Sharing the legacy of his father, a survivor of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Tan Sri Dato’ Professor Dzulkifli Abdul Razak says that global peace can only be achieved through nurturing inner peace and sensitizing our conscience.
The world today is inundated with aggression—from bullying in schools to domestic violence to conflicts and wars on every continent. The latest conflict emerging on the Korean Peninsula may threaten global peace and harmony like never before.
These developments, unfolding on the global stage right before our eyes, are deeply concerning to all. Accompanied by voices of arrogance and uncompromising hype, the situation seems only to be worsening. However, our preoccupation with the specter of global conflict stifles our awareness that all these things are ultimately projections of our inner lives—that we ourselves are the origin of conflict. In other words, external conflict originates from and is an extension of internal conflict. The former is not possible in the absence of the latter.
“Our preoccupation with the specter of global conflict stifles our awareness that all these things are ultimately projections of our inner lives—that we ourselves are the origin of conflict.”
Put another way, only with the presence of internal peace (sejahtera in Malay) can the external aspect be assured. As long as the internal self is at peace, the external reflection will remain so, and vice versa. This is the lesson I learned from my late father—fondly referred to as “Razak-sensei”—who, as a student at Hiroshima University, survived the atomic bombing of August 6, 1945.
At 8:15 a.m. that fateful morning, it suddenly turned pitch black, followed by a radiant flash and a thunderous sound. Immediately, everything came crashing down. Nobody knew what it was, since nothing like it had ever happened before. The almost daily bombings that had occurred pre-August 6 were, by and large, predictable and localized. My father, like the Japanese, knew how to cope with the bombs, but not with the one dropped on August 6.
“My father, like the Japanese, knew how to cope with the bombs, but not with the one dropped on August 6.”
It was much later that my father found out what had caused the tragedy—a very different kind of bomb designed to inflict the worst possible damage. This is evident from the tens of thousands of lives taken instantaneously and indiscriminately—the majority of which were the lives of innocent civilians. Ironically, this destruction was the outcome of clandestine scientific research and development carried out by a group of highly learned scientists charged with the task of producing such a deadly weapon. The sole purpose was to threaten the enemy with complete annihilation so as to force them to surrender unconditionally. The agony and suffering experienced by the victims was of no concern in the face of the belief that “might is right.”
This was exactly what my father felt the day after the bombing when he saw and experienced the aftermath of the massacre. Everything was razed to the ground. There were no landmarks left to guide him except the river that passed through the city and campus. Following the meandering river to his hostel was a literal journey of death. Charred corpses and mutilated body parts were strewn everywhere and drifted in the river. Those still alive suffered all manner of injuries and indescribable agonies.
Here he learned the real nature of war. He realized that war is a manifestation of the human imagination—a product of deliberately planned intentions executed with precision for maximum impact and with disregard for the inhuman consequences. This realization molded his thinking and consciousness post-August 6 and informed the message he would carry and advocate throughout his lifetime: everything boils down to the state of conscience, or the lack thereof, that one is able to assert in arriving at a particular decision, especially in confronting aggression. Conscience can generally be understood to mean the aptitude, intuition or judgment crucial in helping distinguish right from wrong. It is inherently linked to universal moral values—those recognized by all human beings. It is the voice within that acts as a moral compass.
“If our moral compass is not fully sensitized and functional, the voice within—our conscience—is numbed and dulled, making the passage of violence and aggression an easy one.”
If our moral compass is not fully sensitized and functional, the voice within—our conscience—is numbed and dulled, making the passage of violence and aggression an easy one. The reverse is also true. Only when our conscience is properly nurtured can it be an effective barrier to the internal emergence of violence and aggression. This in turn will curb violence and aggression from being projected externally. Consequently, the occurrence of all forms of violence, including war, is curtailed and greater space is created for peace to blossom and grow.
It is on this basis that my father chose not to harbor hatred or ill feelings toward those responsible for what he had to endure as a result of that tragic bombing. This stance effectively discouraged any urge for revenge. Instead, my father readily forgave, setting himself on the course of inner peace permanently. Simply put, all seeds of violence and aggression were at once prevented from taking root within him, which prevented him being dragged into or involved in any potential conflict of any kind.
He saw this as the ultimate recipe for lasting peace. It is an inside-out process in which the conscience plays a pivotal role and where peace emanates outward from within the individual.
“More often than not, peace negotiation processes are a mere display of strategic maneuvering with little or no genuine intention of bringing peace to full realization.”
My father’s approach contrasts greatly with the typical approach to peace and security—an entirely external process, mirrored by the axiom “the way to ensure peace is to prepare for war.” Thus, more often than not, peace negotiation processes are a mere display of strategic maneuvering with little or no genuine intention of bringing peace to full realization. The “might is right” approach is still very much the rule, falling short of the inside-out process in which the conscience is called to account.
Such a failure has an even wider implication in that war is narrowly understood as the act of “waging” war rather than the ultimate tragic and inhuman consequences arising from it. Viewed in this way, peace is often perceived as the absence of violence and aggression. Whereas in reality, warlike sufferings—starvation, injuries, tension, discrimination and the like—are rampant even during so-called times of peace. These sufferings are overlooked because there is no overt connection to the actual declaration of war. This notion has an even greater relevance today where wars are “fought” clandestinely, aided by technology and removed from human eyes and awareness. Yet, the effects on human lives are no less devastating than those of any physical war and may even be more devastating.
If we redefine war in terms of the actual conditions of suffering experienced by people rather than simply in terms of the waging of war, there are more people dying and suffering from war today than ever before. Casualties number in the billions. This situation will continue to worsen until the notion of inner peace is understood and nurtured in earnest, as experienced and advocated by the late Razak-sensei who lived by these principles until his peaceful passing on July 18, 2013.
In summary, the message my father left behind is that peace starts with me, with each of us. By nurturing inner peace and sensitizing our conscience, we can work collectively to actualize global peace.
This article is published by http://commonthreads.sgi.org on June 15, 2017.
Tan Sri Dato’ Professor Dzulkifli Abdul Razak is chair of the Islamic Science University of Malaysia’s Board of Directors and was the 14th president of the International Association of Universities based in Paris. In recognition of his contributions to international education, Universitas 21, a global network of research-intensive universities, awarded him the 2017 Gilbert Medal.