December — Peace, Rhetoric, and the Choice We Make

December is supposed to be different.

It’s the time of year when, historically, people lower their defenses. When old grievances are set aside, at least briefly, in favor of peace, family, and shared humanity. Across cultures and generations, the holidays have carried an unspoken agreement: we pause the fighting.

This year, we wanted to test whether that pause was still possible.

Throughout December, we encouraged something simple but difficult — asking people to step back from outrage, to listen without interrupting, to engage without immediately reaching for memes, slogans, or moral shortcuts. Not to abandon their beliefs. Not to surrender their convictions. Just to lower the temperature for a week.

For some, that was easy.

For others, it was impossible.

More than one person told us — openly — that they could not drop the outrage, even temporarily. That backing off felt like losing ground. That pausing felt like surrender. The fight had become so constant, so consuming, that peace itself felt dangerous.

That response was unsettling — but also understandable.

It’s difficult to ask people to soften their language when our leaders don’t. It’s difficult to ask for unity when division is modeled from the top. And it’s especially difficult to call for peace during the holidays when messages of goodwill are laced with accusation, contempt, and political warfare.

When leaders frame fellow citizens as enemies — even during moments meant for reflection — outrage becomes normalized. Hostility becomes permissioned. And the idea of stepping back feels like betrayal.

Still, we chose to try.

Instead of amplifying the rhetoric of the present, we turned to the past. We shared messages from former leaders who spoke about unity, restraint, dignity, and shared purpose — not as nostalgia, but as contrast. Not to pretend the past was perfect, but to remind ourselves that leadership can sound different.

We made a deliberate choice: to celebrate what leadership should be, rather than react endlessly to what it is not.

That choice wasn’t about denial. It was about preservation.

Because the danger we face isn’t just political division — it’s the normalization of contempt. It’s the idea that constant conflict is strength, that dehumanization is resolve, that outrage is the only form of engagement left.

December reminded us how fragile peace has become — and how necessary it still is.

If we cannot lower our voices for a week, how do we expect to solve problems that require patience, compromise, and trust? If every disagreement is treated as an existential threat, how does a pluralistic society survive?

We ended the year not with certainty, but with hope — and with a quiet wish borrowed from an old story.

That the ghosts of the past might visit our leaders.
That they might remember what power is for.
That they might rediscover humility, empathy, and restraint.
And that we, as citizens, might find the courage to demand those qualities again.

Christmas has always been a season for miracles.

Perhaps the smallest — and most necessary — miracle we can ask for is this:
that we remember how to see one another as neighbors again.