On June 24, 1859, more than 300,000 soldiers clashed in one of the bloodiest battles of the 19th century. The fighting at Solferino, in northern Italy, lasted over 15 hours and left tens of thousands dead or wounded. A Swiss businessman named Henry Dunant was passing through on a business trip. What he witnessed would change history.
In his harrowing account, A Memory of Solferino, Dunant described the battlefield in visceral detail: “No quarter is given; it is sheer butchery; a struggle between savage beasts, maddened with blood and fury.” Though a bystander, he rushed to care for the wounded—Austrians and French alike. That singular act of compassion sparked the creation of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), mandated by the Geneva Conventions.
More than 160 years later, the world remains mired in brutality. Wars have grown more complex and destructive. Civilians—especially children—continue to suffer, often becoming targets rather than bystanders. The horrors that moved Dunant are now livestreamed in real time.
In April, the head of the ICRC described the humanitarian situation in Gaza as “hell on earth.” Just weeks later, asked if conditions had improved, her answer was stark: “It has become worse.” And as hostilities between Israel and Iran flare once again, the word “de-escalate” echoes from diplomats, aid workers, and journalists alike.
But calling for de-escalation is not the same as practicing it. It’s easy to demand restraint from others. It is harder to choose it ourselves.
Years ago, I found myself in the midst of an intense internal conflict within my own organization. Mediators stepped in—some from as far away as the Middle East and Africa. Again and again, I was urged to “de-escalate.” But I refused to listen. The conflict worsened. The consequences were not borne by others—they fell squarely on me. In hindsight, the root cause was obvious: arrogance. I lacked the humility to step back.
Some might wonder what my personal failings have to do with war and peace. But I believe that the inability—or unwillingness—to de-escalate is the same fuel that powers global destruction. Whether in a boardroom or a battlefield, peace requires one party to lay down their pride first.
Humility is the prerequisite for peace. Without it, diplomacy becomes performative, and “de-escalation” becomes a hollow slogan. But with humility, even the deepest wounds can begin to heal.
If destruction demands commitment, how much more should peace? Henry Dunant was not a soldier, nor a politician. He simply acted on his conscience, and in doing so, planted the seeds of a global humanitarian movement. The Red Cross now operates in some of the most dangerous corners of the world, guided by principles of neutrality, impartiality, and humanity.
We cannot afford to be passive in the face of suffering. Commemorating the Battle of Solferino should be more than a nod to history. It should challenge us to transform our own conflicts—whether personal, political, or planetary—into opportunities for peace.
The memory of Solferino lives on, not because of the bloodshed, but because one man chose compassion over indifference. May we find in today’s crises the same resolve to act—not with rage, but with humility. That, too, is a kind of bravery.
Contributed by Selamawit Kidane
