Wildlydj: The Life of DJ Lieberman

If you told teenage me this would be happening one day, two world leaders touching down in the same state I fled to for peace, I’d probably laugh. But here we are.

This meeting brought up more than just geopolitical tension for me. It stirred something personal.

For most people, this is just another bizarre political moment. But for me, it drags up memories of working in Congress, of walking in political parades, being in commercials, before I was old enough to fully understand what power meant, or what it cost.

I grew up in the political eye.

My mom was a county commissioner. My dad, a lawyer and local politician as well as party leader. Yeah, from the outside it doesn’t seem like a county commissioner would carry much weight, but in the Dayton region, and across Ohio, my family name opened doors. It came with recognition. Respect. And pressure.

My parents are known nationally for their achievements, and being fired(sorry dad). And when your last name means something to other people, you start to question what it means to you.

It takes a toll. We were known. Respected. Watched.

There’s pride, of course. But there’s also the constant undertone of who am I outside of this legacy? Am I allowed to disagree? To disappear? To not be “on” all the time? Growing up like that… it shapes you. You learn to navigate power early. You learn how decisions are made, how narratives are spun, and how the personal is always political. You also learn what it feels like to be invisible behind a legacy that never asked if you wanted to carry it.

As I have said before, that’s part of why I came to Alaska. Not to escape politics entirely because I’m still deeply committed to justice, but to reclaim my voice. To build a life that isn’t defined by what room I’m in or what name is on my badge.

I’ve been told all my life that I’d make a great elected official, and maybe they’re right. But that life? It almost swallowed me. So, I left.

Now, as I watch Trump and Putin converge on a land I came to for clarity, it feels… surreal.

Because I know what Russia is. And I know what power unchecked looks like.

Ukraine deserves to be free from that grip. And so does Alaska.

This land has its own heartbeat, Indigenous, wild, and resilient. It doesn’t belong in the shadow of colonial greed or militarized agendas. It deserves leaders who listen, not posture. Who protect, not perform. And Alaska will always be a place worth protecting from anyone who sees it as a pawn instead of a people.

I came here for that silence. For that clarity.

To lead in my own way, not from a podium, but from the ground. From community. From care.

Maybe one day I’ll step into office. Maybe I won’t. But what I know is this:

Power doesn’t impress me anymore. Integrity does. Sovereignty does. Stillness does.

Because even here, power finds its way in. Cameras follow. Narratives spin.

And I’m reminded again that real power, the kind that doesn’t make headlines, is choosing who you want to be when no one’s watching.

That’s what I’m learning to do. In the silence. In the wilderness. In this northern life I’ve claimed for myself.

And maybe that’s what leadership should be more about, too.

Not spectacle. But substance.

Not legacy. But integrity.

Not control. But clarity.