Both Barack Obama and Tony Blair have, in their own ways, expressed regret over pivotal decisions that contributed to chaos in the Middle East. Their reflections, while different in tone and approach, mark an important and commendable step in the direction of personal accountability.
Tony Blair, in a deeply emotional statement following the 2016 Chilcot Inquiry into the Iraq War, accepted “full responsibility without exception or excuse.” He openly apologised for flawed intelligence and inadequate post-war planning, expressing profound sorrow. At the same time, he stood by the decision to remove Saddam Hussein, reflecting a complex mix of remorse and justification.
Barack Obama, though not offering a formal apology for U.S. involvement—or inaction—in Syria, has spoken candidly about his regrets. He described the Syrian crisis as one of the most painful aspects of his presidency. In his 2016 farewell press conference, he shared how deeply affected he felt by the suffering in Aleppo, and earlier identified the failure to plan post-intervention in Libya as his “worst mistake.” His reflections show a leader grappling sincerely with the consequences of difficult decisions.
Both men have taken meaningful steps by publicly acknowledging their regrets. This in itself is a sign of growth and integrity. In this letter, we do not seek to criticise, but to offer a pathway forward—one that may help them find deeper peace with themselves, with the world, and ultimately, with their Maker. For leaders who have shaped history, the journey toward redemption and healing is not only possible, but powerful.
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What Blair and Obama Are Regretting About
At the heart of the regrets expressed by Blair and Obama lies a painful and sobering reality: the loss of innocent lives—especially those of children. While policy decisions are made in cabinet rooms, their consequences are lived out in bombed schools, refugee camps, and silent graves across the Middle East.
In Iraq, the war that followed Blair’s decision to join the 2003 U.S.-led invasion caused widespread destruction. Conservative estimates suggest over 200,000 civilians have died, with thousands of children among the dead.
However, when combined with the years of crippling international sanctions before the war, some humanitarian studies have estimated that up to half a million Iraqi children may have died due to conflict-related causes, including malnutrition and lack of medical care. A generation of Iraqi children grew up under the shadow of war, trauma, displacement, and poverty. Today, according to UNICEF, at least one in five Iraqi children still requires humanitarian assistance, and millions lack access to clean water, healthcare, and quality education—the basic building blocks of a safe and meaningful life.
In Syria, the consequences of inaction and hesitation—regretted by Obama—have been equally devastating. Since the conflict began in 2011, more than 29,000 children have been killed, according to the Syrian Network for Human Rights.
Millions more have been wounded, orphaned, or displaced. Cities like Aleppo became haunting symbols of shattered childhoods. Many Syrian children now live as refugees, robbed of stability, education, and peace. Their trauma is not fleeting—it will shape who they become, and what kind of future they can hope for.
And the suffering continues. Today, children in both Iraq and Syria face ongoing threats—of violence, hunger, exploitation, and extremism. Tomorrow, they will carry the emotional and psychological scars of these wars into adulthood, shaping future generations and the fragile peace that may one day emerge.
This is what Blair and Obama are regretting—not merely flawed strategies or missed opportunities, but the irreversible cost borne by the most vulnerable: the children who had no say, no shelter, and no safe place to run. Their expressions of regret are steps in the right direction. The next step is to ask: what now?
How can these two influential figures—who once shaped history—now help heal it?
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From Harm to Healing: Lessons from Four Great Transformations
Across time and tradition, we find stories of men who caused great harm—men of violence, arrogance, and destruction. And yet, something changed. In a moment of clarity, of awakening, of truth—they turned. They repented. They transformed. They spent the rest of their lives healing the very world they once helped break.
If Tony Blair and Barack Obama are looking for a path forward, they need not look far. History and religion offer profound examples of how one can turn regret into redemption, and power into peace.
Ratnakar the Bandit who Became Valmiki (Hinduism)
Once, there was a highway robber named Ratnakar, feared by all who crossed his path.
He attacked and killed travellers without remorse, justifying his actions as a means to feed his family. To him, there was no wrong—only survival.
But everything changed when he met Narada, the wandering sage. Narada asked a piercing question: “Will your family share in the sin of your actions?”
Ratnakar was stunned. He went home and realised they would not. The truth broke his heart.
He gave up violence, meditated in remorse for years, and emerged as Valmiki, the sage who composed the Ramayana. From bandit to poet-saint, he became a teacher of dharma, compassion, and righteousness.
Angulimala, the Serial Killer who Became a Monk (Buddhism)
Deceived by a cruel teacher, Angulimala believed that killing was the path to enlightenment. He collected the fingers of his victims and wore them as a garland—his name means “finger necklace.”
When he met the Buddha, he prepared to strike again. But the Buddha, calm and unmoving, said: “I have stopped, Angulimala. Have you?”
In that moment, Angulimala’s heart cracked open. He dropped his sword, asked for forgiveness, and became a monk. Villagers hated him, but he bore their hatred silently. Through patience and humility, he attained arahantship—true enlightenment.
Saul of Tarsus who Became Paul the Apostle (Christianity)
Saul was once a hunter of Christians, a man who approved of persecution and violence in the name of religious purity.
But on the road to Damascus, he was struck by a blinding light. He heard the voice of Jesus say, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”
He was blinded for three days. When his sight returned, so did a new understanding.
Saul became Paul, Christianity’s most influential missionary, preaching love, grace, and forgiveness. His letters became scripture. His transformation became legend.
Umar ibn al-Khattab, the Oppressor Turned Just Caliph (Islam)
In the early days of Islam, Umar was a fierce enemy of the Prophet ﷺ. He once marched out intending to kill him.
But first, he learned that his own sister had accepted Islam. When he burst into her home and heard her reciting the Qur’an, he was struck by its beauty. He broke down, asked to see the Prophet, and embraced Islam.
Umar became the second Caliph, known for his justice, simplicity, and accountability. He once said, “If a dog were to go hungry on the banks of the Euphrates, I fear Allah would hold me responsible.” From persecutor to protector, Umar’s legacy is one of reform and mercy.
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Sacred Reminders from Four Traditions
Hinduism (Bhagavad Gita 9:30)
"Even if the most sinful person worships Me with unwavering devotion, he must be regarded as righteous, for he has rightly resolved."
Buddhism (Dhammapada 173)
"Though formerly he committed evil deeds, if he covers them with good and becomes pure, he lights up the world like the moon freed from clouds."
Christianity (Luke 15:7)
"There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance."
Islam (Qur’an 39:53)
“Say, O My servants who have transgressed against themselves: do not despair of the mercy of Allah. Indeed, Allah forgives all sins.”
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A Final Reflection
To regret is noble. To admit one’s mistake is courageous. But regret becomes real only when followed by change. Saying sorry while continuing life in luxury, power, and comfort—disconnected from those who suffered—rings hollow.
True redemption calls for more.
Dear Mr. Blair and Mr. Obama, if your regret is sincere—and we believe it is—then let the remainder of your lives be lived in service to the children of Iraq and Syria, to the widows and the wounded, to the healing of broken homes and broken hopes.
Go to them. Listen. Help rebuild what was lost. Speak truth even if the world forgets. Live simply. Give generously. Let your legacies be transformed, not by speeches or memoirs, but by humble action.
It is not too late. You can still turn your regret into a calling—and find peace not only with the world but with your own souls.
Peace.
Anas Zubedy
Kuala Lumpur
