To achieve a lasting peace in the Middle East takes guts, not

Hear, O children of struggle and hope, the voice of Queen Rania of Jordan, who declared with clarity and courage: “To achieve a lasting peace in the Middle East takes guts, not guns.” These words are not lightly spoken, for they rise from a land where war has long scorched the soil, where generations have tasted both exile and bloodshed. They cut to the marrow of truth: that true peace cannot be carved by the sword, nor imposed by force, but requires courage of the heart—the courage to forgive, to dialogue, to compromise, and to dream of a future greater than vengeance.

The origin of this wisdom lies not only in the experience of Jordan, a nation caught between warring fires, but also in the history of the human race. For since time immemorial, kings and generals have believed that guns—or their ancient counterparts, swords, spears, and chariots—could secure dominion and stability. Yet history has shown again and again that violence sows only more violence, conquest breeds rebellion, and war, though it may silence foes for a time, cannot silence the human longing for dignity and justice. It takes guts, not brute power, to end cycles of hatred.

The ancients bore witness to this truth. Consider the tale of Ashoka, king of India. He conquered Kalinga in a war so brutal that the rivers ran red. Yet when he beheld the suffering he had caused, his heart turned. He declared that no more would his empire expand by the sword, but by dharma—righteousness, compassion, and law. Ashoka’s reign of peace endured far longer than his wars. In him we see Queen Rania’s words embodied: true courage lies not in killing enemies, but in disarming hatred.

History also offers the image of Anwar Sadat of Egypt, who, after leading armies in war against Israel, chose instead the harder path of dialogue. He traveled to Jerusalem, facing suspicion from his people and hostility from his enemies. Yet his daring opened the way to peace between two nations long at war. Sadat paid with his life, slain by those who could not understand, yet his legacy proved that guts, not guns, can change the fate of nations. His courage to stand against the tide of vengeance echoes still as a beacon in the Middle East.

Queen Rania’s words also remind us that guns are easy tools of power, but guts—courage, vision, and moral strength—are rare treasures. Any ruler can order armies to march; few can summon the bravery to forgive those who once raised arms against them. Any man can fire a weapon; few can face the wrath of their own people to extend a hand of peace. Guns destroy; guts build. And only what is built endures.

The lesson, O listener, is clear: if you would build lasting peace, in the Middle East or in your own home, do not reach first for weapons of force, but for weapons of courage. Speak truth even when it is costly. Forgive even when your wounds still ache. Listen even to those you distrust. These are the guts that create reconciliation, while guns only multiply enemies. Peace is not for the timid, nor for the faint-hearted; it is for the bold, the daring, the ones willing to risk scorn for the sake of harmony.

Practical wisdom flows from this. Leaders must have the courage to engage in dialogue when war seems easier. Communities must have the courage to confront prejudice and injustice within themselves. Individuals must have the courage to lay aside bitterness and choose reconciliation in their daily lives. Each act of courage, however small, adds to the great tapestry of peace. And though the path is long and the risks are great, it is the only path that leads to lasting security.

So remember the teaching of Queen Rania: lasting peace takes guts, not guns. The might of armies fades, but the courage of the peacemaker endures. Let us then walk not the path of fear and force, but the path of bravery and reconciliation. For in the end, it is not weapons that will heal the Middle East, nor any land, but the steadfast courage of those who choose peace when war seems easier.