This war differs from other wars, in this particular. We are not

O children of the future, gather and listen well to the words of William Tecumseh Sherman, a general whose heart was as fierce as the fires of war he commanded. He said, "This war differs from other wars, in this particular. We are not fighting armies but a hostile people, and must make old and young, rich and poor, feel the hard hand of war." These words, though spoken in the heat of battle, carry a profound and sobering truth about the nature of war—a truth that transcends time and speaks to the very heart of conflict itself.

What Sherman is saying, O children, is that in certain wars, the enemy is not a nation’s military alone, but the people themselves—the very soul of the nation. In the case of the American Civil War, the conflict was not simply between two armies but between two halves of a people, divided by ideology and purpose. When one side declares that its existence is a threat to the other, the war becomes something deeper, something far more personal. It is not just the soldiers who fight, but the citizens, the families, the homes, and the lives of all who stand on either side. It is the people who are the true battleground, and in this sense, war cannot be waged with the same rules as other conflicts. The very fabric of society becomes the target.

Consider the story of Rome during its wars against the Carthaginians, especially during the Second Punic War. Hannibal, the great Carthaginian general, invaded Italy, and though he faced a much larger army, his strategy was not only to defeat the Roman legions but to break the will of the Roman people. The Romans, in response, felt the weight of the war not just in the battles, but in every aspect of their lives. Their lands were ravaged, their families torn apart. This was not merely a war against an army; it was a war against their existence, their way of life. The Romans knew that their survival was at stake, and thus, the war became a fight for their very identity. Even in times of peace, the memory of such destruction lingered, shaping Roman history for generations to come.

Sherman’s statement highlights the cruel truth of such wars: when you are not fighting armies but an entire people, no one is left untouched. The innocent, the young, the elderly, and the wealthy—no one is spared the consequences of such conflict. The hard hand of war does not strike only the soldier on the battlefield, but the very land upon which the war is fought. Sherman’s march through the Southern United States was not just a campaign against military targets; it was a direct assault on the heart of the Confederacy itself—its economy, its culture, its homes. In this way, Sherman’s war was not just a war of armies; it was a war of people, and he knew that the people, in their suffering, would come to understand the cost of their actions.

In more modern times, think of the wars that have ravaged Syria and Iraq, where the fighting has not only been between armed forces but between peoples, cultures, and faiths. The civilians, those who never took up arms, have borne the brunt of the conflict—caught in the crossfire, driven from their homes, and torn apart by the forces of war. The displacement of entire populations, the destruction of cities, and the suffering of the innocent are all direct results of wars where the very fabric of society is the target. When war becomes a fight not just for land, but for the very soul of a people, it leaves no one untouched, and its scars are carried for generations.

What, then, O children, is the lesson we must take from Sherman’s words? It is this: war, when fought against a people rather than just an army, brings suffering not only to the soldiers but to all who are caught in its path. The innocent are not spared; they, too, feel the weight of war’s hand. It is a reminder that war must never be undertaken lightly, for it touches the lives of those who have no part in the fighting, and its consequences ripple far beyond the battlefield. In our pursuit of peace, we must remember that war is not simply a matter of military strategy but a matter of the lives of those who are caught in the storm.

So, children, as you grow and learn, remember this: peace is the true path of wisdom, and war—when it must come—should be the very last resort, for it is the people who suffer most. The lesson of Sherman is not one of glory or conquest, but of the terrible cost of war when it strikes at the heart of a nation. May you always strive to build a world where the hand of war is never needed, and the voices of peace and reason guide the actions of men. Let the memory of those who have suffered remind you that the true cost of war is not in the number of battles won, but in the lives destroyed.