Archbishop's speech to The Anne Frank Trust

I thank you for inviting me to join you today. Moments ago we lit candles solemnly to remember those who died in the holocaust. Candles and silence – and yet as we go out from here this must be much more than a gesture. If our pledges today result in serious action for peace and justice, then what a difference we can all make!

As the Chinese proverb says – 'it is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.'

Or as Anne Frank wrote:

"How wonderful it is that no one has to wait, but can start right now to gradually change the world!"

All these years later she is for us a bright spark of hope in the world. It is up to us to catch the flame, to be light, and to fulfil her dream.

On January 14, 1999, Kofi Annan, Secretary-General of the United Nations, said on the occasion of signing the Anne Frank Declaration in London:

"If Anne Frank, in her living hell, could summon the will to imagine a better, more peaceful world, a future free of suffering and persecution, then surely we can summon the will to make that day come to pass."

I last saw Kofi Annan at work in Kenya in the wake of the post election violence there last year. I had seen the terrible effects in the Rift Valley towns, and saw the fear and grief in the eyes of families who had been caught up in the troubles.

His recipe for Kenya was a tried and tested process. It began with measures to end violence and restore fundamental rights and freedoms.

Then came steps to address the humanitarian situation and promote reconciliation, healing and restoration, and on the back of these, a way through the political crisis. – including the establishment of truth and reconciliation bodies.

Then came the longer term justice issues: land reform, tackling poverty and inequity; addressing accountability and supporting equal access to opportunity. This story is a familiar one – but wherever this drama is played out it takes actors of vision and commitment to see it through.

The secret ingredients needed on all sides in Kenya back in February were faith, hope, and charity.

Faith that old enmities could be put aside. Faith that bloodshed could give way to conversation, and conversation to cooperation. Faith in a common humanity – in Kenya it is the Swahili word 'Harambee' – 'let's pull together!'

Hope that a peace like a river will flow freely across Kenya bringing refreshment and the healing of past painful memories.

Charity conquering bitterness, violence, and hatred.

My experience of Amin's Uganda taught me two things:– one, that there are times you have to stand up to evil, and two, that hate cannot defeat hate; the only way to overcome an enemy is to make them a friend.

I have seen the same drama played out on local as well as international stages. It has been both a privilege and a great sadness for me to accompany the families of Stephen Lawrence and of Damilola Taylor, victims of racist violence on our own streets, and alongside them to call for an end to that violence. Since then we have seen far too many young people fall victim to the gang culture of some of our cities. And yet many of these communities begin to find hope just as they confront the tragedy that has unfolded. Is this not our only hope today?

In today's lament for victims of violence and war past and present, we should strive for peace and justice in our time, standing alongside those who suffer in compassion and hope.

I salute the Anne Frank Trust for the inspiration it gives to so many to resist evil and break down barriers of suspicion and mistrust. Young people in schools, colleges, prisons, and so many other places are being inspired by Anne's story to look beyond their small ambitions to a greater vision- a vision for a common humanity.

You will know the story of the Rabbi who asked his disciples how they knew that night had ended and the day was dawning. "Could it be", asked one, "when you can see an animal in the distance and tell whether it is a sheep or a dog?" "No", replied the Rabbi. "Could it be", asked a second, "when you look at a tree in the distance and can tell whether it is a fig or an olive tree?" "No", the Rabbi replied. "Well then, what is it?" the disciples pressed. "It is when you can look on the face of any woman or man and see that she or he is your sister or brother. If you cannot do this, no matter what time it is, it is still night."

On July 15, 1944, 3 weeks before she was taken to Auschwitz wrote,

"It's difficult in times like these: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality. It's really a wonder that I haven't dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.'

But is this so? Good at heart?

There's a battle in each of us between an eagle and a wolf. Which will win?

One side is the soaring eagle. Everything the eagle stands for is good and true and beautiful, and it soars above the clouds. Even though it dips down into the valleys, it lays its eggs on the mountaintops.

The other side of me is the howling wolf. And that raging, howling wolf represents the worst that's in me. He feasts on my downfalls and justifies himself by his presence in the pack.

Who wins this great battle?

The one I feed.

My friends, we have eaten well here today. I pray to God that we have also fed the eagle in us.

As Mahatma Gandhi said – 'be the change you want to see in the world'.