The Cold War, Bosnia and Ukraine remind us that peace is fragile.

Hear the words of Gavin Esler, sober and weighty with the truth of history: “The Cold War, Bosnia and Ukraine remind us that peace is fragile. Iraq and Syria remind us that no society or culture is immune from conflict.” These words are not idle reflection but a solemn reminder carved from the suffering of nations. They declare that peace, though desired by all, is as delicate as glass—shining and precious, yet easily shattered when pride, hatred, or ambition strike against it.

The first half of the saying teaches us that peace is not an inheritance guaranteed, but a discipline, a vigilance, a fragile state always under threat. The Cold War, though it never became a direct clash between superpowers, hung like a sword over the earth, threatening fire and annihilation. One wrong move, one reckless act, and the world could have descended into ashes. So too, in Bosnia, neighbors who once shared streets and marketplaces were turned into enemies, their fragile bonds torn apart by the poison of nationalism. And in Ukraine, we see again that borders and lives can be upended in an instant, when power covets land more than it honors life. These histories cry aloud: never take peace for granted.

The second half of Esler’s words brings an even deeper truth: that no society and no culture is safe forever from conflict. Iraq, the land of ancient Mesopotamia, cradle of civilization, was torn by war and strife, proving that even the oldest and richest soils can run red with blood. Syria, where once poets, merchants, and scholars flourished, became the stage of horror and displacement. These lands remind us that heritage, wisdom, and tradition alone cannot shield a people when division, greed, and hatred are allowed to grow unchecked.

Consider also the fall of Rome, mighty empire of the West. For centuries it ruled with armies, laws, and culture, believing itself eternal. Yet it crumbled, not only from invaders, but from decay within—corruption, division, arrogance. If even Rome could fall, then what society can boast that it is beyond the reach of conflict? Esler’s words echo this ancient truth: the seeds of ruin lie hidden in every people, and only vigilance and humility can keep them from taking root.

The wisdom here is twofold: first, that peace is fragile and must be nurtured like a tender flame; second, that every society must guard itself from the illusion of immunity. When nations grow arrogant, believing that conflict belongs only to others, they walk blind toward their own downfall. True strength is not in boasting of greatness, but in recognizing fragility and working tirelessly to preserve harmony.

The lesson for us, then, is clear: cherish peace wherever you find it. Do not dismiss it as weakness, nor neglect it as commonplace. Understand that it requires care, dialogue, forgiveness, and the courage to restrain vengeance. And remember that no matter where you dwell—whether in lands of ancient splendor or modern power—you are never beyond the reach of conflict. Thus, be humble, be vigilant, and sow seeds of reconciliation while the soil of society is still fertile.

Therefore, O listener, let your actions be these: when divisions arise, do not fan the flames, but seek to calm them. When voices cry for vengeance, remind them of the fragility of peace. When your leaders boast of strength, ask them if they are also guarding harmony. And above all, in your own heart, resist the illusion that conflict belongs only to distant lands. For the fate of every nation, every culture, every society depends on men and women who know this truth: peace is fragile, and it lives only when we choose, each day, to protect it.