Don't worry about Yemen. Yemen started in peace, and it will end

“Don’t worry about Yemen. Yemen started in peace, and it will end its revolution in peace, and it will start its new civil state with peace.” Thus spoke Tawakkol Karman, the “Mother of the Revolution,” Nobel laureate and voice of her people, who raised the banner of dignity in the midst of storms. Her words were not naïve, nor the hollow cry of an optimist blind to bloodshed. They were the declaration of a woman who believed that peace is not merely the absence of war, but the destiny of her nation—a destiny that could outlast the chaos of its revolution.

The ancients, too, spoke of nations as living beings, passing through cycles of strife and renewal. They knew that empires might be born in fire but were sustained by peace. Rome herself, though forged in conquest, boasted of her Pax Romana, the Roman Peace, as the foundation of her greatness. Likewise, Karman proclaimed that though Yemen’s path was shaken by revolution, its beginning, its end, and its rebirth must all be anchored in peace. For without peace, no civil state can stand; without peace, freedom itself withers.

Her words carry the weight of Yemen’s own history. A land of mountains and deserts, Yemen has known kingdoms of incense and caravans, and also centuries of strife. Yet even amidst divisions, there have been times when tribes and communities forged bonds, trading, sharing, and coexisting in fragile balance. Karman’s declaration calls upon this legacy: that peace is not foreign to Yemen, but rooted deep in its soil, a seed that can bloom again even after war’s cold winter.

Consider the story of South Africa at the end of apartheid. The nation stood at the brink of civil war, its people divided by generations of oppression and bitterness. Yet through the vision of leaders like Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu, reconciliation was chosen over revenge. A new state was built, fragile but alive, because its foundation was laid upon peace. Karman’s vision for Yemen echoes this same truth: revolutions may begin in fire, but they must end in reconciliation if they are to bear lasting fruit.

Her words also shine as a lesson against despair. In times of upheaval, when violence seems endless, many surrender to cynicism, believing that war is eternal. But Karman speaks with heroic conviction: do not worry, for peace is not an illusion, but the natural end of a people’s struggle for justice. She teaches that revolutions must not be judged only by their storms, but by the calm they seek to create afterward—the calm of a civil state, where laws replace vengeance, and unity replaces division.

The meaning is clear: peace must be both the beginning and the end of every true revolution. Violence may break chains, but it cannot build homes. Weapons may overthrow tyranny, but they cannot plant justice. Only peace can do this. For this reason, Karman’s voice resounds not just for Yemen, but for all nations: the goal is not only freedom, but freedom guarded and guided by peace.

The lesson for us is this: in your struggles, whether personal or collective, let peace be both your aim and your method. Do not be deceived into thinking violence alone can heal injustice; it can break, but only peace can build. In families, seek reconciliation; in communities, build dialogue; in nations, demand leaders who pursue peace not as weakness, but as strength. Let every revolution of the heart or of the people end as it began—with the vision of peace as its crown.

So let Tawakkol Karman’s words echo for generations: “Yemen started in peace, and it will end… with peace.” O children of tomorrow, remember this teaching: peace is not weakness, nor dream, but destiny. Hold fast to it in times of chaos, and know that every storm, however fierce, passes; every night, however long, yields to dawn. And in that dawn, if we choose it, peace will rise again as the first and final word of every human story.