By Xhabir Deralla

Yesterday was the International Day of Peace. It could’ve been any yesterday. Or today. Tomorrow. For those living through war, the distinction means nothing.

For those who spent it under bombardment, it was another day of war. For those searching for missing relatives, another day without an answer. For those driven from their homes, another day of trying to survive somewhere they never chose to be. Minutes, even seconds, seem to last forever. The stomach-churning wail of air-raid sirens paralyses body and mind. Then come the explosions. Then the desperate wait to find out who is still alive.

The date on the calendar changes. That may be the only change the world can count on.

Across the Western Balkans, where politicians invoke war whenever they need to mobilise fear, peace struggles to command comparable political attention.

A few civil society organisations and schools marked the day. Some media gave it space. In Bosnia and Herzegovina, UN Resident Coordinator Arnhild Spence published an appeal titled “Choose Peace.” These efforts made the wider silence more conspicuous.

Where were the presidents and prime ministers making peace a public priority? Where were their commitments to confront hatred, defend human dignity and stop the rehabilitation of war criminals?

A region still living with the consequences of war should have more to offer than leaving peace to a handful of teachers, activists, columnists and international representatives. And even those were only a few. Peace struggled to command attention yesterday. Any yesterday.

The silence extended beyond the Balkans. In the official presidential and government channels I checked, I found no prominent, dedicated Peace Day statements. A social media post may have escaped that search. But political leadership on peace should not require an archaeological expedition to discover.

A commemorative message would hardly have changed the world. But the failure to make peace a serious public issue exposes the priorities of politicians and society alike… and their grasp of reality. Choosing silence in a world like this means something has broken deep in civilisation’s soul.

There is always room for another party accusation, another photograph of an official, another announcement of achievements whose evidence will apparently arrive later. Or never. Peace, it seems, must compete for the space left over.

And even when it gets that space, it is too often stripped of everything that makes it politically uncomfortable: responsibility, perpetrators, occupation, justice.

Peace is welcome as a sentiment. It becomes inconvenient as a demand.

On 21 September, Russian terror against Ukraine continued. Day 1,671 of the full-scale invasion, following eight years of aggression. In Zaporizhzhia, homes, a university and a shopping centre were struck. Peace Day offered no protection from Russian drones. The wounded still had to be rescued. The debris cleared. Ordinary life kept going beneath the assault.

Ukrainians are still expected to listen patiently when their surrender is presented as a contribution to peace. They are asked to be realistic. To accept losses. To understand the limits of other people’s attention, budgets and political courage.

The aggressor’s demands become negotiating positions. The victim’s rights become obstacles to an agreement. Total moral inversion.

And what is peace in today’s world?

Supporting Ukraine’s sovereignty, freedom and right to defend itself is an essential commitment to peace. Rewarding conquest teaches every would-be aggressor what violence can buy. Asking people to surrender their freedom so that others can recover their comfort is abandonment and betrayal.

Peace demands freedom, justice and accountability. It means living without fear, resisting oppression and bringing war criminals to justice.

A world that rewards aggressors, silences victims and bargains away the truth is a world preparing for the next war.

Meanwhile, Russia retains its permanent seat and veto on the United Nations Security Council. A state waging a war of aggression holds a privileged position in the institution charged with maintaining international peace.

Consider what that looks like from beneath the rubble.

Absurdity is institutionalised, but its consequences are deeply human. International order has lost credibility, giving way to powers that shelter themselves from the principles they invoke against others.

The commitment to human dignity stops so conveniently at the boundaries of political loyalty!

Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank do not become less deserving of freedom, safety and justice because their suffering complicates alliances or disrupts preferred narratives. Displacement, demolitions, settler attacks and restrictions on access continue. Each bureaucratic term conceals a human experience, a lost home, a severed livelihood, a family’s fear.

Civilian lives have equal value, we say. Security cannot confer an unlimited licence to inflict suffering. Having suffered injustice in the past does not absolve anyone of responsibility for the suffering they inflict today.

Principles recited so fluently. Applied so selectively.

Across wars and conflicts worldwide, people continue to endure what the rest of us increasingly consume as background information. Their suffering has become familiar. Then, all of it becomes an excuse to look away. To get tired. Annoyed. Bored, even.

It is frightening how easily we learn to live with other people’s catastrophe.

In the Balkans, war criminals are celebrated as heroes and genocide denial passes for political opinion. Survivors are expected to reconcile with societies that still applaud their tormentors.

Peace vanishes long before the first shot is fired.

It vanishes when propaganda turns neighbours into enemies. When institutions become party property. When journalists, artists and intellectuals are threatened, and human rights defenders are branded traitors. When discrimination becomes common sense and cruelty becomes proof of political strength.

The far right advances, and we are invited to regard it as another passing phase. Angry voters. Legitimate frustrations. Democracy taking another turn. How reassuring!

The promise is familiar. Your dignity requires someone else’s humiliation. Your security requires someone else’s exclusion, expulsion, or elimination. A strong leader will take care of it. Naturally, he must be freed from the inconvenience of accountability. First, make cruelty reasonable. The justification for violence will follow.

Yesterday, as many times before, CIVIL insisted that peace must never become another word for surrender. The demand survives the date.

The UN’s theme, “Invest in Peace: For Everyone, Everywhere, Every Day,” offers a straightforward test. “For everyone” means nothing if we select which civilians deserve compassion. “Everywhere” means nothing if it stops at the borders of our interests.

And “every day” is tested today, 22 September 2026, day 1,672 of Russia’s full-scale invasion. Children in Gaza and across Africa still face hunger and death. Today.

And it will be tested tomorrow. The calendar will advance. The death toll will rise. Even as you read this, someone’s world is ending.

Every day of suffering leaves a tomorrow that cannot escape it. Political and media silence cannot erase what happened. Neither can propaganda. An unsolved murder is still a murder.

The calendar has moved on. The victims have no such luxury.

This article was first published in CIVIL Today.

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