring fear is for the future of local youth, parents hoping their children won’t leave Brewton, taking their gifts elsewhere, simply because the town, despite the extraordinary efforts made to attract opportunities and support education, still struggles to offer enough well-paid jobs or access to growth and affordable housing.

At the same time, young entrepreneurs feel discouraged from investing in their community, even where their services are clearly needed, because without the right connections or visibility, the risk of failure feels too high.

We were stunned by the richness of what’s already happening here, multiple events every day, in a town so full of life. But we were also saddened by how much of it remains unseen.

Local organizations, from the city to schools, churches, businesses, and sports teams, are organizing meaningful events every day. They spread the word using flyers, journals, and Facebook groups. Yet despite their dedication, many of these efforts don’t reach enough people in time.
We ourselves missed out on several events we were excited about: sports matches, walks, competitions, cultural gatherings, bingo nights, and more. And when we did make it to some of them, we saw how attendance was lower than expected, not for lack of interest, but for lack of real-time reach.

We’ve heard directly from local businesses pouring money into online ads, yet still struggling to bring in traffic. Some have had to shut down. Others are barely hanging on.

And this isn’t just a Brewton issue. Across the U.S., small businesses spend thousands every year just trying to be seen.
According to Forbes, U.S. companies now spend over 285 billion dollars annually on digital advertising, yet many still struggle with low engagement due to algorithm-driven platforms (Forbes).
Up to 37 percent of advertising budgets are wasted, often on campaigns that don’t reach the right people (Wikipedia Marketing Effectiveness).
As social platforms increasingly focus on monetization, advertising costs have surged, making it challenging for businesses, especially small to medium-sized enterprises, to maintain profitability (Influencer Marketing Hub).

The second sharp corner of this visibility crisis lies in the growing invisibility of individuals, particularly creatives, freelancers, and local talents, whose voices are slowly fading beneath the noise of algorithmic platforms.

It used to be enough to be good at what you did. The community would talk. Someone would refer you. Your skills would find a place.
Now, even the most gifted singer from a school recital, the most inspired painter, the most skilled handyman often go unseen.
They post online, but their voices are drowned out by viral trends and targeted ads. Their talents remain undiscovered not because they aren’t worthy but because no one knows they’re there.
What used to feel like hope now feels like a gamble.

According to The Guardian, many emerging musicians say they now spend more time “gaming the algorithm” than writing music. Freelancers in many industries, photographers, massage therapists, yoga teachers, authors, welders, report that their visibility has plummeted unless they pay or go viral.
In a system where visibility equals livelihood, the disappearance of organic reach isn’t just inconvenient, it’s existential.
(Sources: The Guardian “Why Musicians Are Quitting Social Media”, Influencer Marketing Hub, LinkedIn Freelancers Pulse Survey)

The third and final edge of this triangle cuts even deeper, into artificial intelligence.

As AI evolves, it’s not just reshaping how we work; it’s replacing entire roles that once gave people meaning, dignity, and income.
Graphic designers now compete with instant logo generators. Bots outrank writers. Synthetic voices are replacing voice actors. Coders by no-code platforms.

What once felt like slow progress is now a tidal wave.

While innovation can be beautiful, it becomes dangerous when it outpaces the support systems that protect people.
A Goldman Sachs report from 2023 estimated that up to 300 million full-time jobs globally could be impacted by automation, with creative professions among the most exposed (Goldman Sachs “The Potentially Large Effects of Artificial Intelligence on Jobs”).
McKinsey estimates that nearly 30 percent of work activities in the U.S. could be automated by 2030, especially for independent professionals and freelancers who lack safety nets (McKinsey and Company, “Generative AI and the Future of Work”).

AI doesn’t rest. It doesn’t charge hourly. And it doesn’t need visibility.
That’s why it’s tempting, but it also risks hollowing out entire communities, replacing real people not because they failed, but because they were never truly seen.

We’re not just talking about lost visibility.
We’re talking about a world that’s quietly forgetting how to see each other.

We’re talking about the welder who still works magic with his hands but hasn’t had a new client in months.
The artist who graduated with honors but is now folding clothes in silence.
The mother who has a gift for healing, but no longer knows how to let people know she exists.

