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Among the most significant voices at the World Meeting on Human Fraternity, Najwa Shihab’s address highlighted humanity’s responsibility regarding information. One of the most influential Indonesian journalists in Asia, she placed human dignity at the center of her remarks. Drawing on her experience during the 2004 Aceh tsunami, she reminded the audience that journalism is not merely about news. It is also the ability to listen, to safeguard the most fragile stories, and to “hold hands in the darkness.” This mission is made more difficult by misinformation, deepfakes, and the divisions fueled by digital platforms. Technology, she emphasized, is not our master, however: everything depends on how we choose to use it. Even in the age of artificial intelligence, humanity must remain at the center. No machine can listen with compassion, recognize the dignity of others, or choose love over indifference. Remembering the journalists killed in Gaza and Palestine, Shihab reiterated that words can hurt, but they can also defend the truth. At the heart of the World Meeting, he thus identified journalism as a genuine instrument of fraternity.

Excerpt from the remarks by Najwa Shihab – Journalist and founder of Narasi TV

Indonesia, the world’s third-largest democracy and the most populous Muslim-majority country, is home to 270 million people, whose ability to unite in diversity is extraordinary. It is a country where journalism is not something abstract, but an essential tool for maintaining a balance between differences and dialogue.

In 2004, I was still a young journalist and found myself in the midst of the devastation caused by the Aceh tsunami, which claimed hundreds of thousands of lives. I saw loss and destruction everywhere. Yet, amid that pain, I also saw small acts of courage: survivors finding hope in fragile stories, shared through impromptu broadcasts and gently passed from one person to another. At that moment, journalism ceased to be merely a matter of headlines and became a way to hold hands in the darkness. For two decades, I have listened to stories: some whispered in fear, others shouted during protests, all driven by the desire to be recognized and respected. These voices remind me that journalism is not just about facts—it is about people.

Today, however, this task is more difficult than ever. Digital platforms amplify anger, spread lies, and profit from divisions. Conspiracy theories poison families, disinformation corrupts elections, and hate speech inflames communities, while deepfakes blur the lines of reality and, little by little, erode our trust.

Yet I have also seen the opposite. In Indonesia, young people fact-check politicians’ statements in real time and take to the streets to demand transparency and accountability. Communities organize aid more quickly than governments do. Climate activists connect across borders at a speed no government can match. In Indonesia and around the world, citizens are reclaiming their power, using their voices not to divide, but to unite.

I believe this is the fundamental lesson: technology is not our master. What matters is how we choose to use words: not to divide, but to heal; not to hurt, but to mend; not to inflame, but to bring us closer together. We must protect independent media from political and commercial control and promote media literacy, so that citizens can resist disinformation. We must bring marginalized voices alongside those of leaders, safeguard the safety and freedom of journalists, and build new alliances with the tech sector and civil society, so that the spaces that once divided us can begin to serve our shared humanity. These are not idealistic hopes. They are urgent necessities for democracies under intense pressure and for communities torn apart by mistrust. And we must constantly remember those who today bear this burden in the most painful way.

In Gaza and throughout Palestine, journalists are no longer merely witnesses—they have become targets. They fall not by the sword, but with cameras and notebooks in their hands. Their courage reminds us why we are here. Words can be walls and shields, but they can also be bridges to the truth. They can destroy, but they can also defend dignity and humanity. To honor them is to honor the principle at the heart of this gathering.

As Pope Leo XIV reminds us: “Before being believers, we are called to be human beings. Before being anything else, we are called to be human beings.” We must remind the world that journalism, too, can be an act of love. There is no greater power than brotherhood.