When Humanity Prevails…
In December 1914, at several points along the Western Front, soldiers spontaneously stopped fighting. On Christmas Eve, songs and candles replaced the sound of gunfire. Soldiers heard Christmas carols rising from the enemy trenches and joined in singing. British, French, Belgian, and German troops stepped into no man’s land, exchanged tobacco, chocolate, and wine. Together they buried the dead, and in some places impromptu football matches were played.
These scenes were widely reported in the British press, and in January 1915 the *Daily Mirror* published photographs of these memorable moments—though censored on the French and Belgian sides. Yet they remain a striking testimony of fraternity and humanity. They entered history and are still remembered as part of the Christmas truces of 1914. Christian Carion’s 2005 film *Joyeux Noël* was dedicated “to the memory of the soldiers who fraternized on Christmas Eve.”
The fraternization recounted by Carion in his film was inspired by events in the trenches around Ypres. While reading Yves Buffetaut’s book *Batailles de Flandres et d’Artois 1914–1918*, he discovered the incredible Christmas of 1914 in which the author described fraternization between enemies.
“The Germans sang *Stille Nacht*—*Silent Night*—and the other side answered. Suddenly the no man’s land, usually a death zone, was no longer so. It was the music that built the bridge. Very early on, I knew *Joyeux Noël* would be a musical film.”
Condemned by the General Staff, who took measures to end them and prevent their recurrence, the Christmas truces of 1914 were long absent from history books.
That same humanity resurfaced in 1997, when soldiers sent by the government of Moroni to Anjouan refused to open fire on their compatriots and preferred to surrender rather thanfire on the population.
This major historical episode is recounted in my novel *Christine and Her Life of Adventures on the Moon Islands*, in the chapter on the secession of Anjouan.
History is not made only of battles won or lost. It is also shaped by those moments when, faced with the order to fire, men choose to lower their rifles. These moments are rare, but they shine in our collective memory like stars that refuse to fade.
In 1974, in Portugal, soldiers sent to repress the democratic movement refused to fire on the crowd. Civilians slipped carnations into their rifle barrels. This “Carnation Revolution” ended nearly half a century of dictatorship without a drop of blood.
In 1989, in Leipzig, East Germany, thousands of demonstrators gathered every Monday. The order to repress was given, but some commanders refused. Their soldiers remained motionless. This act of restraint opened the way to the peaceful fall of the East German regime.
In the uncertain hours of the August 1991 coup in the Soviet Union, tanks were stationed in Moscow, ready to crush the popular uprising. Several units disobeyed, siding with the demonstrators. This unexpected fraternization contributed to the coup’s failure and hastened the collapse of the USSR.
At Tiananmen Square in 1989, some groups of soldiers withdrew rather than open fire. Their gesture did not prevent the tragedy, but it testified to a personal choice: to preserve life by refusing to shoot.
These examples—from Portugal to Moscow, from Leipzig to Anjouan—remind us of a truth that Pericles already proclaimed 2,400 years ago: there is no happiness without freedom, nor freedom without courage. Courage is surely defending one’s country and loved ones when they are threatened—but it is not always fighting.
Sometimes it is saying no, choosing to lay down arms
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