OCTOBER 12 — When President Donald Trump learnt that the 2026 Nobel Peace Prize had gone to Navanethem “Navi” Pillay rather than himself, he expressed his disappointment. He dismissed her as a “mystery person”, saying he had never heard of her.

Pillay’s reaction to the news was one of disbelief. She reportedly asked, “Is it April Fool’s Day?”

The chair of the Norwegian Nobel Committee, Jørgen Watne Frydnes, had initially been unable to reach her by telephone. He later told the BBC that he had been trying to contact her to deliver the news.

Frydnes said Pillay’s work had been “instrumental in ensuring that war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide are prosecuted”. He described her commitment to universal legal principles and her firm moral compass as constants throughout her long career.

At a time of escalating wars and conflicts, Frydnes stressed, international law was no longer merely a supplement to peace and security, but “an absolute necessity”.

Pillay’s recognition comes at a time when international justice institutions face mounting pressure. Her career is a reminder that defending the rule of law requires courage, particularly when accountability challenges the powerful.

Born in Durban in 1941 to a family of Indian Tamil origin, Pillay grew up under apartheid. Her father, Narrainsamy Naidoo, worked as a bus driver and took on other jobs to support his eight children, determined to provide them with a good education despite the constraints of the time.

Growing up in a society where race restricted opportunity, Pillay went on to challenge the very system that had shaped her early life. In 1967, she established her own legal practice, defending those who faced discrimination under apartheid. It was the beginning of a career devoted to justice, human rights and holding power accountable.

Her career subsequently took her to the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda, where she served as a judge and president, and later to the International Criminal Court. She went on to become the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights, championing the rights of the vulnerable and confronting abuses of power.

As chair of the UN Commission of Inquiry on the Occupied Palestinian Territory, including East Jerusalem, and Israel, Pillay oversaw a report published in September 2025 that concluded Israel was responsible for genocide in Gaza, a finding Israel rejected.

She dedicated her Nobel award to survivors of international crimes, reflecting her longstanding commitment to justice for victims.

But recognition takes many forms. Some people receive international honours for their contributions. Others are recognised only after years of injustice, while some leave behind achievements that continue to shape the world long after their names have faded from public memory.

Among Nobel laureates of Indian origin are Rabindranath Tagore, awarded the Literature Prize in 1913 for Gitanjali; physicist C. V. Raman, who won the Physics Prize in 1930 for the Raman Effect; Mother Teresa, honoured with the Peace Prize in 1979; economist Amartya Sen, awarded the economics prize in 1998; and Kailash Satyarthi, who shared the 2014 Nobel Peace Prize for his work against child labour and for children’s rights.

Beyond these celebrated names are extraordinary Indian minds whose contributions have shaped science, industry and human knowledge, without always receiving the recognition they deserve.

Nambi Narayanan, the aerospace scientist whose work advanced India’s rocket propulsion programme, was arrested in 1994 in connection with an espionage case involving allegations that sensitive space programme secrets had been sold to foreign countries. The allegations against him were later found to be baseless.

After years of legal battles and personal hardship, his name was cleared, and in 2018 the Supreme Court directed the Kerala government to pay him compensation.

Narayanan’s story is a sobering reminder that recognition can be delayed not merely by neglect, but by injustice. The value of his work did not change during the years in which his reputation was under a cloud. What changed was the world’s understanding of what had happened to him.

Then there is G. D. Naidu, the self-taught inventor from Coimbatore often called the “Edison of India”. His interests spanned engineering, transport, agriculture and practical technical education. He built machines, developed inventions and established a transport enterprise, driven by an instinct for solving everyday problems through technology.

Naidu received the Padma Bhushan in 1970. Yet his story raises another question: how many people today know the extent of his work?

Further back in history stands Brahmagupta, the mathematician who lived from 598 to 668 CE. He did not invent zero from nothing, but made a crucial contribution by setting out rules for arithmetic involving zero and negative numbers in his work Brahmasphutasiddhanta, written in 628 CE.

Today, zero is indispensable to mathematics, science, computing and everyday life. We use it constantly without necessarily remembering the scholars who helped establish the mathematical principles that made its use possible. Brahmagupta’s contribution has become part of humanity’s intellectual inheritance, even when the person behind it is unfamiliar to many.

Their stories remind us that recognition is not always timely, fair or lasting. Pillay’s career has earned international acclaim; Narayanan had to fight to clear his name; Naidu’s achievements risk fading from public memory; and Brahmagupta’s contribution lives on in mathematics, even when the man himself is hardly remembered.

Beyond them are millions of others whose work has improved lives, advanced knowledge and strengthened communities. Not every contribution receives an award, makes headlines or finds its way into history books. That does not make it any less valuable.

Trump wanted the world to recognise him. Pillay’s work speaks for itself. And beyond them are countless people whose contributions have changed the world without their names ever becoming household words.

Recognition may bring a name into the headlines. It is what we leave behind that gives it meaning.

* This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.