Baker for Humanity
Dr. Oscar Arias Sánchez
President Saionji, dear brothers and sisters, I am honored to join you in this fantastically dynamic metropolis, Tokyo. By honoring me with the Goi Peace Award, you recognize the fundamental importance of those causes to which I have been but one of countless contributors: diplomacy and dialogue, disarmament and demilitarization, ethics and transparency in international affairs. I happily join you in celebrating these causes and our common commitment to them.
The Goi Peace Foundation upholds such universal principles as reverence for life, coexistence of humans and nature, and respect for difference and diversity. These ideas have roots in the earliest human history and in our most primordial religious beliefs. However, in this globalizing era the principles of the Declaration for All Life on Earth take on special new urgency. From the recent terrorist attack on schoolchildren in Russia, to the massacres of villagers in Darfur, Sudan, our world today offers grotesque examples of what happens when people renounce their capacity to love life and other living beings. There is no political system, religious conviction or national cause that can be justified in the absence of this fundamental value.
I strongly share the conviction of the Goi Foundation that the future of peace depends on the development of empathetic, creative and ethical citizens. From childhood, each of us has a job to do and a role to play in the wellbeing of our fellow human beings. We must seek to recreate and re-ignite a vision of peace among our peers. Peace must be something more positive than the simple absence of violence; it must be more profound than treaties and cease-fire agreements. It must consist of actions, not just ideas.
My friends, at some point, all of us have been victims of the incorrect but popular belief that individuals can be classified into two categories: those who think and those who act. However, experience readily proves that reality is much more complicated. Thirty-three years ago, the great Chilean poet Pablo Neruda said upon receiving the Nobel Prize for Literature:
The best poet is he who gives us our daily bread: the neighbourhood baker who does not think of himself as a god. He fulfils the majestic, humble work of kneading and baking with a sense of communal obligation. And if the poet can arrive at this simple consciousness, he will be able to contribute to a colossal artwork; that is, constructing society, transforming the conditions that surround humanity, and offering the fruits of his labour: bread, truth, wine, dreams.
Neruda reminds us that ideal and reason, thought and deed, are dual aspects of a total obligation we have to our fellow human beings. Indeed, the harmonizing of these dualities could be considered the ultimate goal of education for peace.
Whether as individuals or as nations, we human beings tend to draw our ethical standards from the example of our peers. If we choose our mentors carefully, they have the potential to inspire us to greatness. I believe that Japan’s recent history sets an eminently positive example for the rest of the world. Over the past fifty-nine years, Japan has achieved security and prosperity through peaceful means. There is nothing militaristic about those qualities that have made the Japanese admired and respected in the rest of the world: a high respect for education; a powerful work ethic; innovation in technology; a vibrant and creative culture. Japan is a world leader thanks to the genius of its people, not the extent of its arsenal.
The Goi Peace Award has special meaning as an expression of the ties that bind Costa Rica and Japan. Both countries have experienced the devastation of war and have made the monumental decision to abolish their armies. We are peoples whose history allows us to understand deep in our hearts the value of peace.
The Japanese constitution was drafted in a time when the horrors of war were fresh in the minds of people across the world. Out of the conviction never to permit another world war, many great leaders sought to establish the basis of a new global society. Allow me to quote from your Constitution, which so eloquently expresses the idealism of that time. “We, the Japanese people, determined that we shall secure for ourselves and our posterity the fruits of peaceful cooperation with all nations and the blessings of liberty throughout this land, and resolved that never again shall we be visited with the horrors of war… believe that no nation is responsible to itself alone, but that laws of political morality are universal; and that obedience to such laws is incumbent upon all nations who would sustain their own sovereignty and justify their sovereign relationship with other nations.”
In 1948, a brief but momentous civil war forever altered the course of history in Costa Rica. Once peace was established, the new president abolished the army, convinced that the people of a small, developing country would be better served by investment in health and education than by military spending. With an optimistic spirit reminiscent of Japan’s Article Nine, the new Costa Rican constitution stated, “The Regular Army of Costa Rica hereby bequeaths the key to its military base to the schools, so that it may be transformed into a cultural center… We are firm upholders of the ideal of a new world in America. Oh America! Other peoples offer you their greatness. Little Costa Rica wishes to forever offer you her heart, her love of civility and of democracy.”
Today, as leaders around the world rush to expand their militaries in the face of terrorism and other geopolitical threats, it is vital that both Japan and Costa Rica continue to predicate the principle of non-militaristic development. Our countries are testament to the benefits of seeking security and prosperity through peaceful means. As nations committed to peaceful co-existence, we also have a special obligation to uphold the principles of international cooperation and respect for the law.
