There are moments in the life of a country when fear becomes louder than compassion, and tension begins to shape how people see one another. These moments rarely arrive suddenly. They often grow through heated public debate, damaging narratives, social anxiety, and the repeated suggestion that some people belong less fully than others.
For many people, this may sound like politics. For others, it is felt very personally. It can affect whether someone feels safe walking to the shop, taking their children to school, attending a place of worship, travelling on public transport, going to work, or simply being visible in their own community.
This is why staying steady matters.
Staying steady does not mean ignoring harm. It does not mean pretending that racism, hostility, misinformation or fear are not real. It means responding to difficult moments with dignity, wisdom and care. It means refusing to allow fear to decide how we treat one another. It means holding on to our values when the atmosphere around us becomes tense.
Recently, during a work meeting, we had a check-in question. Usually, these questions are simple: how are you feeling today, how has your week been, or what are you bringing into the meeting? But this time, the question was about challenges.
Many colleagues spoke about the current climate, the spread of hatred, and the worry about how communities can keep themselves safe. Their concerns were real and understandable.
When it was my turn, I found myself speaking from a different place. I said that I did not experience the question in quite the same way, not because I do not recognise what is happening, and not because I take people’s fears lightly. I said it because I come from a region where people have lived through ongoing wars, political unrest, ethnic divisions, authoritarian regimes, centralised power, violence against journalists, violence against women, children and older people, drought, and lack of clean water.
These are the kinds of challenges that change the meaning of daily life. They make people afraid not only for today, but for whether tomorrow will exist in any recognisable form.
When you have seen societies affected by war, repression, hunger, forced displacement and the collapse of trust, you begin to look at peace differently. You begin to see that peace is not guaranteed. It is precious. You begin to understand that health, education, rain, green spaces, safety, clean water, freedom of speech and the ability to live without constant fear are not small things. They are foundations of human dignity.
Sometimes I feel that people do not fully value what they have until they lose it.
This does not mean that the challenges here are not real. They are real. Fear is real. Racism is real. Hostility is real. The emotional impact on refugees, people seeking asylum, migrants, Muslim communities, Black and brown communities, and others is real. But when I look at the wider world, I also see how quickly a society can move from disagreement into division, and from division into harm.
That is why I believe we must be careful.
We should not create new wounds when humanity is already carrying so many. We should not turn our pain, uncertainty or frustration against our neighbours. We should not allow public anger to make us forget the value of peace.
A healthy society does not ask people to earn their humanity. It recognises that dignity belongs to everyone.
At difficult times, unity is not just a positive word. It is a public responsibility. Unity does not mean that we all agree on everything. It means that we refuse to dehumanise one another. It means protecting the basic safety and dignity of every person, even when public conversations are difficult. It means not allowing anger, uncertainty or political frustration to be redirected towards communities who are already carrying pain, displacement or exclusion.
We also need to be honest about the role of language. Words can calm, but they can also inflame. Public language that turns people into threats, burdens or outsiders does not stay on paper or screens. It enters streets, workplaces, schools, neighbourhoods and relationships. It shapes how people are treated. It can make cruelty feel acceptable and make silence feel safer than solidarity.
This is why careful leadership matters. Community leaders, campaigners, organisations, public figures and neighbours all have a role to play. In moments of tension, people look for signals. They notice whether we speak with care or contempt. They notice whether we spread fear or offer reassurance. They notice whether we stand beside those who feel unsafe or leave them to carry that fear alone.
Peace is not passive. Peace is active, protective and deeply human.
Calling for peace does not mean avoiding truth. It means speaking truth without losing compassion. It means challenging harmful narratives without creating further hostility. It means protecting communities without turning another group of people into enemies. It means building a culture where disagreement does not become dehumanisation.
There are practical things we can all do.
We can check on people who may feel anxious or unsafe. We can share accurate information and avoid spreading rumours. We can create spaces where people feel heard rather than judged. We can accompany someone who feels frightened to attend an appointment, community event or meeting. We can challenge harmful comments calmly and clearly. We can remind one another that safety is not a privilege for some, but a right for all.
Small acts of care matter. They may not change the whole political climate overnight, but they can change how someone experiences that day. They can interrupt isolation. They can remind people that they are not alone.
For those who are feeling worried, unseen or unsafe: your fear is understandable. Your dignity is not negotiable. Your presence matters. You belong to the communities you live in, contribute to and care for.
For those working for justice, equality and human rights: this is a moment to remain grounded. We need courage, but not cruelty. We need clarity, but not hatred. We need solidarity, but not performance. We need to protect people in ways that are practical, relational and responsible.
I still believe there is enough for everyone on this planet. Enough space for dignity. Enough room for kindness. Enough wisdom for us to live beside one another without turning difference into danger. Enough possibility for communities to build together, hand in hand, rather than stand against one another.
Let us stay steady in difficult moments.
Let us choose respect over division.
Let us choose dignity over fear.
Let us choose compassion over blame.
Let us choose peace, not as silence, but as active care for one another.
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