The World as We See it

Ian Bishop - Official Ten-Time World Record Holder, 17-Time National and International Black Belt hall of Fame Award Winner Inspired by the words of Muhammad Ali "In a competition of love, we would not be running against one another, but with one another. We would be trying to gain victory for all humanity. If I am a faster runner than you, you may feel bad seeing me pass you in the race, but if you know that we are both racing to make our world better, you will feel good knowing that we are all racing toward a common goal, a mutual reward. In a competition of love, we'll all share in the victory, no matter who comes in first." — Muhammad Ali These are powerful words — and yet, how often they are overlooked by people in positions of influence. Too many use notoriety not to uplift, but to degrade. Instead of promoting goodness, they glorify violence. Instead of speaking with love and mindfulness, they use vile language in front of women, children, and families. This isn't strength — it's weakness disguised as power. So many claim allegiance to Muhammad Ali, praising his name while ignoring everything he stood for. They flood their platforms with hate speech and toxic rhetoric, the very things Ali fought against. Love and violence cannot share the same breath. Words matter. They build or destroy. They shape culture, influence behavior, and affect generations. People say, “It’s only words.” Only words? Words carry immense weight. They can cause bullying, nurture arrogance, fuel antisocial behavior. They tear at the fabric of family values. They start arguments. They start wars. So no — don’t tell me it’s only words. What we need is a return to older values: dignity, integrity, love, and mindfulness. We need more people like Muhammad Ali, willing to speak up and stand tall for what is good and right — not those who spread poison across media and social media like a disease. Where have all the uplifting programs and films gone? Where are the shows like Highway to Heaven or Heaven Can Wait — stories that celebrated compassion, decency, and kindness? Now, all we see is violence, vulgarity, and destruction. Shows like the new Sylvester Stallone series air shocking language that once would have never passed censors. Children watch and absorb it, thinking that this is how to act — and those children grow up to become parents themselves. The cycle continues. You might think I’m exaggerating, but turn on your TV. Walk down a city street. Elderly people and families are confronted with antisocial behavior, and if anyone dares to stand up, they risk being attacked or worse. And why? Because people imitate what they see. If celebrities glorify it, then it must be cool — right? No, it’s not. You can’t promote good while endorsing bad. Just as light cannot coexist with darkness, love cannot grow where hate is sown. We have a responsibility — all of us. Artists, writers, producers, influencers — and parents most of all. It starts in the home. It starts with the content we allow into our children’s minds. I do my best to monitor what my daughter sees, but many aren’t in a position to do so. We are failing them. As boxing trainer Teddy Atlas once said, "We’ve got to do better. We’ve got to try to be better people. Why? Because it’s the right thing to do." Writing this in the early hours of the morning drains me mentally, and I know most will scroll past these words. So why write it at all? Because someone has to speak. Someone has to hit the brakes — and fast — before it’s too late. What kind of world do we want our children and grandchildren to grow up in? Thank you for listening. My Lord God, I rest my case. Ian Bishop Official 10-Time World Record Holder 17-Time National and International Black Belt Hall of Fame Award Winner Vincent Lyn CEO/Founder at We Can Save Children Deputy Ambassador at International Human Rights Commission (IHRC) Director of Creative Development at African Views Organization Economic & Social Council at United Nations (ECOSOC) Chief International Director at 365 Security Services

