By Habeeb Olokooba
Amid the festive season, Jerusalem faces a grim reality as fear permeates Palestinian homes. The joy once brought by Santa is replaced by suspicion of potential danger. War brings only survival, devoid of dreams for progress.
As my late father wisely said, “In the eruption of war, not all will live to tell the tale.” When the going gets tough, they say, only the sturdy get going. Well, I can’t agree less with Dad, eye witnesses of the Nigerian civil war can testify. Armed conflicts leave no room for progress; instead, there is an unsettling truth “Ara òro okùn, ara òro adìe” — both winners and losers mourn.
Not just the able-bodied are dying daily in Palestine, I’ve seen the old mobbed, kids ebulliently languishing on their deathbeds. Millions are displaced, turning any available space into a temporary home.
When they talk about war, what crosses your mind? War entails nothing but separation, displacement, graveyards, and everlasting sadness. There are no true winners, only sides with varying degrees of shattered hearts.
Witnessing a child’s final words, “I will tell God everything,” or hearing another saying, “ We don’t live long in Palestine,” leaves a haunting impact. War becomes a harsh reality, eclipsing the once-celebrated annual festivals.
Reflecting on the people of Ukraine, the displaced Palestinians, and all victims of armed conflicts, the collective desire is to return to the time of peace.
Tranquility is liked, humanity over cruelty, equilibrium over class prejudices, compassion over enormity. Peace equates to love, and chaos is hate. In our compromised world, fostering tolerance is crucial. In the end, wailing ends every war.