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Peace on Earth is the quintessential wish, the hope, the cry of the season. It always has been.
We have it good here in Canada. But much of the world lives under the shadow of conflict, where peace is not a given but a dream. And yet, history shows us peace is possible. The arc bends toward it. Slowly, painfully, but it bends.
In 1065, the Chinese official Chen Xiang examined his empire’s budget and found that 83 per cent of it went to the military. Violence was the way of the world. The Roman Empire spent two-thirds of its resources on war. Centuries later, the British Empire in 1813 allocated 75 per cent of its funds to conflict, while Napoleonic France nearly drained itself with a 93 per cent allocation. Even in what was called a “peaceful era” between 1870 and 1913, Prussia never let its military spending drop below three-quarters of its budget.
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And then came the world wars. The United Kingdom spent 69 per cent of its budget fighting the Second World War, and the United States, a bit more, at 71 per cent. But after the guns fell silent, something remarkable happened. Nations began to turn inward, focusing their budgets on their people, on schools, hospitals, and growing businesses. A “peace dividend,” they called it, driven by citizens who demanded it.
One observer put it simply: “Peace came because people changed, changed their laws, their institutions, their myths. They began to choose peace, again and again.” Those of us born in that time reaped the benefits, perhaps without fully realizing how hard-won they were.
That world is disappearing into memory as technology, economics, and culture are changing how nations and peoples deal with one another. The United Nations has warned us that we have entered an era where populist leaders are again dreaming of military might, armed conflicts are on the rise, and military budgets are swelling once more.
History teaches us that treaties, ceasefires, and negotiations often fail to sustain peace because they do not address its deepest roots. True peace must first be discovered within the human heart before it can flourish in the external world.
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But is this the world we live in now? It seems not. The headlines shout division. Leaders trade threats, and their citizens grow colder toward one another. The data tells us conflict is on the rise, and goodwill is becoming a rarity.
I have worked in three different conflict regions in the world, witnessing the toll it takes on human lives and human souls. And I have learned this: peace does not come until people grow weary of their leaders’ calls to arms. But can we look at our own governments, at the bickering in parliament, legislatures and city halls, and truly believe we are choosing collaboration over division?
The call for peace on Earth is an ancient one. It rings out again each holiday season, just as in days of old. It asks us to be better than we are, to be people of goodwill. Right now, that virtue feels scarce. But it is not gone. It cannot be. If we wish for our children to inherit a peaceful world, then we must build it and refrain from destroying the one we have. We must stop picking sides and start building something lasting, something worthy of those who come after us.
Peace is possible. It always has been. But it will not come to us. We must make it.
Glen Pearson is co-director of the London Food Bank and a former Liberal MP for London North Centre. glen@glenpearson.ca
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