Letters of Hope for the Season for Nonviolence
Visit daily during the Season for Nonviolence for new letters
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A LETTER FOR THE POLICE OF SOVEREIGN DEMOCRATIC REPUBLICS My dear sisters and brothers in uniform, How have you been in this era of transition? I hope you have found some spare time to attend to your family amidst your gruelling duties. I am your sister in arms, not the deadly mechanical toys of intimidation, but the part of our body used to embrace those we value. I hung my uniform in the corner of my wardrobe closet, gently touching my heirloom sarees, more than a year ago. I see her every day, she looks content and hopeful. Our earliest predecessors in uniform were deliberate instruments of power before our nations gained independence from colonial rule or monarchy and chose to adopt a Constitution of the people, by the people, for the people. Before I talk about today and share my dreams of tomorrow, let us consider our past for a bit. Our past is like the old man on the shoulders of Sindbad the sailor, extremely tough to get off! We were conceived as tools of control by men who had total hegemonic power over lands which they had little relationship with. From the Maharaja of Nepal to the King of Britain, no monarch was even native to the soil. They intermingled within an unabashedly silk-stocking clan of cousins or caste and had nothing to lose even when their subjects lost everything. Within these endogamous groups they gathered a cohort of eager followers driven by a consuming passion for amassing wealth any which way. They decided that wealth is easiest gathered through power or proximity to it, and went about colonising those peoples who either had fault lines among themselves or were innocent of these nefarious colonisers’ games. Yet human beings are “free by nature” as Rousseau said, so they wouldn’t submit easily. Here came the “law enforcement”, aren’t the words self explanatory? What our police predecessors enforced as foot soldiers of oppressors, were arbitrary laws decreed without the consent of our peoples. For a long time, through engineering poverty and deprivation, the rulers broke the confidence of our populations, pushing them into what Étienne de la Boétie calls “voluntary servitude”. That is how these rulers were able to recruit misguided locals to oppress their own kin. I do not need to enumerate the horrible massacres our own ancestors in colonial or monarchical uniforms participated in, you know them. Did you know that George Orwell, then Eric Arthur Blair, was an officer of Imperial Police in the British Raj? He could not stomach the inhumanity of colonial policing and resigned within a few years of his induction. He writes about his travails in Burmese Days, look it up whenever you have time, particularly Shooting an Elephant. Bit by painful bit, people raised their bowed heads, it took more than a century for their resistance to evolve from the violence of the French Revolution to the nonviolence of Mahatma Gandhi. Every Independent nation crafted their Constitution through debates and consultation, dedicating it to their people. Though the residue of old laws remained, they were to be tested on the touchstone of Constitutional principles. People’s Rights were guaranteed, their participation in the political process was ensured and the duties of the State enshrined. The police became a part of the Executive and the most visible public service. Of course, there’s always many a slip between the cup and the lip. No Republic is even three centuries old, a blip in human history! How are we today? The Republics we are referring to are both similar and diverse. They have similar views on the sovereign nature of citizenship and the agency of the people for their inalienable rights to life and dignity secured through justiciable liberty and equality. They have the same values of public service in all branches of governance, in principle. In practice, however, they have interesting diversity informed by their historical experiences and social mores. In some new nations settled by immigrants at constant loggerheads with each other, they have chosen a warrior model of policing. The communities and those that are supposed to serve them as security personnel, have the right to carry weapons. This results in an adversarial relationship between master and servant. In some other nations the model is of guardianship. The presumption is that the citizens are either innocent of law or informed but rebellious adolescents. This results in a wide spectrum of police behaviour from genuine care to “spare the rod and spoil the child”. At best this police is the fastidious but manipulative Jeeves to the lackadaisical Wooster. At worst, an abusive self-righteous nanny, ready to kill for status quo. The third, mostly aspirational model, is the police as service. Many nations have adopted this approach under pressure from citizens aware of their fundamental rights and agency. It is a journey that must be made in societies evolving towards greater accountability and transparency. Whatever stage our policing is at, we will eventually evolve into an effective service. After all, it is our own people who fund us. As Prof. Manoj Jha, a member of India’s Parliament pointed out, public servants are paid by the poorest citizen who buys salt and soap. Nothing is not taxed in our economic model. On the other hand, with the fanning out of ubiquitous social media, awareness is rising exponentially. While we adopt body cameras with trepidation, there’s a lens looking at us through every smartphone. Simultaneously, tuitions at the WhatsApp university insidiously derail humanity through unsubstantiated narratives of division and paranoia. Shall we serve merely under obligation? Shall we be forced into transparency? Worse, shall we shoot the elephant who lost its way into human habitation to satisfy the delusional bloodlust of a misinformed mob, even after she has cowed down? The senior Gandhian, Rajagopal