This is my truth, tell me yours.

Hear, O children of discourse and seekers of wisdom, the words of Aneurin Bevan, the fiery Welsh orator and founder of Britain’s National Health Service: “This is my truth, tell me yours.” With these words he declared that truth is not the possession of one man alone, nor the inheritance of a single voice. Truth is a dialogue, a communion of minds, a meeting of hearts. One man may speak his truth, yet he must humble himself to hear the truth of another, for only in such exchange can understanding be born.

The origin of these words lies in Bevan’s life as a son of coal miners, raised in the valleys where hardship was carved into the faces of men. He knew the bitterness of poverty and the strength of solidarity. When he entered the realm of politics, he carried with him the voice of the working people, and his truth was rooted in their struggle for dignity. Yet he was also a debater, a man who relished the clash of ideas. By saying “tell me yours,” he extended a challenge and an invitation: let us not shout in isolation, but listen and contend, so that from many truths we may find a brighter flame.

This spirit is echoed throughout history. Recall Socrates in the marketplaces of Athens, who did not proclaim himself the possessor of all truth, but questioned, provoked, and listened, drawing out the truths hidden within others. His wisdom lay not in declaring “this is the truth,” but in saying, “let us search together.” In this way, he and his students discovered deeper understanding. So too did Bevan, though his stage was not philosophy but the fierce battleground of politics, where ideas clashed like swords, and truth was sought in the crucible of debate.

Yet, my children, there is danger when one man declares his truth as the only truth. Wars have been fought, and nations torn apart, by the pride of those who refused to hear the voices of others. The tyrant says, “My truth is the only truth.” But the wise man says, “This is my truth—tell me yours.” For wisdom is not found in the monologue of power, but in the dialogue of humanity. Only when truth meets truth, only when voices rise and listen in equal measure, can justice and understanding be born.

Consider the great struggle for civil rights in America. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke the truth of his people’s suffering, yet he also listened to the fears and doubts of those around him. Through dialogue, through the meeting of truths, he revealed a path where justice could march forward without hatred. His truth, when joined with the truths of others, became a river mighty enough to change a nation. Here again we see Bevan’s wisdom lived out: truth must be spoken, but it must also be heard.

The lesson, then, is this: do not fear to speak your truth, but do not fall into the arrogance of believing it is whole. Share it boldly, but also open your ears to the truths of others. In this way, truth becomes not a wall that divides, but a bridge that unites. Each man’s truth is like a fragment of a great mosaic; only together do they form the picture of reality.

And so, in your daily life, practice this ancient art. Speak honestly of your convictions, but listen deeply to the convictions of others. In your home, in your work, in your dealings with friends and strangers, do not seek to silence but to understand. Say with courage: “This is my truth, tell me yours.” For in the meeting of truths, we find wisdom. In the weaving of many voices, we find justice. And in the humility to share and to listen, we find the heart of peace.

Let these words be both shield and compass for you: your truth is yours to bear, but the truth of another is a gift. Accept it, weigh it, and let it sharpen your own. Thus shall you walk not as one blinded by certainty, but as one guided by dialogue, ever seeking the greater light that rises when many truths converge.