The Peace a Child Can Recognise at a School Desk

As fighting returns to northern Ethiopia, a Christian appeal to measure peace not by the agreements reached by leaders, but by whether a child can safely return to class.

By Douglas Vandergraph · 15 November 2026

A school desk can carry more than a child’s books. It can carry the memory of a classroom that closed, the fear of another sudden departure, and the stubborn hope that tomorrow’s lesson will not be interrupted. A parent may wish to speak about the future while still being unable to promise that the road to school will be safe. When conflict threatens ordinary life, the word peace must answer the child’s question before it answers the arguments of adults: will I be able to return?

On 1 October, UNICEF warned that intensified fighting in northern Ethiopia was endangering children and threatening public facilities and services. It called for restraint, protection of civilians and unimpeded humanitarian access. In November, reporting and humanitarian analysis continued to describe the insecurity and displacement affecting families in Tigray. Those are sober reminders of how quickly the work of rebuilding can be overshadowed by a new round of violence. They are not a licence to collapse the experiences of every Ethiopian community into one story.

What no disagreement should destroy

Ethiopia’s public conversation contains serious disagreements about history, responsibility, security and the future of the state. The Ethiopian Tribune gives space to forceful opinion about these subjects. An essay grounded in Christian faith should not pretend those disagreements can be solved by saying everyone ought to get along. The harder moral task is to establish what no disagreement should be allowed to destroy: a child’s life, an elderly person’s access to care, a civilian family’s safety or a neighbour’s basic human dignity.

Peacemaking is work

Jesus offered a demanding image of peacemaking in the Sermon on the Mount. ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’ does not bless indifference or ask victims to be silent. Peacemaking means work. It requires a refusal to delight in another person’s suffering, even when we sharply dispute that person’s political views or community loyalties. It calls us to protect what is vulnerable while truth, justice and accountability are pursued. In Matthew 5:44, Jesus’ call to love enemies is not an instruction to deny harm. It is a refusal to let hatred dictate the limits of our humanity.

That distinction matters wherever grief and mistrust have accumulated. Reconciliation cannot be ordered by outsiders. It cannot be demanded from families who have not received answers, safety or meaningful recognition. And it is not achieved when a community is told to forgive so quickly that no one must accept responsibility. Christian hope must have enough courage to speak of wrongdoing and enough humility to recognise that genuine healing takes time.

‘Blessed are the peacemakers’ does not bless indifference or ask victims to be silent.

Where to begin

One practical place to begin is with the ordinary protections children need. Safe routes, functioning schools, appropriate support for children who have missed years of learning, and accessible health and water services should be treated as necessities rather than bargaining pieces. Humanitarian workers should be able to reach civilians. Public institutions should not become targets. Displaced families should not be described only as a burden on hosts; they are families who need safety, information and opportunities to recover.

A classroom can also become a place where competing needs collide. Families displaced by conflict may be sheltering in buildings intended for lessons, while other children need those same rooms to study. There is no dignity in blaming one group for surviving or telling another to abandon its educational needs. Local leaders and humanitarian organisations should seek safe alternatives to emergency shelter, transparent plans for restoring classes and decisions informed by both displaced and host communities. The people most affected deserve a voice in the practical solution.

Becoming a neighbour

The parable of the Good Samaritan, in Luke 10, does not ask the injured man to prove that he belongs to the Samaritan’s group. It asks whether the person who sees suffering will become a neighbour. The Samaritan provides immediate care and arranges support beyond the first encounter. This is a more demanding model than a single day of sympathy. For churches, it means care that crosses lines of language and identity; for community groups, it means help distributed according to need; for neighbours, it means refusing rumours that turn an entire population into a suspect.

A strong argument should remain strong enough to acknowledge the humanity of people who are not on the writer’s side.

The Christian church is not one ethnicity, one region or one party. Its own Scriptures insist that a person cannot claim to love God while cultivating contempt for another human being. Local congregations may be small and their resources limited, but they can still make visible commitments: verify claims before repeating them, protect confidentiality when listening to displaced families, cooperate with competent relief providers and make space for mourning without demanding political agreement at the door.

The discipline of public speech

There is also a responsibility for those who write and speak publicly. The names of leaders should never become more important than the names of the children who are losing their opportunities. News coverage and opinion can challenge wrongdoing without making ordinary civilians stand trial for a shared identity. A strong argument should remain strong enough to acknowledge the humanity of people who are not on the writer’s side. The practice of restraint in language will not by itself stop armed violence, but reckless language can make the work of peace harder.

If a community meeting is possible and safe, it can begin with questions that are not designed to trap anyone: what do families need to send children to class this week? Which older people cannot obtain medicine? What information is missing from aid notices? Who is excluded from decisions because travel or disability makes attendance difficult? These questions are modest. They do not erase injustice or settle political disputes. They remind us that real people must survive while those disputes continue.

An Ethiopian child should not be asked to wait for unanimous political agreement before learning to read again. A family should not have to declare its allegiance before being treated as worthy of protection. Peace is not merely the agreement reached at the highest table; it is the safety made real at the lowest one, where a child opens a schoolbook and believes there may still be a tomorrow. That is a test of neighbour-love worthy of our courage, our honesty and our prayers.

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Douglas Vandergraph is a Christian writer. More of his work can be found at douglasvandergraph.com.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of The Ethiopian Tribune.

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