PV, says that the path from violence to nonviolence goes through active nonviolence. As upholders of law and maintainers of public order, we constantly use the mechanisms of active nonviolence without realising it. Do we not communicate with our citizens to learn about their lives and concerns? Do we not prepare in advance for large gatherings? Do we not keep a keen eye and our ears on the ground for disruptors of peace in a community? Do we not work more on preventing crimes than reacting with force? Do we not upskill constantly in these days of accelerated change in technology? These are so integral to our duties that nobody notices them until we fall short and the calm of our community is disturbed. The future I dream of is best expressed by Mahatma Gandhi, “The police of my conception will, however, be of a wholly different pattern from the present-day force. Its ranks will be composed of believers in non-violence. They will be servants, not masters of the people. The people will instinctively render them any help, and through mutual co-operation they will easily deal with the ever-decreasing disturbances. The police force will have some kind of arms, but they will be rarely used, if at all. In fact the police men will be reformers.” The Mahatma would be encouraged by the efforts we have made through introspective research, citizens’ feedback, contemporary training and commitment to democratic values. Admittedly, it’s a long road ahead, but we are conscious of our responsibilities. We will make it. Season’s greetings to you my dears. With hope in my heart, Your sister, Anuradha (Anuradha Shankar, Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh, India) 
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For peace and goodness… I ponder. What would I do, If I were at my bravest? What would I say, If I were at my kindest? What would I give, If I were at my most generous? What would I wonder, If I were at my most curious? What would I bear, If I were at my strongest? What would I forgive, If I were at my most unsparing? Ah! All these grand possibilities. But, better not to wait for that day. Better to use my humble gifts, today. To make just a little difference in my small world. Renee Frank, Edmonton, AB  I carry a stone in my purse that my office manager handed me when I needed to rush from work to be with my dear dad. The stone reads “Hope.” A few months ago my mom took my dad to the hospital to find out what’s happening. He has been in the hospital for months now with fleeting moments of despair, uncertainty, shock, sadness, confusion, depression, gratitude, regret, immense love and an abundance of hope. What I have learned is that we can always have hope. With hope comes an urgency to learn more, do more and make more goodness in the world. My early introductions to hope came from philosopher Immanuel Kant’s words “What can I know? What ought I to do? What may I hope?” It is this last question that means so much when we feel love for others. It can be in moments when caring for our parents and hoping they are not suffering and at peace and it can be in moments when we are raising awareness for children in war and hoping they know they are worthy and one day they will find peace again. Hope gets us up everyday to keep going and keep doing the good work, the peace work. Later I came to lean on Gandhian words of ahimsa, peace and nonviolence, “There is no path to peace, peace is the path.” It is everyday intentional practice, a labour of love and service to all around us, the people, the earth, to ourself that is the necessary work we must each do. By making time to connect, listen and share stories we learn and grow together and be inspired by those before us. As I spend many hours sitting by my dad’s side I think about the generosity of his being, how he helped so many, how he always showed up when people were in need, how he always showed kindness. He encouraged us to do the same and these are the teachings I hope to continue and pass on. We can show up in peace, in ahimsa and help others see that they can do more with their words and helping hands. My hope is to continue during the season of nonviolence and beyond to show up in peace, care, connection, gratitude empathy and love for humanity. Thank you Mahatma Gandhi Canadian Foundation for World Peace for giving me space, voice and the ability to reflect on my peace practice so I may continue to spread messages of hope and be hopeful myself. Salima Ibrahim-Khan, Toronto, Ontario
My beloved children, I write to you with a sense of hope for a bright future ahead. I write not only for you, but for all who may recognize themselves in these words, for hope, I believe, grows stronger when it is shared with others. You carry within you the bloodlines of people who were deeply committed to their faith, their families, and their communities, people who moved forward with courage in the face of adversity and hardship. Their lives were met with struggle at times, yet they chose perseverance, compassion and responsibility. In you, their stories continue not as relics of the past, but as a living commitment to a future shaped by peace, mutual understanding and love, one undoubtedly full of uncertainty, but which must be practiced, protected, and renewed over time. What you inherit is not only the history of your ancestors, but an obligation to imagine and help build a society that is peaceful, just, compassionate, and committed to the dignity of other human beings. Non-violence is not just the absence of conflict, but the presence of courage which asks us to seek justice without abandoning love. It reminds us that peace is something we choose to practice, especially when the weight of the world’s obstacles seem insurmountable. May these values find a place in our artistic expressions, through poetry, storytelling, music, and art, where tradition and identity lie and where more courageous acts of resistance sustain us. Through creative expression, we honour our ancestors and the