Once upon a time, “tolerance” was a word that carried weight; a quiet, dignified strength. It meant living side by side, disagreeing passionately but respecting the right to exist, to speak, to be. Yet on this year’s International Day for Tolerance, that word feels almost like a relic, something you might find gathering dust in a museum of lost ideals. The world that once promised to celebrate diversity now seems addicted to division. The banners may still read “freedom” and “democracy,” but beneath them, intolerance is the reigning ideology, often wrapped in patriotic slogans and loud promises to “restore greatness.”
Let’s be honest, tolerance is on life support. The far-right movements sweeping across nations are the most visible symptom of this illness, but they’re not the cause. The cause is deeper; a fear of losing control, of losing identity, of losing the simplicity of a world that never truly existed. It’s the fear that drives people to seek comfort in extremism, to rally behind political figures who shout instead of speak and divide instead of lead. The MAGA phenomenon is the modern emblem of this fear, transforming political debate into tribal warfare. It’s not just about one country; it’s about a mindset spreading across borders, reshaping democracies into echo chambers where shouting matches replace dialogue.
What makes this particularly tragic is how predictably we’ve allowed it to happen. We’ve mistaken outrage for engagement. We’ve confused tolerance with weakness. We’ve let algorithms curate our worldviews until we no longer see our neighbours as people but as caricatures, enemies to defeat, not voices to understand. The internet promised connection; it delivered polarization. And the political machines that thrive on resentment have taken full advantage of it. “Us versus them” sells. Anger is a product, and tolerance doesn’t trend.
You can see it in how political discourse has mutated. Once, leaders competed over ideas; now, they compete over who can insult louder. Facts are negotiable, empathy is expendable, and compromise is portrayed as betrayal. The center has collapsed, leaving only extremes shouting across a widening canyon. The MAGA crowd isn’t the only one guilty of this; the left, too, often falls into the trap of moral superiority, shutting down rather than engaging. When everyone believes they’re absolutely right, tolerance dies quietly in the corner.
But intolerance doesn’t appear overnight. It creeps in through slogans that sound harmless at first. “Take back our country.” “Protect our traditions.” “Fight the woke mob.” They tap into nostalgia, into fear, into a longing for simpler times when people looked alike, prayed alike, and thought alike. But simplicity and sameness are not virtues; they’re symptoms of stagnation. A tolerant society is not one without friction. It’s one that can live with the friction and still choose coexistence.
The far-right rhetoric we see today thrives on the opposite. It feeds off grievance, invents enemies where none exist, and packages resentment as patriotism. The frightening part is how normalized it’s become. Hate is now a campaign strategy. Intolerance is a brand. And we’ve become numb to it, scrolling past cruelty as if it were just another piece of content in the daily feed.
International Day for Tolerance feels almost ironic under these conditions a ceremonial reminder of something we’ve forgotten how to practice. Politicians will issue statements about unity, schools will host themed assemblies, hashtags will bloom for a day, and then the noise will fade. By tomorrow, the world will be back to its outrage cycle. But the point of such a day was never to make us feel good. It was to make us uncomfortable to remind us that tolerance isn’t passive acceptance, it’s active resistance against hate. It requires courage, restraint, and the humility to admit that we might be wrong.
Tolerance is not about agreeing with everyone. It’s about allowing others to exist without demanding that they mirror us. It’s about standing up when someone’s humanity is under attack, even if their opinions offend us. It’s about choosing dialogue over dismissal, empathy over ego. It’s not glamorous, and it doesn’t fit neatly into a tweet. But it’s the only thing standing between democracy and decay.
If we’re honest, the far-right surge is only part of the picture. The real crisis is moral exhaustion. People are tired; tired of shouting, tired of hypocrisy, tired of feeling that decency is naive. And yet, tolerance requires exactly what fatigue resists, patience, endurance, the willingness to keep trying. It’s easier to be cynical, easier to sneer than to listen. But every time we choose cynicism, the intolerant win another inch.
On this International Day for Tolerance, we shouldn’t just mourn what’s been lost. We should reclaim what’s been abandoned. Tolerance isn’t weakness; it’s defiance. It’s refusing to let hatred dictate who we become. In a world that rewards outrage, choosing tolerance is the most radical act of all. It’s not about restoring greatness; it’s about preserving our shared humanity. Because without tolerance, there is no freedom worth celebrating.
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