To walk the path of a true humanitarian is to walk alone. Not always in body — for there are onlookers who admire from afar, kind souls who offer words of encouragement, and dreamers who wish they had the strength to act. But in the trenches of despair, in the unrelenting war against apathy and injustice, one often finds themselves profoundly alone. Alone — not because there is no one else who cares, but because so few are willing to act. Because when the screams of the forsaken echo through ruined streets, when the cries of hungry children pierce the silence of political chambers, too many turn their backs. Too many say, “It’s not my problem.” Too many are too comfortable to care. From the broken alleys of Gaza to the frigid displacement camps of Ukraine, from forgotten villages in Ghana to the flood-scarred plains of South Sudan, I have walked into suffering with nothing but my heart and my hands. I have given and given — my time, my sleep, my soul — to those the world has cast aside. To children left behind by governments sworn to shield them. To innocents who have never known peace, only the endless thunder of bombs and the gnawing ache of hunger. I have stood among the rubble of collapsed homes and cradled children who’ve lost everything — and everyone. I have knelt beside graves dug too early and held trembling hands in the dark. I did not do these things because I thought I could save the world. I did them because, in that moment, I could change their world. Because even one life touched by kindness is a light in the night. And still — still — I have faced the coldest cruelty not from warlords or gunmen, but from those in suits and ties. From those in gleaming offices, whose pens sign the fate of nations. They ask me, with unsettling detachment, “What’s the point of saving 30 or 40 people?” As if lives are items on a spreadsheet. As if a child’s heartbeat is a footnote in some grand geopolitical strategy. When I tell them, “They are your citizens,” they look away.When I plead, “They are human beings,” they remain unmoved.When I say, “They are children,” their silence is louder than any bomb. Why do I keep going? Why do I give when the need is endless, when the fight feels unwinnable? Because one child saved from the grip of death is enough.Because one spark of hope in a heart once consumed by fear is worth every tear I’ve shed, every battle I’ve fought. Because the greatest tragedy is not the suffering itself — it is the indifference that allows it to persist. The tragedy is in the leaders who see numbers instead of names.In the policymakers who weigh lives against politics.In the systems that label compassion as naïveté, and sacrifice as a waste. But I refuse to become like them.I will not let their indifference dim the fire in my soul. If there is a child crying in the dark, I will be the one to answer.If there is a soul drowning in sorrow, I will reach into the abyss.If the world looks away, I will look closer. I may be only one — but I am not nothing.I may be tired, but I am not finished.I may be alone, but I am not afraid. Because this work is not about numbers.It is not about praise or recognition.It is about the sacred truth that every life matters — not in theory, but in the aching, undeniable reality of flesh and blood. So if I must be the one who stands for the voiceless, then I will stand.If I must be the one who loves when others cannot, then I will love. I will fight.I will give.I will care. Because someone has to.And I will never stop believing that someone can change everything — even if that someone is just me. Vincent Lyn CEO/Founder at We Can Save Children Deputy Ambassador at International Human Rights Commission (IHRC) Director of Creative Development at African Views Organization Economic & Social Council at United Nations (ECOSOC) Chief International Director at 365 Security Services

To walk the path of a true humanitarian is to walk alone. Not always in body — for there are onlookers who admire from afar, kind souls who offer words of encouragement, and dreamers who wish they had the strength to act. But in the trenches of despair, in the unrelenting war against apathy and injustice, one often finds themselves profoundly alone. Alone — not because there is no one else who cares, but because so few are willing to act. Because when the screams of the forsaken echo through ruined streets, when the cries of hungry children pierce the silence of political chambers, too many turn their backs. Too many say, “It’s not my problem.” Too many are too comfortable to care. From the broken alleys of Gaza to the frigid displacement camps of Ukraine, from forgotten villages in Ghana to the flood-scarred plains of South Sudan, I have walked into suffering with nothing but my heart and my hands. I have given and given — my time, my sleep, my soul — to those the world has cast aside. To children left behind by governments sworn to shield them. To innocents who have never known peace, only the endless thunder of bombs and the gnawing ache of hunger. I have stood among the rubble of collapsed homes and cradled children who’ve lost everything — and everyone. I have knelt beside graves dug too early and held trembling hands in the dark. I did not do these things because I thought I could save the world. I did them because, in that moment, I could change their world. Because even one life touched by kindness is a light in the night. And still — still — I have faced the coldest cruelty not from warlords or gunmen, but from those in suits and ties. From those in gleaming offices, whose pens sign the fate of nations. They ask me, with unsettling detachment, “What’s the point of saving 30 or 40 people?” As if lives are items on a spreadsheet. As if a child’s heartbeat is a footnote in some grand geopolitical strategy. When I tell them, “They are your citizens,” they look away. When I plead, “They are human beings,” they remain unmoved. When I say, “They are children,” their silence is louder than any bomb. Why do I keep going? Why do I give when the need is endless, when the fight feels unwinnable? Because one child saved from the grip of death is enough. Because one spark of hope in a heart once consumed by fear is worth every tear I’ve shed, every battle I’ve fought. Because the greatest tragedy is not the suffering itself — it is the indifference that allows it to persist. The tragedy is in the leaders who see numbers instead of names. In the policymakers who weigh lives against politics. In the systems that label compassion as naïveté, and sacrifice as a waste. But I refuse to become like them. I will not let their indifference dim the fire in my soul. If there is a child crying in the dark, I will be the one to answer. If there is a soul drowning in sorrow, I will reach into the abyss. If the world looks away, I will look closer. I may be only one — but I am not nothing. I may be tired, but I am not finished. I may be alone, but I am not afraid. Because this work is not about numbers. It is not about praise or recognition. It is about the sacred truth that every life matters — not in theory, but in the aching, undeniable reality of flesh and blood. So, if I must be the one who stands for the voiceless, then I will stand. If I must be the one who loves when others cannot, then I will love. I will fight. I will give. I will care. Because someone has to. And I will never stop believing that someone can change everything — even if that someone is just me. Vincent Lyn CEO/Founder at We can Save Children Deputy Ambassador at International Human Rights Commission (IHRC) Director of Creative Development at African Views Organization Economic & Social Council at United Nations (ECOSOC) Chief International Director at 365 Security Services