By Diotima.
Part Two
In the first part, we saw that no war begins with a bullet. It begins much earlier, when the idea takes root in the mind that there is an “other” who is worth less than we are.
But how does this happen?
How can an otherwise ordinary person come to accept, justify, or even participate in violence?
The answer lies not only in politics. It lies deep within human psychology.
Human beings possess a profound need to belong. To a family, a community, a nation, a religion, or an ideology. This need is natural and necessary. It is through it that societies and civilizations are formed.
Yet the same need can become dangerous when identity is transformed into absolute truth.
That is when “us” emerges in opposition to “them.”
And from the moment a person identifies completely with a group, they often cease to see the other as a fellow human being. Instead, they see an opponent, a threat, or an enemy.
Erich Fromm devoted a significant part of his work to this dimension of human nature. He argued that destructiveness is not an inevitable biological instinct. Rather, it arises when people live in fear, alienation, insecurity, and the feeling that they have no genuine control over their own lives.
The more powerless a person feels, the more likely they are to seek refuge in a powerful collective identity that promises security.
And at that point, they become vulnerable to manipulation.
Those who have sought power throughout history have always understood this.
That is why language may be the most powerful weapon long before the weapons of war appear.
George Orwell described this with remarkable clarity. When you change words, you change the way people think. When war is presented as peace, when censorship is called protection, and when an opponent ceases to be a human being and becomes a “parasite,” an “invader,” or a “threat,” conscience begins to grow numb.
Words precede actions.
No genocide in history has begun without a long period of linguistic preparation.
First, human dignity is stripped away.
Then rights are removed.
And finally, life itself is taken.
Yet history is not only the story of governments, generals, and empires.
Howard Zinn reminded us that there is another history as well.
The history of those who did not wish to fight.
Of mothers who lost their children.
Of soldiers who returned wounded in body and spirit.
Of ordinary people caught in the consequences of decisions made by powerful leaders without ever being asked for their consent.
When we read history only through victories and defeats, we forget that behind every number there is a face.
Every statistic is a family.
Every “collateral loss” is a human life.
It is here that we also encounter Leo Tolstoy.
Tolstoy believed that true strength does not lie in the ability to kill, but in the ability to refuse violence even when it is presented as a moral duty.
He wrote that humanity’s greatest delusion is the belief that killing can become just if it serves a higher purpose.
History, however, shows that almost every war has been presented as necessary.
Almost every side has believed it was serving the good.
And this may be the most troubling realization of all.
Most people do not commit evil because they believe they are doing evil.
They do so because they have been convinced that they are serving what is right.
Here lies perhaps the deepest contribution of Jiddu Krishnamurti.
He did not view peace as a political agreement.
He regarded it as an inner state of consciousness.
He argued that as long as a person identifies absolutely with an ideology, a nation, a religion, or even with their own beliefs, they remain imprisoned within conflict.
True freedom begins when we are able to observe our own thoughts without becoming their slaves.
It is not easy.
It requires courage.
For it means that one must be willing to question even one’s deepest certainties.
Perhaps this is the greatest lesson history leaves us.
The greatest danger is not merely the person holding the weapon.
It is the idea that persuades a person that they have a moral right to use it against someone else.
And the strongest defense against such an idea is not hatred toward the adversary.
It is the cultivation of critical thinking, empathy, and the awareness that behind every flag, every border, and every ideology, there is always a human being.
Perhaps peace never truly begins in negotiation halls.
Perhaps it begins within the consciousness of the one who refuses to stop seeing the other as human.
(To be continued in Part III)