From the time I first understood the consequences of wars — the devastations of the First and Second World Wars — I have been a pacifist at heart. As I grew older, this conviction only deepened. Today, as we witness renewed conflicts — Ukraine and Russia, Israel and Palestine — I stand firmer than ever in my belief: all war is wrong.

War is a menace to human society. It is a tool not of the people, but of the powerful; a weapon wielded by those who profit from death and destruction. The arms industries, the merchants of ammunition, the political elites — they gain wealth, power, and dominion, while ordinary people pay with their lives, their homes, their dignity. War is capitalism in its ugliest, bloodiest form.

In my youth, like many, I once thought that wars were fought for ideals — for justice, liberty, validation, or the right to be seen. But life and literature taught me better. I read deeply — I read Aldous Huxley, Ernest Hemingway, J R R Tolkien, and, the war poets like Robert Graves, Rupert Brooke, Wilfred Owen, whose haunting lines exposed the shattered illusions of the battlefield. 

Owen’s famous lines from Dulce et Decorum Est come back to me:

“My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.”

There is no glory in war. There is only suffering. Soldiers often march to battle filled with ideals, but they return, if they return, carrying only trauma and grief.

I come from the land of Mahatma Gandhi — a land whose greatest hero showed that violence is not strength; that true power lies in non-violent resistance, in the refusal to harm another even in the face of cruelty. Gandhi, inspired by the teachings of many religions, and writers like Thoreau and Tolstoy, taught us that:

“An eye for an eye will leave the whole world blind.”

He proved that justice could be fought for — and won — without shedding another’s blood. Nelson Mandela, too, chose reconciliation over vengeance. Martin Luther King Jr., standing tall against the racism of America, knew that hatred could not drive out hatred. Only love could.

Even John F. Kennedy once said:

“Mankind must put an end to war — or war will put an end to mankind.”

It is a simple truth, yet it is ignored by those who stand to profit from chaos.

As a gay man, I have witnessed oppression firsthand. I have fought battles for dignity, for visibility, for the right to simply be. But I have never even contemplated lifting a hand, nor needed to. True change is not born from violence. The greatest revolutions — the ones that endure — are those of the spirit, not of the sword.

Even in revolutions that began with noble intent — the French Revolution, the Russian Revolution — violence bred new oppressors in the place of the old. It is a vicious cycle: violence begets violence, cruelty begets cruelty. What is won through blood is often ruled through fear.

Today, the spectre of nuclear catastrophe looms over us once again. Thinking about it fills me with dread. War no longer only kills soldiers — it threatens everyone, indiscriminately. It will rob the world of food, water, life itself. It will annihilate the innocent: children, animals, future generations yet unborn. And for what? For pride? For power? For profit?

The leaders who fan the flames of war today are as dangerous as Hitler, Mussolini, or any dictator of the past. They have not learnt. Or perhaps they have learnt — and simply do not care, because it does not cost them anything personally. It costs us. What do they accomplish? Nothing but ruin.

Yet despite all this sorrow, despite the darkness that so easily threatens to overwhelm the heart, I end this article in hope. Because hope — like love — is stronger than war.

As Aldous Huxley wrote:

“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.”

And if music, if poetry, if love, if gentleness survive, so does humanity.

Gandhi’s dream has not died. Martin Luther King Jr’s dream has not died. The dream of a world governed by love rather than fear, by understanding rather than force, is still alive in every heart that refuses to hate.

So what can one do?

One can live the revolution quietly.

One can refuse to hate. One can choose peace — again, and again, and again. One can nurture kindness, listen to the pain of others, speak for the voiceless, stand for what is right without lifting a weapon.

And in doing so, one builds the only kind of world worth living in.

As Rumi reminds us:

“Try not to resist the changes that come your way. Instead, let life live through you.”

Let love live through you.

Let peace live through you.

After all, Gandhi did say, “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”