If people long to create a better world, then we must use our

“If people long to create a better world, then we must use our platform to nurture imagination — hopeful ideas, fresh alternatives, belief that the way things are isn’t the way things need to be.” Thus spoke Katharine Viner, a voice calling out to those who dream of renewal amid the weariness of the age. Her words are not a command of power, but a summons of spirit — a reminder that change does not begin in the halls of authority, but in the gardens of imagination. For every world that ever was began first as a thought, a vision, a spark unseen by others. If we would shape tomorrow, we must first dare to dream beyond today.

In the beginning of every great turning of history, there were those who saw beyond the visible — seers, poets, reformers, prophets. They spoke not only of what is, but of what might be. When the chains of slavery darkened the world, it was imagination that first glimpsed freedom — not yet real, yet already alive in hearts that refused despair. When women’s voices were silenced, it was imagination that whispered: We, too, are part of the song. Every revolution of conscience began as an act of hopeful imagination. Viner’s call, then, is ancient: she bids us to remember that the mind’s light is the first dawn of a better world.

But she also warns us: imagination cannot live in exile. In an age of cynicism, where voices are raised only to mock or divide, the platform — our stage, our influence, our speech — must not be squandered on despair. Each word we share, each idea we send into the world, can be a seed or a stone. If we choose only to reflect the world’s darkness, we help it grow. But if we choose to nurture imagination, to speak of what could yet be healed, then we become gardeners of the future. The platform is not a throne; it is a lamp in the gathering dusk.

Think of Nelson Mandela, imprisoned for twenty-seven years, yet never surrendering his belief that “the way things are isn’t the way things need to be.” Behind bars, he imagined not vengeance, but reconciliation; not division, but unity. And when freedom came, his vision — born in chains — remade a nation. This is the power of imagination used with purpose, the strength of one soul who dared to see another path when all others saw walls. Mandela’s dream was his platform, and it became the foundation of a new world.

The ancients, too, knew this truth. In the mythic fires of old, Prometheus stole light from the gods to give to humankind — not merely flame, but the fire of imagination, the power to create, to question, to change. For this, he was punished; yet his gift endured. It burns still in every artist, thinker, and dreamer who refuses to accept the world as it is handed to them. To nurture imagination is to guard that sacred flame — to keep it alive when cold winds of fear and conformity blow.

And so, the words of Viner are not just for the writer or the speaker, but for every soul who holds influence, however small. Each of us carries a platform — a voice, a space, a circle of hearts that listen. Whether it is a classroom, a family, a workplace, or a community, each is a field waiting to be sown with hopeful ideas. Speak not only of what is broken, but of how it might be rebuilt. When others fall into despair, be the one who imagines a door where there is only a wall.

Let this be your lesson: To build a better world, first build a better vision within. Nourish your mind with beauty, your heart with courage, and your words with purpose. Seek out stories of renewal, acts of kindness, sparks of invention — and share them, for hope multiplies when spoken aloud. When you use your voice to lift the imagination of others, you become a builder of unseen bridges — the kind that lead humanity from what is to what can be.

Thus remember: the world is shaped not by those who accept it, but by those who imagine it anew. Guard your imagination. Feed it with truth, water it with wonder, and let it grow wild. For in every age, the fate of the world depends upon those who believe — fiercely and tenderly — that the way things are is never the end of the story.