land upon which we live, recognizing that the material and symbolic privileges we hold are not owed to our singular existence, but to our enduring connection to others, past, present, and future. As you find your way through this world, I hope you remember that hope is never solitary. It is relational, it is in community, memory, action and in a great sense of responsibility to one another. It is my hope that you help shape a peaceful and just society not only for yourselves, but through a deep connection to others. This letter is for you, my children, and for anyone who believes, as I do, that love, care, and non-violence are necessary acts of faith in our shared future. With love and hope, Mum xx  Painting by Anastasia Turnbull An appreciation letter for the man who raised me. Dear Pops, AKA: Boss, AKA: Joe, I was raised on trauma and survival, having been a ward of the Government from birth and bounced around through over 40 different homes, with the longest stay being in the Orphanage, stability and belongingness was merely something I saw on television. I never knew what it was to feel love, respect or genuine care; everything came with a cost. I came from a world where nobody did anything for nothing and the payment was due everyday. I came to you in 1990, a broken, angry and mistrusting boy of 14 years old who had lived a lifetime of horror, violence and substance abuse. You did not see that; you saw beyond what I was and saw what I could be, you believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself. Through your love, guidance and relentless support I began to see a better life was possible, even for an angry kid who could barely read or write. You showed me a non-violent way to live life, one where I could use my words and my writing instead of my fists. You taught me the power of knowledge over brute force and anger, and you inspired me to use my mind and experience as weapons to help others with their battles. But most importantly you taught me that I deserved to be loved and cared for; nobody had ever done that before, and I will forever be grateful. You stood by me through the darkest days of my life and were a constant light, encouraging me with words like, “when you’re at the bottom, there’s nowhere left to go but up”. You saved my life Joe, more than once, and I am the man I am today because of you. We may not be of the same blood, but you are my Father and I couldn’t have asked for a better Mentor and Best Friend. I follow your example in the work that I do today and still aspire to do nothing more than make you proud of me. I may not be able to change the world but with your guidance, I can change the world of others. I Love You Pops, Lance Marty , Edmonton, Alberta  I have been thinking about hope differently lately. Not as optimism. Not as a mood. But as a choice, especially on the days when the world feels loud, reactive, and unkind. I have grown to understand ahimsa not as softness, but as discipline. Ahimsa is not the absence of strength. It is strength that has decided not to humiliate. Not to retaliate. Not to dehumanize, even when doing so would be easier. Especially when doing so would be easier. There are moments now in public discourse, in institutions, even in everyday interactions, where cruelty feels normalized. Where speed replaces thoughtfulness. Where outrage replaces responsibility. I would be lying if I said that doesn’t frustrate me. It does. I feel it. But ahimsa asks more of us than reaction. It asks us to notice where harm begins — sometimes in language, sometimes in systems, sometimes in our own impatience — and to interrupt it before it multiplies. It asks us to build differently. To lead differently. To disagree without destroying. And when I struggle, I look at my own home. I look at my partner, Russ — steady, generous, endlessly supportive — who reminds me daily that strength can be quiet. That love does not need to announce itself to be powerful. That dignity in small interactions matters. I look at my daughter, Riya, watching the world with clear eyes and sharp questions, and I know that what we model now becomes the world she expects later. I derive enormous hope from her — from her curiosity, from her sense of fairness, from the way she instinctively notices when something isn’t right. She is not naïve. She is awake. And she still believes things can be better. That combination — awareness and belief — is what hope looks like to me. Hope, in our family, shows up in small ways: in how we speak to one another when we’re tired; in choosing repair over pride; in holding standards without humiliation. These are not dramatic acts. But they are acts of ahimsa. And they compound. I do not believe the world changes through grand declarations alone. I believe it changes when enough of us choose integrity over impulse. When we decide that how we build matters as much as what we build. Ahimsa is not passive. It is demanding. It requires us to hold our anger without letting it turn into harm. It requires courage. And so my hope is simple, but not easy: that we continue to practice ahimsa not only in protest, but in policy. Not only in principle, but in daily behavior. That we raise children who understand that strength and compassion are not opposites. That we become adults who remember it. I am hopeful not because the world is calm, but because I know what disciplined love and attention looks like. I see it every day. Karen Sihra, Etobicoke, Ontario  Do not feel guilty for choosing to protect your peace. Empathy does not mean endless acceptance of violence, and refusal to engage with those who are anti peace, does not mean you are without compassion. The world is filled with people who will weaponize your empathy and demand you prove how forgiving you are over and over. Your actions stand for themselves, and so do theirs. Please don't use the terms "peace and nonviolence" to excuse apathy or absence. Absence isn't peace, and apathy is not veiled peace. Scheherazade Showleh, Edmonton, Alberta  |
