BY REF FR GERALD NWAFOR
I was born after the Nigerian Civil War. I did not hear the gunshots. I did not see the burning villages. I did not run into the bushes in fear of soldiers. I did not watch hunger carve shadows into the faces of children. Yet I grew up in the long shadow of that war. My parents, my uncles, and my aunts carried their memories like scars beneath their skin. When they spoke of it, their voices changed.
Their stories were always gruesome, filled with pain, sadness, loss, and anger. Even in peacetime, the war lived on in their hearts. My father was in the famous Abagana sector that destroyed the Nigerian battalion, but that victory, as he would always say, “did not last.”
From them, I learned that war does not end when the guns fall silent. War lingers in memories. It lingers in broken trust. It lingers in empty chairs at family tables. It lingers in the bitterness of those who feel wronged and in the pride of those who claim victory.
I did not experience the civil war, but through their testimonies, I understood that there is nothing glorious about bloodshed. Look at the political terrain of Nigeria today. The system is afraid of Igbo people, and Igbo people do not feel comfortable within the Nigerian marriage of North and South.
Today, as I watch the conflicts unfolding across the world, my heart grows heavy. In the Middle East, tensions between Iran, Israel, and Palestine continue to shake the conscience of humanity. The involvement of the United States of America adds another layer of complexity and danger.
In Eastern Europe, the prolonged war between Russia and Ukraine has already claimed countless lives, destroyed homes, and displaced millions. Blood has spilled. The property has been destroyed. Families have been torn apart. Children have been made orphans. Cities have been reduced to rubble. And when we look carefully at the whole system, we discover a painful truth: there is nothing good that comes out of war.
Some may argue that there are winners and losers in every conflict. But what does it truly mean to win a war? The so-called winners often carry a superiority complex, believing they have proven their strength.
The losers bear an inferiority complex, humiliated and resentful. Yet neither side is truly at peace. Victory does not erase trauma. Defeat does not erase dignity. Both sides suffer. Both sides mourn. Both sides bury their dead. Pius Okigbo said that the real casualties are the living who have the burden of rebuilding the burnt villages and burying their dead brothers and sisters because they will live with the pain forever.
Absence of war does not mean peace. Peace is more than the silence of guns. Peace is justice. Peace is mutual respect. Peace is the recognition of shared humanity. Peace is the willingness to forgive and to rebuild.
A country may stop fighting, but if hatred remains in the hearts of its people, war is only sleeping, waiting to awaken again. Nigerian politicians may ignore the warning signs, but the truth is staring them in the face.
People should not be conquered. People should not be subdued. We were not created to dominate one another.
We were not born to enslave or to humiliate. We were born to live like one family, to live like brothers and sisters. Humanity shares one blood, one earth, one destiny. When one nation bleeds, the whole world should feel the pain. I know that I am not living in Iran today, but the people living there are human beings like me. What is that problem that the superpowers cannot solve on the table of conscience? A smart person said that they needed to sell their weapons so that money would be made and more weapons could be manufactured.
I remember my professor in social studies many years ago. He said something that has stayed with me: “Wars are wars. No matter what the cost, the end is always a disaster.” You lose life. You lose property. You lose your source of livelihood. You lose trust. You lose generations. Even when infrastructure is rebuilt, even when economies recover, the psychological wounds remain. The grudges remain. The narratives of revenge remain.
One generation says, “Your grandfathers killed our people.” The other responds, “Our grandfathers conquered you.” And so, bitterness is handed down like an inheritance. Children grow up learning not love but resentment. They inherit anger they did not create. They inherited hatred they did not understand. And the cycle continues. Is this the world we want to leave behind?
There seems to be no love lost in the world now. Nations speak of power. Leaders speak of strategy. Armies speak of strength. But who speaks for the widows? Who speaks for the refugees? Who speaks for the children who wake up to sirens instead of lullabies? The situation in the Middle East today is of great concern to humanity. It is not just about territory. It is not just about politics. It is about lives—real lives. It is about mothers who fear for their sons. It is about fathers who cannot provide safety.
It is about young people whose dreams are buried under the weight of bombs. And in the prolonged conflict between Russia and Ukraine, how many more lives must be lost before dialogue prevails over destruction? How many more homes must be shattered before leaders realize that war does not produce lasting solutions?
I am not here to predict a Third World War as some have speculated. Fear does not solve problems. Prophecies of doom do not build bridges. What we need is courage, the courage to sit at the table and negotiate, the courage to compromise, the courage to admit mistakes, and the courage to forgive. There must be someone, somewhere, who will rise to broker peace between nations. History has shown that even the fiercest enemies can one day shake hands. Peace agreements may not be perfect, but they are better than cemeteries filled with young soldiers.
Love should reign. Peace should reign. Justice should reign.
Justice is essential because peace without justice is fragile. If people feel oppressed or unheard, their silence is not peace; it is tension waiting to explode. True peace requires fairness. It requires equality. It requires that human dignity be respected regardless of race, religion, nationality, or political affiliation. We should learn to live peacefully and happily with one another. If we fail to learn this lesson, we risk perishing in disunity and anger. The choice is ours.
We can continue to glorify weapons, or we can invest in education. We can continue to fund destruction, or we can fund development. We can continue to divide ourselves into “us” and “them,” or we can recognize that there is only “us.”
My parents’ stories of the Nigerian Civil War remind me that war leaves no one untouched. Even those born after the conflict carry its consequences. Trauma does not disappear; it transforms and travels through time. I do not want future generations to sit around tables telling gruesome stories of today’s wars. I do not want children yet unborn to inherit today’s hatred (uto ka ato tota ife). Human beings should be appreciated, not destroyed. Every life has value. Every person carries dreams, talents, and hopes. When we destroy a human being, we destroy possibilities. We destroy a future that could have brought healing, innovation, or compassion to the world (Madu Amaka).
Perhaps it sounds idealistic to say we should live like one family. Yet every great transformation in history began with an idea that seemed unrealistic. Peace is not weakness. Forgiveness is not surrender. Dialogue is not a defeat. They are signs of strength and maturity. There may seem to be no love lost in the world now, but love has not disappeared. It is hidden beneath fear, buried under politics, and overshadowed by power struggles. Our task is to bring it back to the surface—to insist that humanity matters more than territory, that dignity matters more than dominance, and that reconciliation matters more than revenge.
If we do not choose love, we will continue to choose graves. If we do not choose justice, we will continue to choose injustice disguised as victory. If we do not choose peace, we will continue to inherit pain. The lesson is clear: war destroys, but love builds. War divides, but peace unites. War humiliates, but justice restores. Let love reign. Let peace reign. Let justice reign. And let humanity learn, at last, to live as one family on this fragile earth we share.
