In recent days, public life has been shaken by events that have hurt and bewildered. The news of violent deaths in political and academic settings has left our societies feeling empty and vulnerable. The funerals, the words of grief, and the tense reactions remind us that democracy is not safe ground in and of itself, but rather a task that is built and nurtured every day.

This delicate moment invites a very personal reflection on political violence as a result of fear. We’re not talking about a superficial fear, but a deep fear that takes root in consciences and institutions. It’s the fear of difference, the fear that others may think differently, the fear that one’s own truth will be challenged by other truths. This fear transforms plurality into a threat and paves the way for radicalization. What should be a debate of ideas becomes a closed confrontation. When trust in words fades, violence emerges as a substitute.

Political violence doesn’t begin with a gunshot; it begins with dehumanization. First, the hearing is blocked; then the adversary is ridiculed into a caricature; finally, their elimination is justified as if it were necessary to save the community. Fear runs through this entire process. It cannot tolerate differences and prefers imposition to coexistence. That’s why political violence is not a sign of firm convictions, but of moral fragility.

We have seen how, in America and other parts of the world, this fear has translated into tragic events. The murder of Charlie Kirk in the United States, which occurred in the middle of a university campus, reflects the inability to accept that someone thinks differently. It’s not about agreeing or disagreeing with his ideas, but rather understanding that life can never become a bargaining chip in public debate. Another example of this same radicalization is found in Colombia, where violence against political leaders has been a constant. The figure of Álvaro Uribe has been surrounded by extreme passions, and his name is spoken with equal intensity in terms of admiration and rejection. This tension reveals a common pattern, because when the adversary ceases to be an interlocutor and is conceived as an absolute enemy, words lose their place and violence takes over.

The Bible is clear on this. “Depart from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it” (Psalm 34:15). The command is not passive; it is a requirement. It is not enough to do no harm; we must actively work for peace, pursue it, and sustain it. And Jesus reminds us in the Sermon on the Mount: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God” (Matthew 5:9). Peace is not the absence of conflict; it is the decision to confront conflict with words, with respect, and with mercy. Violence is the easiest path, but also the most sterile. Peace demands greater courage, because it entails living with diversity, accepting that my truth does not nullify that of others, and that together we must seek a common good that is broader than our personal certainties.

Accepting plurality does not mean renouncing the truth. It means recognizing that truth is sought in common and is strengthened through dialogue. Even when there is no agreement, the dignity of those who think differently must be respected. Political violence denies that dignity and is therefore always a moral defeat. No political victory can be justified if it is obtained at the cost of another’s life.

The role of a Leadership Academy is, in this context, essential. Our mission is to safeguard training spaces where fear is replaced by trust. It’s not just about transmitting technical knowledge, but about teaching how to dissent without hating, how to discuss without destroying. We must train leaders capable of holding their convictions firmly yet with mercy. Men and women who know that the adversary is not an enemy to be eliminated, but a companion on the journey with whom we must engage in dialogue, even if we never reach the same point.

We need forums where words regain their power and where violence has no place. We need training programs in active listening, ethical rhetoric, and conflict mediation. A society that knows how to discuss is a society less prone to killing. Radicalization is not combated with censorship, but with greater dialogue. Hate is not combated with silence, but with words that open the way.

Political violence respects no ideology or borders. It can emerge in any party, in any country, in any public square. We are all responsible for not fuelling it. Every time we dehumanize our adversary, we sow the seeds of fear. Every time we deny the possibility of dialogue, we bring violence closer to the surface. That is why the call is universal: to politicians, journalists, citizens, institutions. No one can feel excluded.

It’s not good to get used to fear because we disagree with one position or another. We cannot allow bullets to replace words. Our commitment is to life, to dialogue, and to mercy. We know it’s not easy, that the road is long, and that the wounds are deep. But we also know that fear doesn’t have the last word. The last word belongs to hope, reconciliation, and peace.

Our Academy will always be a place where political violence is exposed for what it is: the bitter fruit of fear. And may every leader trained here leave convinced that thinking differently should never be a death sentence. That no idea deserves a bullet in return. That human life is above all political differences.

We trust in Christ’s promise: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives, I give to you” (John 14:27). This peace is neither naive nor superficial. It is a peace that demands courage, that is built with patience, that is defended with words and gestures of mercy. If we allow ourselves to be guided by this peace, then we can overcome evil with good, also in the political world.

Mario J. Paredes, president of the International Academy of Catholic Leaders