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Many songs and famous refrains flooded my mind as we transitioned into 2025. “Living on a thin line,” “It’s all over now, baby blue,” and “Can’t find my way home” were some of the notable downers. On the flip side (no pun intended), I was uplifted by “Land of hope and dreams” and “It’s gonna be a bright sun-shiny day,” and the thought that “Love [would] reign o’er me.”
Of all, what stood out was “Don’t dream it’s over,” a hit song written in 1986 by New Zealand-born Neil Finn. It is the most well-known song by his group, Crowded House, and an anthem for many. Finn reflects, “I was contemplating the end of things: relationships and the challenges that you face. It’s an exhortation to myself—and to anyone who’s going through that—to not think it’s the end, to keep on pushing, keep on believing. It’s a song of hope, I think.”
Yet, like many of Finn’s songs, there are also strains of melancholia, even hopelessness—for example, the line “In the paper today tales of war and of waste, but you turn right over to the T.V. page.” Have we really become so numb to violence that our only solution is to ignore it? Are we helpless to solve the epidemic of violence in America and elsewhere, consigned to simply watching it repeatedly unfold—on television and in the newspaper—and flipping a switch or turning the page in resignation?
Finn said that, in a sense, “Don’t dream it’s over” was a “private message…to someone who was withdrawing from their world.” In an era now dominated by war and where mass casualty incidents are commonplace—whether at a German Christmas market or on New Year’s Day in New Orleans—withdrawal is the last thing we should do.
The temptation to disengage, to retreat from the onslaught of despair that headlines bring, is understandable. Yet, if we withdraw, who will be left to advocate for change? The world does not heal itself passively; it requires action, hope, and effort. Finn’s refrain—”They come to build a wall between us; don’t ever let them win”—reminds us to “keep pushing, keep believing,” even when the odds seem insurmountable.
Governments and countries have the power to tackle the widespread violence through deliberate and coordinated strategies. First, addressing the root causes of violence—such as poverty, inequality, and lack of education—can reduce the desperation and resentment that often lead to conflict. Investing in social safety nets, job creation, and equitable economic policies can provide alternatives to violence and foster stability.
Second, international cooperation is vital. Institutions like the United Nations must be strengthened—not weakened—to mediate disputes, prevent conflicts, and hold accountable those who perpetuate violence. Diplomatic engagement, peacekeeping missions, and arms control agreements are tools that can curb large-scale violence. Additionally, enforcing stricter regulations on the global arms trade can help limit the availability of weapons in volatile regions.
Third, education and community programs that promote tolerance and understanding can undermine the narratives of hate and division that fuel violence. Governments can support initiatives that counter extremist ideologies, empower marginalized communities, and promote peaceful conflict resolution.
Finally, addressing the role of the media is essential. While free speech is a cornerstone of democracy, sensationalized coverage of violence can desensitize audiences or amplify fear. Governments and media organizations must work together to promote responsible reporting that informs without inciting.
Perhaps this is where Finn’s message becomes truly universal: hope and despair are not mutually exclusive. The act of dreaming, of striving for better, can coexist with the acknowledgment of difficulty and pain. It is this tension that gives the song its emotional resonance and makes it enduringly relevant.
In a modern context, “Don’t dream it’s over” is not just a statement of personal resilience; it’s a call to collective action. It challenges us to look at the tales of war and waste and not turn away in apathy. Instead, it dares us to envision solutions, to rebuild broken systems, and to nurture a world where hope is not a fleeting sentiment but a sustainable reality.
While it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the enormity of the world’s problems, Finn’s lyrics whisper a quieter truth: each of us has a role to play. Small acts of courage, kindness, and advocacy can ripple outward, creating change in ways we may never fully see or understand.
So, let us take to heart Finn’s exhortation. The challenges we face, though daunting, can be overcome. Don’t dream it’s over. Because as long as there are people willing to dream, to hope, and to act, there is always a chance for something better.
And to all who respond negatively to this essay, “You’ll never see the end of the road while you’re traveling with me.”
Arthur Lazarus is a former Doximity Fellow, a member of the editorial board of the American Association for Physician Leadership, and an adjunct professor of psychiatry at the Lewis Katz School of Medicine at Temple University in Philadelphia, PA. He is the author of several books on narrative medicine, including Medicine on Fire: A Narrative Travelogue and Story Treasures: Medical Essays and Insights in the Narrative Tradition.
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