We’re talking about the slow unraveling of what once held us together: word of mouth, familiar faces, and local trust.

We don’t need a revolution.
We need to remember.

Remember that it’s still possible to meet halfway.
That opportunity doesn’t always come from a screen.
That connection can be simple.
That visibility doesn’t have to be bought.

Sometimes it just needs to be given.

Your voice is your power. Don’t let it vanish.

With love,
Marianna Grillo
Co-founder Wudcha

The Three Faces of Invisibility: A Brewton Story with Global Echoes.

Happy Monday, Wudcha Family

There’s always a moment. A moment when something inside you snaps, you stop and realize that nothing will ever be the same again. And you know you can’t go on like this another day.

For us, that moment came in silence, after months of confusion, pain, and resistance. Today, I want to share the story that led to that moment. A story of good-hearted, creative, and visionary minds. A story of hopes, beliefs, delusions, and frustrations that eventually led to one single decision. To act. And to build something meaningful together.

I had spent over a decade working as a veterinarian, building a life I thought was solid, safe, and earned. Robert had sacrificed for his country and then rebuilt himself through music, words, and stories. We had followed the rules. We studied, worked hard, and paid our dues.

However, the truth is that something was missing. The world around us was getting louder and emptier at the same time. We were disconnected and lonelier than ever. Everybody was online, but invisible.

We always appreciated how social media helped families and friends living far apart to reconnect, share moments, nurture their relationships, and preserve memories and milestones. But the flip side was harder to ignore. Algorithms, platforms, and distractions were starting to overshadow our very identities as professionals in veterinary medicine and storytelling.

Creatives, musicians, freelancers, and writers became invisible. So did small businesses and start-ups, which were forced to invest large amounts of money in advertising just to stay afloat.

When we crossed paths on the web in 2019, during the pandemic, Robert was revisiting a vision he’d had years earlier. Back then, he had met a pretty girl in his neighborhood in LA and found it difficult to interact outside of the usual social media dynamic. He realized that without a dedicated tool to help people connect in real life, most creatives like him remained isolated.

He dreamed of reconnecting neighborhoods. He imagined going door to door and simply asking people, “Would you like to play a board game together? Would you like to come to my child’s birthday party?” As this idea grew in his mind, the phrase “Would you” became a theme. The more he said it, the more it sounded like “Would ya,” and eventually it turned into the southern slang that became our name. Wudcha.

Once the pandemic was over and my visa process was completed, we decided to move to the States. We sold our home in Sicily. I stepped away from my freelance job as a veterinarian. But Wudcha was still just a raw dream tucked in a drawer.

Time passed. We lived in two major cities, Atlanta and Los Angeles, and everywhere we went, the same feeling followed us. Disconnection. Solitude. Missed opportunities.

Then, in January 2025, when fires broke out in LA, we packed up everything and moved to the other corner of the country. Brewton, Alabama. A tiny town that had become our heart home. It was the place where we met in person for the first time and said our first yes. Brewton is our sanctuary. A place surrounded by forests and light, where people still wave when they pass you on the street.

Somewhere in those long days we spent driving across the country, something shifted. The dream we had carried for years finally lit up. Wudcha turned from a spark into a flame. And we said our second yes. This time, not to each other, but to the decision to build something from scratch.

We gave up titles and comfort zones. We embraced fear. We chose courage. And we walked into the unknown like warriors from another time.

We decided to bet everything on this dream. And something magical happened.

From that moment, this little town began to embrace, protect, and nourish our idea. City Hall opened its doors to us. Small businesses and ordinary people started cheering us on, moved by a shared desire to make Brewton, our state, our country, and our world a better place to live. A place where people can reconnect with their neighborhoods and communities.

We want to give a voice to creatives, start-ups, freelancers, people who need help or connection. But also to communities, local governments, sports teams, schools, and universities. We want them to be seen and heard. We want them to share their events, deals, promotions, and dreams, and help breathe life into neighborhoods and local economies all around the world.

We are not just building an app anymore. We are igniting a global breakthrough. A return to what human interaction feels like without the screen in the way.

It hasn’t been easy. We’ve cried. We’ve doubted. We’ve panicked. We’ve worked through the night and into the next morning, fixing broken buttons and broken dreams.

