The Power of Volunteering
In a time where communities often feel disconnected and overwhelmed, one value is becoming increasingly rare—and yet, it holds remarkable power: volunteering.
“If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” — African Proverb
Volunteering is not just about filling a gap. It is choosing to show up when you’re not required to. It is giving your time, your energy, and your heart to something that could easily be paid for—but isn’t. That is what makes it extraordinary.
In a world driven by transactions and self-interest, volunteering remains one of the few actions rooted purely in purpose.
We often tell ourselves we are too busy. Or we assume these responsibilities belong to the government—institutions funded by our taxes. But the truth is simple: no system, no matter how organized, can meet every need all at once. There will always be gaps, overlooked people, and moments waiting for someone to step in.
And that someone is us.
Every time someone chooses to volunteer, they become part of the solution. They bring light where there is neglect, hope where there is silence, and action where things are delayed.
So why do we volunteer?
We volunteer because we know community isn’t built by policy alone—it’s built by people.
Because we know impact isn’t always measured in dollars, but in presence.
Because deep down, we recognize that the strength of a society is revealed not in what it demands—but in what its members are willing to give freely.
Volunteering is not just service.
It is leadership.
It is compassion in action.
It is humanity at its best.
This is what the representatives of the virtual newspaper did with the organization “Les amis de la chicot” by taking part in a roadside litter clean-up in the town of Saint-Cuthbert. Thank you to this volunteer association that makes small miracles possible.
Between Faith and History: A visit to Musée d’Art de joliette
I am not in a church, and I have not come to see a Catholic priest. Yet as I stand in front of these works of art, I find myself facing one of the most powerful symbols in human history — the cross. In a museum, the symbol no longer belongs only to worship. It becomes part of history, memory, and artistic expression.
Here in the Musée d’Art de Joliette in Quebec, faith and culture intersect. The sculptures, paintings, and installations remind visitors that religion once shaped entire civilizations. Churches were not only places of prayer; they were also centers of artistic creation.
Some of the pieces preserved in museums today trace their origins back to sacred spaces and traditions that date centuries into the past. What once stood in sanctuaries now sits carefully preserved in galleries where people from many cultures can reflect on their meaning.
Museums allow us to encounter history without fear or judgment. When we walk through these halls, we are invited to see how belief, creativity, and human struggle have shaped societies over time.
The Musée d’Art de Joliette does not present only religious objects. It also presents contemporary works that challenge us to think about modern life — technology, identity, race, culture, and the environment.
Some artworks question how humans treat the earth. Others explore how societies deal with difference. In many ways, art becomes a quiet voice speaking about justice, history, and the human condition
Walking through the museum feels like traveling through different centuries. One room may hold ancient sacred carvings, while another displays bold modern installations that experiment with color, technology, and digital projection.
In another gallery, visitors encounter experimental art pieces made from everyday materials such as fabric, recycled objects, and even human hair. These pieces remind us that art does not always come from precious materials — it often comes from imagination.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of the museum is how it invites visitors to become creators themselves. Some sections allow guests to explore artistic expression using tools and materials made available right there in the museum.
When Difference No Longer Needs an Explanation.
Editorial / Opinion
By Lawson Kwesi Wurapa
Not all lessons arrive through policy papers, speeches, or national debates. Some arrive quietly, disguised as ordinary moments.
Yesterday evening, Susan and I attended an end-of-year gathering among friends. There was no formal structure. No agenda. Everyone arrived alone, each bringing food or drinks to share. In total, we were about twelve people—hardly enough to make headlines, yet enough to reveal something essential.
Around that table sat a Ghanaian, a Colombian, a French presence, and members of the LGBTQ community. Different histories. Different cultures. Different identities. Yet none of these differences demanded explanation.
What unfolded was simple—and that simplicity is precisely what made it powerful.
Food circulated freely. Jokes crossed accents and backgrounds without caution. Songs emerged in different languages, yet voices joined without hesitation. There was laughter, warmth, and ease. No one paused to measure words. No one braced for misunderstanding. There was no friction to manage and no identity to defend.
This is worth reflecting on.
Much of public discourse today treats diversity as a challenge to be solved or a tension to be managed. We debate integration, tolerance, and coexistence as if harmony requires constant negotiation. But last night offered a quieter truth: when respect is present, difference does not need supervision.
As the evening progressed, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations slowed. Laughter softened. A sense of shared calm settled over the room. Without anyone naming it, a collective realization emerged—we were not merely attending a party. We were participating in something rarer.
Belonging.
Not the kind enforced by similarity, but the kind made possible by mutual regard.
What stood out most was what did not occur. There were no awkward silences. No subtle exclusions. No invisible lines separating who belonged and who did not. Everyone occupied the space fully and comfortably, without conditions.
When it was time to leave, there was hesitation. Goodbyes lingered longer than usual. Hugs carried meaning. Each person stepped back into the night carrying the same quiet thought: this is what a healthy society feels like.
Not loud. Not performative. Just human.
This was not an argument for diversity. It was evidence of it.
And perhaps that is the point worth holding onto—that unity does not require sameness, and belonging does not need permission. Sometimes, all it takes is a table, shared food, open hearts, and the willingness to let difference exist without explanation