By Dr. Theogene Rudasingwa
Photos: YouTube Screenshots\Wikimedia Commons
Standing on the heights of history, we must confront a troubling truth: wars do not arise from spontaneous chaos or divine will, but from a long process fueled by fear, pride, and societal forgetfulness. Tolstoy, in War and Peace, demonstrated that single individuals did not cause the major tragedies of his time, no matter how powerful, but by the combination of many personal choices, prejudices, and ignored warnings. The Napoleonic Wars, like those troubling today’s world, were shaped as much by the vanity of emperors as by the silence of citizens, the inertia of institutions, and the myths that entire societies told themselves about glory, security, and destiny.
Yet here lies the persistent paradox of our species. In just two centuries, we have mapped the human genome, walked on the Moon, harnessed nuclear power, explored the frontiers of artificial intelligence, doubled life expectancy, and unlocked unprecedented levels of knowledge, connectivity, and wealth. We can transplant organs, edit DNA, and photograph galaxies billions of light-years away—yet we have not mastered the simpler art of living together peacefully without slaughter. The same ingenuity that enables us to explore the cosmos still fails to prevent us from killing our neighbors on this fragile blue planet we all share.
Today, the conditions that lead to war are alarmingly widespread. The hope for a peaceful international order after the Cold War has shifted into an era marked by great-power competition, internal divisions, and global disillusionment. Conflicts erupt or simmer in Ukraine, Gaza, Sudan, the Sahel, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Iran, Yemen, Lebanon, and elsewhere. At the same time, non-military conflicts—such as cyberattacks, economic pressures, and disinformation—have also grown. Trust in multilateralism has declined. The language of peace, once optimistic and binding, is now often used for narrow gains. Meanwhile, tens of millions of refugees and immigrants, displaced by conflicts they never chose, wander the world with no place to call home.
The causes of war are many, but they are not mysterious. They primarily stem from the failure to remember—remember the pain of past wars, the vulnerability of human life, and the moral limits of power.
When societies hide their historical traumas instead of confronting them, new grievances grow. When leaders promote ethnic, religious, or national superiority, others are dehumanized and discarded. When global institutions fail to deliver justice, the temptation to settle conflicts by force becomes accepted. If war occurs, peace must also be established. But peace isn’t just the absence of conflict; it includes justice, remembrance, inclusion, and trust. Tolstoy’s brilliance was in showing that beneath the battlefields and royal courts, the real forces of history move within the people—through their beliefs, fears, relationships, and their capacity for empathy or hatred.
One root of today’s problems is both cultural, social, and political. For most of recorded history, wars have been planned, declared, and fought mainly by men of power and influence. The alpha-male model continues to influence leadership in business, politics, and the military.
Power often goes to those quickest to show confidence, aggression, and control—traits valued in patriarchal societies, even when they threaten the common good. Could a different distribution of voice and authority alter the way violence is perceived? Evidence from local peace efforts, community financing, and post-conflict governance shows that when women are actively involved in negotiations, agreements tend to last longer; when youth are engaged, extremist recruitment decreases; when decision-making includes diverse voices, societies tend to innovate more and polarize less. Promoting women’s leadership and youth involvement is not just about moral good—it’s a strategic move to create lasting peace.
Today, the prospects for peace depend less on summits and ceasefires than on whether we are willing to challenge the deeper currents that feed war. The first of these is the myth of heroic control. Just as Tolstoy exposed the illusion that generals like Napoleon controlled the outcomes of war, we must abandon the belief that peace can be achieved solely through elite negotiations. Peace must be democratized. It must come from below, from the civic spaces, schools, faith communities, and families where ordinary people learn to either fear or embrace the “other.”
Another condition for peace is the preservation and sharing of historical truth. Societies that hide their past atrocities behind official narratives of righteousness are doomed to repeat them. Historical amnesia isn’t a passive forgetfulness; it’s an active erasure that sets the stage for future violence. Memory must be institutionalized—not as a tool for political gain but as a basis for mutual understanding. Nations must have the courage to teach their children about both their heroes and their crimes. Public monuments, school curriculums, truth commissions, and archives should serve the purpose of remembrance, not repression.
Justice, too, must evolve. Relying solely on retributive justice cannot mend the wounds of war. Peace depends on a restorative approach—that emphasizes the dignity of victims, the reintegration of perpetrators, and the healing of social bonds. International tribunals should be supported by investments in mental health, education, livelihoods, and reconciliation efforts. Sanctions need to target those enabling violence, not the innocent people caught in it. Foreign aid should focus on local peacebuilders rather than elites who exploit instability to strengthen their own power.
Finally, we need to learn how to slow down. Peace requires effort and patience. It does not align with election cycles, donor agendas, or media speeds. Tolstoy believed that the strongest warriors are time and patience. However, our world moves quickly—digitally sped up, geopolitically tense, ecologically fragile—leaving little space for thought or self-control. If peace is to have a real chance, we must value slowness, dialogue, and listening more. We need to create institutions that can endure current turbulence and leaders who act as stewards, not saviors.
Tolstoy offers us neither optimism nor despair, but moral clarity. He reminds us that history is not the exclusive domain of the powerful. Every person, every nation, every generation makes choices that ripple outward. If the twentieth century proved that humanity is capable of unfathomable destruction, it also showed that healing is possible—when we choose truth over silence, empathy over hatred, and humility over hubris.
The path forward requires a shift in both imagination and will. First, we need to invest in global peace education, ensuring that every child understands the value of coexistence and the costs of war. Second, we must reform international institutions—from the UN Security Council to regional organizations—so they better reflect the needs of the many rather than the privileges of a few, and ensure women and youth have seats once held only by alpha males. Third, we should support grassroots efforts that connect divides, not just in war zones but also in polarized societies everywhere. Fourth, we must address the underlying injustices—economic, racial, ecological—that threaten sustainable peace. And fifth, we need to foster the practice of remembrance: not to wallow in grief, but to prevent forgetting.
We also face the gravest warning: that a third world war, if it occurs, likely won’t be fought with only conventional weapons. The existence of thousands of nuclear warheads, most ready to launch instantly, means another global conflict could end not just civilizations but all life. There would be no winners, no peace to negotiate, and no cities left to rebuild. The next major war might be the final chapter of the human story. That alone should unite us, not out of fear, but in shared responsibility.
Peace is not an accident. It is a culture—a moral and political foundation that develops gradually, often requires repair, and must be defended constantly. In a world increasingly divided by conflict, dominance, and denial, it remains a conscious choice. A problematic, daily, vital choice.
We can continue along the road of war, trusting in our illusions and blind to the abyss. Or we can listen to the lessons of history and literature, of battlefields and graveyards, of survivors and wise people. We can choose, as the prophet Isaiah once imagined (2:4), to “beat our swords into ploughshares and our spears into pruning hooks,” so that “nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” But this is not prophecy fulfilled by a miracle—it is a task asked of each generation.
We can end war. We can create peace again. But only if we remember. Only if we act. Now. Together.
Dr. Theogene Rudasingwa
Former Ambassador of Rwanda to the United States
Washington DC
July 7, 2025
Contact: [email protected]
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