By Margarita ROJAS-BLANCO M.·. M.·.
Grand Central Lodge of Colombia - G.·.L.·.C.·.C.·.
Distinguished Brother President of Clipsas Louis Daly
Distinguished Brother Vice President of Clipsas in charge of the Colloquium
Distinguished Brothers and Sisters members of the Clipsas Bureau
Distinguished Grand Masters and Grand Mistresses
Distinguished Brothers and Sisters Heads of Delegation of the Obediences member of Clipsas
My Dear Brothers and Sisters in your Degrees and Qualities:
Speaking of fraternity and peace in the world is often an elegant act: well-chosen words, concepts that sound polished, and a pleasant feeling of being on the right side of history. Almost as if simply uttering them were enough to make the world obediently fall in line. But no. The world isn't fixed with speeches, although speeches, when used well, can at least cause enough discomfort for someone to do something different afterward.
We live in curious times: we have never been so connected and yet so skillfully separated. We become outraged in real time, we voice our opinions fervently, and then we go on with our lives as if indignation were a kind of moral exercise that keeps us in shape without us having to move a single muscle in reality.
In this scenario, Freemasonry risks—and it would be a rather poor irony—becoming a beautiful collection of self-contemplating ideas. A kind of museum of fraternal thought where everything is perfectly ordered… except the world out there.
Because yes, we have learned to work the rough stone, to polish ourselves, to think, to question. We have been, for a long time, magnificent speculations. And there is nothing wrong with that… except when it becomes enough.
The problem begins when we confuse understanding with action, as if understanding fraternity were the same as practicing it. As if reflecting on peace had, in itself, any effect on violence. It is a tempting idea: to think that the world improves because we think better about it.
But the world—stubborn, imperfect, and rather indifferent to our musings—continues to expect something else.
Moving from speculation to action is not betraying the essence of Freemasonry; it is, if anything, taking it seriously.
Being active today means something uncomfortable: that it's not enough to be insightful in the temple if we're indifferent outside. That it's not very useful to talk about equality if in practice we tolerate minor injustices because "it's not our responsibility." That fraternity isn't an abstract concept but a concrete practice… even when it's inelegant, uncomfortable, or not well-received.
And here's the bad news: there are no magic formulas.
But there are paths.
The first—and perhaps the most subversive in these times—is real dialogue. Not the decorative dialogue where everyone talks and no one listens, but that other, more difficult one, where one risks changing their mind. In a world that feeds on absolute certainties, sitting down to listen to the other can seem like a waste of time… or a small revolution.
The lodges could be, if they so chose, something more than spaces for internal reflection: they could become territories where differences meet. Not to solve everything—that would be overly optimistic—but at least to begin dismantling the comfortable "us versus them" logic, which has yielded such excellent results… for making things worse.
The second path is education. Not in the solemn and distant sense, but in the everyday sense: teaching people to think, to question, to not swallow whole the first convincing speech. Peace is not born of ignorance; quite the opposite, in fact. And, although it may sound unspectacular, forming critical citizens probably has more impact than a thousand well-intentioned declarations.
The third is social action, but with an important nuance: helping is not enough. Yes, it sounds harsh, but it's true. Help that doesn't transform ends up being an elegant way of maintaining the status quo. Being effective means committing to processes that restore autonomy, that generate dignity, that challenge the structures that produce inequality. The other kind—help that soothes consciences—is already largely covered.
The fourth is the defense of human rights. There's not much new here either, except that doing so seriously is often less comfortable than it seems. Defending rights sometimes means going against the grain, against dominant narratives, even against complicit silences. And no, it's not partisanship: it's consistency. But of course, consistency has the unfortunate habit of demanding a price.
The fifth, perhaps the most treacherous, is the use of words. In an era where everyone talks—and a lot—choosing not to fuel hatred is already a significant act. Not sharing convenient lies, not amplifying fashionable prejudices, not joining in the online lynching… small decisions that, accumulated, do more for peace than many solemn speeches.
None of this sounds heroic. And that's precisely the point.
We've romanticized the idea of changing the world so much that we forget that, in practice, it's more like a sum of persistent gestures than grand epic moments. It's less epic and more everyday. Less grandiose and more uncomfortable.
Of course, there are obstacles.
The first is consistency, that uncomfortable virtue that ruins any beautiful speech if it isn't accompanied by action. We cannot aspire to a different world by acting the same way we've always done. It may seem obvious, but history shows that it isn't.
The second is openness. For a long time, Freemasonry cultivated a certain reserve that, in its context, made sense. But today, being effective means engaging more with the world, ceasing to talk only amongst ourselves. Because, however comforting it may be, the world doesn't change inside a bubble.
The third is habit. When traditions become untouchable, they cease to be tools and become excuses. Being faithful to principles doesn't mean repeating forms; it means making them live in new contexts. And that, inevitably, involves discomfort.
In the end, fraternity isn't an idea: it's a practice. And peace isn't a distant destination: it's a daily, imperfect, sometimes frustrating construction. Perhaps we can't change the world all at once—it would be presumptuous even to attempt it in a conference—but we can stop behaving as if nothing depends on us. Which, ironically, is one of the most effective ways to ensure that nothing changes.
Moving from speculation to action is, fundamentally, accepting that our ideas aren't valued for how good they sound, but for what they actually accomplish.
And that—though less poetic than we might like—has the advantage of being true.
That's my word.