But we know with every fiber of our being that this is where we’re meant to be.

And now that people are gathering. Now that street teams are forming. Now that new core members are joining us every single week. We see our ideas turning into action.

Brewton, this overlooked diamond, is becoming the heart of something much bigger.

And we don’t regret that moment that changed everything. Not even for a second.

Your voice is your power. Don’t let it vanish.

Every Monday on Wudcha Voice.

The Day When We Decided To Change Everything.

Hi there,

My name is Marianna Grillo, and my partner, Robert, and I are the visionaries who built Wudcha.

I was born and raised in Sicily. Although Mazara, my hometown, has over 70,000 inhabitants, our sense of community is incredibly rooted in our culture. I had the happiest childhood, filled with riding bikes around my neighborhood, taking road trips with friends and family, or sailing our boat from the picturesque Arabic harbor of Mazara del Vallo to the islands just a few miles off our coast, or to the exotic nearby shores of Africa.

During the early 2000s, I witnessed the social media revolution with the advent of the iPhone and later Facebook, along with other tools that were initially intended to reconnect people. I remember the excitement of meeting friends and relatives living abroad, and the joy of being able to visually connect with our loved ones when they were away for study or work.

Unfortunately, we have noticed a dystopian paradox slowly unfolding. At first, people stopped attending events. Then friends became profiles, and communities dissolved into hashtags, likes, and mere virtual visibility. Those who genuinely wanted to help, create, and collaborate became distracted from life and the opportunities around them, including their own families.

After completing my studies in veterinary medicine, I worked as a freelance vet for over 10 years in my country, constantly struggling with the second contradiction of social media. While we view those platforms as tools for advertising, I struggled with my business Facebook page to find organic and local customers, promote my services, and advocate for animal rights, all while seeking volunteers to rescue the voiceless. Even though I paid for expensive ads to boost my posts, I couldn’t effectively promote my services. The ads were being shown miles away, and I ended up wasting time responding to calls from people searching for entirely different services in distant areas.

On the other side of the world, when I first met him in 2019, Robert was experiencing another side of this crisis. As a disabled veteran with exceptional talent in writing, storytelling, and cinematic composition, and a natural inclination for social connection, he struggled with social media’s inability to connect him with other creatives, venues, and producers.

Our partnership began immediately, driven by frustration with this dual-sided crisis. Individuals were more isolated, depressed, unheard, and unseen than ever, and businesses were experiencing empty venues and disconnected customers. We quickly realized that the same purpose was driving both of us: to fix what social media broke.

Over the last few years, we have also recognized another sharp corner of the current crisis: the rise of AI technology replacing human jobs. Forbes predicts that by 2030, 92 million Americans will be replaced by AI tools. This is a deeply alarming reality that concerns Robert, our team, and our supporters worldwide, including me.

Wudcha stands for “would you” in Southern slang, which fits perfectly with Robert’s Louisiana roots. It is a quest to break free from social media addiction and take back our lives.

Nobody wants to be manipulated or brainwashed by an algorithm. Still, here we are, stuck to our screens, lured into political, religious, or other conversations that disturb our peace. These lead to sterile arguments and unsatisfying disputes that drain our energy and happiness, dividing us more with each passing day, while keeping us glued to our displays for hours and disconnected from real life.

That is why Wudcha was born. It is not just an app but a movement that exists to make it easier to gather, meet, organize, offer, ask, and take action.

Wudcha is a universal platform. We will be able to fill our venues, hire certified and reliable people, and find gigs and jobs without paying for expensive apps like LinkedIn or Indeed. We can find homes or post home deals without the high commissions of platforms like Zillow or Realtor. We can see and organize events around us using geolocation and a meaningful calendar, among other features.

Every time two people meet through it, whether to plan a concert, a class, a fundraiser, or take a walk together, something powerful happens.

We reclaim the human web.

We reclaim the right to be genuinely seen and heard.

We reclaim ourselves.

This is just the beginning. Every Monday, we’ll share stories, tools, and truths here on Wudcha Voice. If you feel this ache too—the ache to reconnect—we invite you to stay with us.

We’re building something magical,

Together.

Your voice is your power. Don’t let it vanish.

With love,

Marianna Grillo

Co-founder of Wudcha