Given the affinity between our pacifist constitutions, it is compelling that both Japan and Costa Rica joined the “coalition of the willing” in support of the American-led invasion of Iraq. In both countries, this decision provoked widespread debate about the integrity of our national principles, and what role, if any, a country committed to international cooperation should play in a controversial war. As you are perhaps aware, last month Costa Rica’s highest court declared support of the Iraq war to be contrary to our country’s Proclamation of Perpetual Neutrality, and ordered Costa Rica’s name removed from the list of supporters. This was a key decision in our constitutional history, recognizing that it is always in Costa Rica’s best interest to uphold its principles, even in times of extraordinary diplomatic or economic pressure.
Those of you who have studied international law understand its simultaneous power and vulnerability: when collectively enforced, it can help us overcome the most dangerous threats, such as terrorism; when ignored or respected only when it is convenient, we are all left more vulnerable to arbitrary force. To sanction a culture of low regard for the law is to leave oneself vulnerable to the winds of chaos that blow in today’s world. The current predicament of East Asia, a region endangered by the ongoing machinations of a rogue state, presents a particularly urgent example of the challenge, and necessity, of seeking collective answers to common problems.
To believe in the possibility of a peaceful solution to the challenge of North Korea, it is not necessary to believe that negotiations are infallible. In fact, we know that parties are often intransigent, that leaders may fail to live up to their obligations and responsibilities, and that violent dissenters can obstruct even the most popular commitments to peace. Although negotiations may take time and try our patience, it is clear that the alternative is far worse. When pacts are broken, it is more sensible to return to the negotiating table, than to engage in the deadly gamble of military retaliation. When tensions increase, it is wiser to seek a better understanding of your opponent’s position, than to shut him out completely.
As a matter of principle and of practice, I have always had more faith in the negotiating table than in the battlefield. I argued strongly for dialogue over armed confrontation in the 1980´s, when civil wars raged in Guatemala, El Salvador and Nicaragua. As the violence threatened to engulf the neutral states of Honduras and Costa Rica, it became clear that the future of our people depended on the negotiation of a region-wide agreement. My administration lobbied hard for regional dialogue and recruited the support of foreign governments. Finally, we were able to bring together the five Central American presidents in a statement of common principles. These accords, known as Esquipulas II, did not immediately bring an end to Central America’s wars, but they did help to set the foundations for economic development and social justice. In particular, the affirmation of the democratic principle in Esquipulas II was deeply significant, at a time when most political decisions were being decided at the battlefield rather than the ballot box.
My friends, I recount this history in the hope that you might find it resonant with the contemporary reality of East Asia. Clearly, the two situations are very different, not least of all because the specter of nuclear weaponry comes into play here. However, if there is a common lesson to extract from the experiences of Central America and East Asia, it is that exporting peace as foreign policy works.
During my presidency, I said on many occasions to the Costa Rican people, “Let us plant peace beyond our borders, so that no one ever dares to sow war in our own soil.” I saw that Costa Rica would imperil its own traditions of demilitarization and democracy by failing to export them to its troubled neighbors. The end of armed conflict in our region has only strengthened this conviction. In our increasingly interconnected world, no nation can afford to fall into the false belief that it is possible to create a paradise within its borders while tolerating an inferno outside of them.
In these days we hear the drums of war beating in more distant lands, reminding us perhaps of experiences lived in our childhoods, or during our parents’ or grandparents’ generations. Then as now, we must draw from the deepest springs of our faith in order to stem the tide of unbridled hate and militarism. Of course, it can seem quixotic to speak of peace and reconciliation, as our communications systems hum with news of conflicts that have no foreseeable resolution. But this is precisely why we need to talk of peace now: not as a dream, not as a platitude, but as a great and challenging enterprise undertaken by people of many faiths and many cultures.
My friends, the peace that we seek is a peace based on greater solidarity, tolerance, and respect for life, human liberty and dignity. It is a peace that dissolves the barriers of indifference and solitude, severs the deep-running roots of ethnic hatred, and proscribes the arrogant power of militarism. For all the turmoil we see in today’s world, we must remember that this peace, a peace based in love and justice, is still eminently possible. It demands in each of us conviction, courage and perseverance. Let us each seek, in our varied capacities and professions, to be that baker for humanity described by the poet Neruda, thereby ensuring that this century will be more enlightened than the last.
Thank you all, and may peace prevail on earth.