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Tareq Abedin Siraji
Student, UMSAILS LL.M., Department of Law and Human Rights, University of Asia
Pacific,
Legal Intern at Record of Law
In the flames of
war, in the blind passion of nationalism and pride, we forget one thing—the one
thing that makes us human. Humanity. Let us pause before one bullet is fired,
before one bomb is dropped, and before one line is crossed and remember that on
both sides of every border are beating hearts, innocent families, mothers,
fathers, children—human beings just like us.
As the world
grows increasingly divided by ideology, nationalism, and historical grievances,
it is all too easy to forget a basic and profound truth: on both sides of any
border are human beings. Human beings who feel, love, dream, and bleed the
same. India's recent strike against Pakistan—politically warranted or not—is a
reminder of how quickly we fall into a cycle of violence that we pay more
dearly for than we ever intend. In moments like these, we have to step back
above the noise and the indignation and ask ourselves: what are we fighting
for, and at what cost?
Before we talk
about retaliation, strategy, or sovereignty, we must reconcile the sobering
reality that behind every so-called enemy uniform stands a human being—a son, a
father, a brother. Somebody who laughs, cries, and once dreamed of being a
teacher or an artist, not a soldier sent to the battlefield to die for lines on
a map drawn by others.
War is not
heroism. It's not poetry. It's not the victory song that is tried to be painted
by political orations. War is blood in the earth. War is the wail of a mother
holding the lifeless body of her child. War is a village burned, a school
destroyed, a future annihilated in seconds. And to what purpose? For a sense of
revenge? For political ambition? For ego?
The recent
escalation between India and Pakistan may have specific triggers, but the
emotions it ignites are universal and timeless. Two nations born from the same
womb of history, sharing language, culture, and ancestry, are once again at the
brink of conflict. How can we, the people, let this cycle of destruction
continue while claiming to be civilized, educated, and humane?
When a missile
is launched, it is not the governing elite who die. It is the farmer in a
border village. It is the child in a school that was mistakenly targeted. It is
the nurse in a hospital turned to rubble. Politicians may declare victories at
podiums, but the true losers are the millions who carry the scars of war long
after the news fades away.
We must unlearn
the dangerous idea that it is acceptable to kill somebody from another country
just because he or she is wearing a different uniform. Blood has no
nationality. The tears of an Indian mother do not differ from those of a
Pakistani mother. The pain of a child who has lost a father is the same
regardless of the flag under which the father fought.
Our differences
are man-made. But our emotions are the same. In every war, both sides carry
corpses, bury hopes, and bleed in silence. Yet we are supposed to celebrate, to
yell, to be proud when the other side is bleeding. That is not patriotism. That
is blind hatred disguised in the name of nationalism.
Mahatma Gandhi,
the father of Indian independence, once said, "An eye for an eye will make
the whole world blind." The more we fight, the less we see our shared
humanity. Pakistan was also founded on the dream of justice and dignity for
all. Both our nations were born from the urge for self-respect and freedom. Are
we honoring those ideals when we scream for death and destruction?
See the young
people on both sides of the border. They are not filled with hate. They are
curious about one another. They are fans of the same music, the same
cricketers, the same films. In the internet age, they talk, they share, they
interact. It is not the youth who want war. It is the ghosts of the past that
whisper into the ears of the present.
If we remain on
this path, we are not only destroying our today—we are poisoning tomorrow. The
youth deserve a world where they can visit one another, collaborate with one
another, learn from each other, and build a greater South Asia, not die on
battlefields soaked in ancient grudges.
The media has a
critical role to play here. Instead of fuelling passions and sensationalizing
conflict, it must provide a voice for voices of peace, of reconciliation, of
understanding. Sensational headlines sell, but they kill. Disinformation, hate
propaganda, and blind allegiance to political ideologies rob us of the ability
to see each other as human.
We require
religious leaders, educators, artists, and influencers to stand up above the
noise and announce the truth—that humanity is more powerful than nationalism.
That compassion is more powerful than revenge.
We cannot remain
quiet. All citizens, all students, all parents and grandparents must raise
their voices and demand peace. It is not weakness to yearn for dialogue. It is
not treason to oppose war. It is the highest act of love—for one's country, and
for all humanity.
We must teach
our children to question hate, to value life, and to study history not just as
a source of pride, but also as a lesson in the cost of divisiveness. We must
promote diplomacy over destruction, and humanity over hostility.
Before you start
another war, look into the eyes of a sleeping child tonight. Try to picture
yourself saying to the child tomorrow that you've turned their world into dust.
Try to live with the guilt of having ended hundreds of lives—some on your side,
some on theirs. Now ask yourself: was it worth it?
Before you start
any war, remember: above politics, above revenge, above all—stands humanity.
Let us not
forget.
Let us not
repeat the mistakes of the past.
Let us choose
peace.