Along with that ongoing process Sinn Fein took a decision to

In the words of Martin McGuinness, spoken from the crucible of conflict and reconciliation, we hear the solemn duty of peacemaking: “Along with that ongoing process Sinn Féin took a decision to establish a peace commission which had the responsibility to travel around the country to receive submissions from the general public, also our opponents.” Though these words are grounded in the history of Ireland’s struggles, they shine with wisdom that belongs to all humanity: peace is not forged in silence or in isolation, but in dialogue, in listening, even to those who once stood against us.

The creation of a peace commission is no mere political act—it is a covenant of courage. For to gather voices from every corner, including those of opponents, requires humility and strength greater than the courage of battle. The sword wins victories for a day; the ear that listens wins peace for generations. McGuinness’s words remind us that peace is not decreed from above, but built from below, stone by stone, voice by voice.

To travel around the country signifies more than physical movement. It is the gesture of leaving one’s stronghold, stepping beyond the safety of one’s own people, and venturing into the homes of strangers. It echoes the journeys of ancient envoys, who crossed mountains and seas to parley with rivals, risking betrayal for the chance of understanding. In such travel lies the essence of peacemaking: not waiting for others to come to you, but going to them, carrying both questions and an open heart.

The gathering of submissions from the general public is itself a sacred act. It is to say to the people: your voices matter, your stories will not be ignored. Too often, decisions of war and peace are made by the powerful while the cries of the ordinary are lost in the wind. By opening the gates of dialogue to farmers, teachers, mothers, and workers, the commission acknowledged that true peace must rest upon the will of the many, not just the designs of the few.

And most striking of all is the willingness to listen to opponents. For here lies the deepest challenge: to hear the words of those who wounded you, who stood against you, who denied your cause. The easy path is to shut them out; the noble path is to receive their voices and weave them into the tapestry of reconciliation. The ancients knew this truth: after the Peloponnesian War, Athens and Sparta, bitter foes, sat together to forge fragile truces, for they understood that no war could last forever. Peace comes only when enemies learn to speak as human beings once more.

History itself bears testimony. Consider the work of Nelson Mandela and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa. It did not erase the horrors of apartheid, but it gave victims and perpetrators alike a voice, creating a foundation for a new nation. McGuinness’s peace commission echoes this principle: by listening, by acknowledging both friend and foe, the ground for lasting peace is prepared.

The lesson is clear: peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of dialogue. To build it, we must be willing to travel beyond our own boundaries, to hear the cries of the people, and even to open our hearts to the voices of those who once opposed us. Silence breeds suspicion, but listening breeds trust.

So I say to you: if you would be builders of peace in your own time, do not fear the voices of your opponents. Travel to them, listen to them, and allow the common ground of humanity to be revealed. For only then will the walls of division fall, and only then will the fragile seed of reconciliation grow into the strong tree of peace.