We started our day at the United Nations in Geneva, standing in front of the flags of nations. Every flag a country. Every country a people. Every people with a story the UN exists to protect.
Then we walked into the Museum of the Red Cross, thinking we understood suffering.
There’s a bomb that fell on Hiroshima. A massacre in Srebrenica. Children in Rwanda — 800,000 people killed with machetes in 100 days. Index cards of prisoners stacked like pages in a book, except every name is a person who disappeared and someone, somewhere, never stopped looking for them.
We saw photos of a mother writing letters for her son, hoping he was alive. A son holding the last photo of his father, afraid to find out the truth. Families in Afghanistan waiting for news that may never come.
We thought we knew what violence looked like. Then we stood in front of these exhibits and realized how little we actually understood.
Restoring and building peace is a long and arduous process.