These people are very unskilled in arms... with 50 men they could

Hear, O children of memory, the words of Christopher Columbus, who upon beholding the New World declared: “These people are very unskilled in arms… with fifty men they could all be subjected and made to do all that one wished.” In these words lies both revelation and warning: a glimpse into the mind of conquest, and a lesson in how power, untempered by virtue, turns quickly to domination. For this was not the voice of curiosity alone, but the voice of ambition, weighing the innocence of others against the strength of steel.

The meaning is bitter yet clear. Columbus, who crossed the ocean in search of new lands, saw not merely the beauty of the peoples he encountered, but their vulnerability. They were untrained in the arts of war, strangers to the weapons of Europe. To his eyes, this weakness invited mastery, and thus he proclaimed that a handful of men could bring them into submission. Such is the spirit of conquest: it sees the unarmed not as brothers, but as prey; not as equals, but as resources for ambition.

Yet let us not think this spirit was unique to him. Throughout the ages, empires have risen by making such calculations. The legions of Rome subdued nations weaker in arms; the Mongols swept across Asia with unmatched horsemanship, binding countless peoples beneath their rule. But the story of conquest is always the same: the conqueror proclaims superiority, the conquered are reduced, and the voice of domination speaks louder than the voice of compassion. Columbus’s words are but one thread in this ancient tapestry of power and submission.

And yet, history also teaches that such domination is never eternal. The peoples Columbus judged as weak endured centuries of oppression, but their spirit was not extinguished. From Haiti’s revolution, where enslaved men and women rose against their masters, to the enduring survival of indigenous traditions across the Americas, we see that the human spirit cannot be permanently chained. The conqueror’s strength in arms often breeds resistance, and the arrogance of the powerful is undone by the endurance of the humble.

The warning for us, O listener, is this: do not mistake gentleness for weakness, nor peace for incapacity. To prey upon the unarmed is not courage but cowardice, and to dominate the defenseless is not victory but shame. Columbus’s words remind us of the danger of viewing others only through the lens of utility, of imagining that power grants the right to control. For such thinking has filled the earth with suffering, and it is a lesson carved into the bones of history.

Therefore, let your life follow a different path. When you meet those who seem unskilled or vulnerable, do not ask how they may be subjected, but how they may be honored. When you encounter those who lack the weapons you possess—whether of wealth, education, or influence—do not exploit their condition, but lend them your strength. For true greatness is not the ability to dominate the weak, but the will to protect them.

The lesson is eternal: power reveals the soul of its bearer. Columbus looked upon the innocent and saw only submission. You, O listener, must look upon the innocent and see brothers, sisters, and fellow travelers in the great journey of life. Reject the temptation to rule by force; embrace instead the calling to rule by justice and compassion. In this way, you will rise above the errors of conquest and walk as one who builds, not destroys—one who leaves behind not chains, but legacies of peace.