I am against all war.

Hear, O children, the words of Sophia Loren, whose voice carries with it not just the weight of a woman’s wisdom, but the echoes of centuries of suffering, loss, and resilience: "I am against all war." These words, simple yet profound, cut through the noise of a world that often glorifies battle, conquest, and victory. Loren, who witnessed the horrors of World War II in her youth, understood the deep cost of war—not in the terms of victories or defeats, but in the human suffering it leaves in its wake. Her words speak not just to one conflict, but to the eternal truth that war, in all its forms, is a force of destruction, one that rends the very fabric of human existence, leaving pain and emptiness where once there was life and hope.

The history of war, O children, is one written in the blood of countless soldiers and civilians, a tale of empires rising and falling, of nations clashing in the name of power, honor, or revenge. But if we look closely, we see that war is not simply a conflict between armies, but a tragedy of humanity itself. In ancient times, the great warriors of Greece, Rome, and Persia fought in the name of glory and conquest. Yet even they, in their moments of reflection, understood that the true cost of war was the destruction of life. The great Alexander the Great, for all his military genius, could not escape the knowledge that the wars he waged brought death and misery to countless innocents. The victory was hollow, the glory fleeting, and the human toll immense. And so it is with all wars—wars that promise great honor but deliver only grief and loss.

In more recent history, O children, we see the same cycle of destruction repeating. Consider the great conflict of World War I, a war that was fought in the name of national pride and territorial expansion, yet resulted in the loss of millions of lives. The trench warfare of the Western Front was a scene of unimaginable horror, where soldiers were reduced to mere pawns, their lives sacrificed in the name of imperial ambitions. The battlefields were littered not with glory, but with the blood of the innocent—young men who had been promised honor, but who were instead consumed by the horror of war. And when the war ended, the peace that followed was no true peace. The Treaty of Versailles sought to end the war, but it sowed the seeds of future conflict, leading to the rise of fascism and the eventual outbreak of World War II. Loren’s words, then, remind us that war is a cycle that feeds on itself, a destructive force that promises an end, but only brings new suffering.

The horrors of World War II are perhaps the clearest example of why Loren’s words ring so true. As a child, Loren lived through the brutal years of war in Italy, experiencing firsthand the destruction of her homeland. The cities were bombed, families were torn apart, and the future of Europe hung in the balance. The war was fought between the Axis and the Allied powers, each claiming their actions were justified. Yet, for the people caught in the middle, there was no glory, no honor—only the unimaginable loss of loved ones, homes, and dreams. The Holocaust—the systematic genocide of six million Jews, along with millions of others—served as a horrific reminder that the true cost of war is the dehumanization of those caught in its wake. The ultimate question, O children, is this: for what was all this death and suffering? What, in the end, was truly gained? Loren’s voice speaks to this question, urging us to understand that war, in all its forms, is ultimately unjustifiable.

Let us now, O children, understand the lesson that Loren imparts. The desire for peace is not a soft or passive longing. It is a powerful call to protect life, to shield the innocent from the ravages of conflict. Loren’s stand against war is not one of naïve idealism, but of deep wisdom gained from the suffering of the past. To oppose war is to stand for humanity, for the preservation of all that is good and pure in the world. It is to say that no cause, no political ambition, no desire for power, should ever outweigh the sacredness of human life. And it is to challenge us, each one of us, to find ways of resolving our differences without turning to violence, to seek dialogue and understanding instead of destruction.

In your own lives, children, you will face moments of conflict, whether with friends, family, or the broader world. You will feel the urge to argue, to fight, to protect what you believe is yours. But remember Loren’s wisdom: there is no true victory in conflict. The only victory is in finding the peace that allows all to live freely, to grow, and to flourish. In your personal struggles, seek reconciliation, not revenge; seek understanding, not division. In the broader world, let your actions be guided by the same principle: that war is not a solution, but a failure. Stand firm in your belief that dialogue is the key, and that the true strength of a nation, or a people, is not measured by their ability to fight, but by their ability to love, to forgive, and to create a world where peace reigns.

Therefore, children, let these words guide you: "I am against all war." In the struggle for peace, in the pursuit of justice, remember that the greatest battle is the one we fight within ourselves. It is the battle to choose love over hate, dialogue over violence, and understanding over destruction. As you grow, let your actions and words be a testament to the truth that war is never the answer—it is the problem. May you carry the banner of peace, and may it be a light that guides you through the darkest of times. For in the end, the only true victory is the one won without war, through the strength of the human spirit and the power of compassion.