if peace has any integrity left, it belongs to them- not to those who first broke it.
Our Stories, Our Voices
I was recently in an aircraft on my trip back from Accra to Nairobi, reading Cape Coast Castle: The Transatlantic Slave Trade by Kwesi Essel-Blankson- a book that vanished mid-flight when I stepped out to the washroom. Someone stole it, leaving behind the sunglasses tucked into the seat pocket in front of me. For a moment, I didn’ t know whether to be angry at the theft or strangely proud that someone would steal a book.
But before it disappeared, one line from the dedication by Runoko Rashidi seared itself into my mind:“ It is up to us to tell our story in our way- without stuttering, without stammering, without whispering, without apologies.” That line lingered. It reminded me that history’ s truest rebellions often begin not with grand gestures but with the courage to speak one’ s truth loudly, without apology- like those Irish women who refused to sell apartheid’ s fruit, or the countless ordinary people who still rise today in Gaza, Sudan, Haiti, or Congo to demand dignity where the world only offers silence.
And isn’ t it ironic that the same powers that once carved up continents now lecture the world about democracy? The same governments that arm both sides of conflicts stand at podiums preaching peace? The same corporations funding reconstruction are often the ones profiting from the destruction? Peace has become a performance- a brand, complete with hashtags, summits, and talking points. The oppressed are expected to clap politely while the architects of their oppression collect prizes in Oslo.
When the Prize Meets Its Purpose
And speaking of dignity, I must pause to congratulate María Corina Machado, the
2025 Nobel Peace Prize laureate, honored for her fearless defense of democracy and civil rights in Venezuela. Her recognition is a refreshing reminder that peace isn’ t forged in photo-ops or press statements- it’ s chiseled through persistence, sacrifice, and moral courage. Yet her win also forces a mirror upon the global stage: how often have we seen presidents and political heavyweights covet this same prize as if it were a halo to wash away their own complicity in the fires they helped ignite?
We have seen warlords rebranded as reformers, strongmen reintroduced as“ strategic partners,” and superpowers commit humanitarian atrocities under the banner of“ maintaining order.” They speak of peace while bombing hospitals, speak of democracy while funding dictators, speak of stability while selling arms. Too many have confused ending a war they started with earning peace.
Real peace- the kind that should win prizes- lives in the unglamorous trenches of conscience: in Dublin’ s cold picket lines, in the battered streets of Gaza, in the chants of Iranian women, in the trembling yet unbroken voices of Sudanese youth, in the quiet endurance of Uyghur families praying under surveillance. The world has enough leaders who negotiate peace after destruction; what it needs are more people who build it without permission.
What Peace Has Taught Me
Over the years- and having lived through moments like Kenya’ s post-election violence in 2007- I’ ve come to understand two truths about peace that no textbook or award ceremony can teach.
First, peace is not the absence of tension; it is the maturity to sit with discomfort, to debate, to dissent- and still choose coexistence over chaos. We should be able to agree to disagree and still live side by side, bound not by uniformity of thought but by mutual respect for our shared humanity.
Second, peace is not the incapability of being violent; that’ s not peace, that’ s merely being harmless. Real peace is the mastery of power- the ability to destroy, but the decision not to. It is restraint born of wisdom, not weakness.
To Those Still Fighting
As this year closes, my thoughts are with those whose pursuit of peace doesn’ t trend on social media. With the women of Afghanistan who continue to teach in secret classrooms; with the children of Gaza whose laughter is now buried under rubble; with the families in Darfur and eastern Congo fleeing invisible wars; with the Rohingya who remain stateless; with the Yemeni mothers trading food for silence; with the protesters in Iran who refuse to stop chanting for freedom even when the world stops listening.
Their struggle is a reminder that peace is not an event- it is endurance. And for every tyrant who silences a voice, there is a quiet army of the courageous who keep whispering truth into the noise.
The Last Word
If this is my last piece of the year- or perhaps my last one in Kalombo’ s space- let it be known that some of us see you. We see your fight for peace, for justice, for breath. We see those who refuse to bow, who build bridges when others burn them, who stand alone if they must.
Peace does not always come wrapped in white flags; sometimes it comes in the clenched fists of the unheard. It lives in the picket lines, in the prison cells, in the refugee camps, in the classrooms that reopen after the bombs. To the Grapefruit Ladies, the mothers of Gaza, the women of Iran, the children of Congo, the teachers of Afghanistan- history is watching, and some of us are, too.
Because peace, after all, has never been awarded- it has always been earned.
Soyinka Witness is the Managing Director, Strategy3 at Ipsos( SSA). You can commune with him on this or related matters via email at: Soyinka. Witness @ ipsos. com.