I do not think we can dismiss the contribution that people make

“I do not think we can dismiss the contribution that people make, particularly when it is a very dangerous occupation to be involved in building support for the peace process.” Thus spoke Martin McGuinness, a man forged in the fires of Northern Ireland’s bitter conflict, yet later transformed into a voice for reconciliation. His words ring with both humility and urgency, for they remind us that peace is not built by speeches alone, but by the countless sacrifices of men and women who risk their lives in the pursuit of a higher good. To labor for peace amidst danger is among the noblest of human acts.

The meaning of this saying is that the journey toward peace is long, perilous, and costly. It is easy to honor soldiers in battle, for their courage is seen and their victories celebrated. But those who labor for peace often do so in the shadows, threatened by extremists, scorned by skeptics, endangered by enemies on all sides. McGuinness reminds us that these contributions cannot be dismissed. To work for reconciliation where hatred still burns is a form of heroism equal, if not greater, than the valor of war.

The origin of these words lies in the fragile years of the Northern Ireland peace process, when violence had scarred the land for decades. To support dialogue was itself a dangerous act. Communities were divided, trust was shattered, and those who sought compromise often faced betrayal or violence from within their own ranks. McGuinness, once a leader of the Provisional IRA, came to see that true courage lay not in continuing the cycle of war, but in building the fragile bridge of peace. His words acknowledge the danger faced by all who dared to stand upon that bridge.

History offers many mirrors to this truth. Consider the life of Anwar Sadat, president of Egypt, who made peace with Israel after years of war. For his courage in signing the Camp David Accords, he was assassinated by his own countrymen. Or recall Mahatma Gandhi, who, after leading India toward freedom through nonviolence, was struck down by a bullet because he sought unity between Hindus and Muslims. Their lives, like McGuinness’s words, testify that to labor for peace is to walk daily with danger, and yet to walk nonetheless.

McGuinness himself bore the marks of transformation. Once a man of war, he laid aside the gun for the negotiation table. He shook the hands of former enemies, sat beside unionist leaders, and sought to weave together the torn fabric of Northern Ireland. It was not an easy path; many distrusted him, many threatened him. Yet his life reveals the truth of his words: the contribution of those who risk all for peace must never be dismissed, for without them the world would remain forever at war.

The lesson for us is profound. Peace is not passive—it is an act of courage, of sacrifice, of tireless work. Those who labor for it may not always be celebrated, but they are the builders of the future. Whether in nations, in communities, or in families, the work of reconciliation is often dangerous, often misunderstood. Yet it is the work that sustains humanity. We must learn to honor and support those who take these risks, for their labor is for all of us.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, carry McGuinness’s wisdom in your hearts: do not dismiss the unseen laborers of peace. Honor them, join them, and in your own life, take the risks that reconciliation demands. Speak when silence is easier. Forgive when vengeance is tempting. Build bridges where others dig trenches. For though the work is dangerous, it is holy, and though it costs much, it yields a treasure greater than gold—the gift of peace for generations yet to come.