Ukraine, Gaza. To the chagrin of many on every side, only a compromise could put an end to the killings. But compromise has a bad name. Rightly so?
Philosopher Philippe Van Parijs reflects on current debates in Brussels, Belgium and Europe
Compromise cancelled
“CANCELLED. The following event is cancelled.”, said the email sent to all members of the European University Institute’s Schuman Centre on 18 May 2023. For the first time in my life, an academic meeting I had organized had been cancelled, namely a “Conversation for the Future of Europe” advertised under the title “Ukraine: time for compromise?”.
Three months earlier, philosopher Jürgen Habermas had published in a German daily a “Plea for negotiations” that ended by expressing the hope that a “face-saving compromise” could be struck between Ukraine and Russia. A controversial position which I thought deserved to be taken seriously and discussed serenely. This was not everyone’s opinion. Hence the cancellation.
Fortunately for the respect of academic freedom, for the universities’ mission to promote open debate and — not least — for the reputation of the European University Institute, the event was promptly resurrected in the same time slot as a “special Schuman Centre event”, with the full support of the authorities of the Institute and the Centre. But this little incident suffices to indicate how tricky it can be to try to achieve a compromise, or to plead for it, or even merely to discuss its possibility, in the middle of a conflict.
This should not surprise us. For a compromise is not simply a deal in which each side gives up a claim to something it would like to get. It is a deal in which each side gives up a claim to something to which it is convinced it is entitled, a claim to something that justice, as it understands it, requires that it should get. This makes compromises particularly painful. And it often makes a compromise feel like capitulation. For the concessions made by the other side are not perceived at all or they are perceived as giving up a claim which nothing could conceivably justify.
Compromise possible?
On each side, therefore, compromises and even simply mentioning the possibility of compromises are avoided for as long as they can be. In particular, they are avoided for as long as substantial gains, perhaps even full victory, seem within reach at a sufficiently low human and material cost. They are also best avoided because they may convey a lack of confidence in one’s own strength. The information war is crucial here, the stronger the other side believes one is, the sooner it will be prepared to make concessions.
At some point, however, a lasting stalemate sets in, or each side starts expecting that resources or support will soon be dwindling. Giving up some of their cherished claims may then start to be considered preferable by both sides to sacrificing human lives and squandering material resources with no end in sight.
It is only at this point that the possibility of compromise emerges whenever nothing matters other than the interests of the belligerent parties. But it may emerge earlier when at least one of these relies on crucial support by third parties with a broader range of concerns. In the Ukrainian conflict, such concerns include food security for North Africa and the Middle East and efficient cooperation on climate change with fossil-fuel-rich Russia, the world’s largest country. In the Gaza conflict, they include the need to prevent a lasting worldwide explosion of Islamic terrorism and antisemitism.
Trust and courage
The possibility of striking a compromise does not only require that both sides and/or the parties whose support they need should find it preferable to the continuing of the conflict. It also requires confidence on each side that the other side will durably comply with the agreement. Sometimes, the only hope is that a sufficiently powerful “neutral” third party will enforce both sides’ promises.
In the best cases, however, this can be achieved when two leaders with sufficient authority over their respective sides manage to trust one another to such an extent that they can expect from one another not only that they will do all they can to sell the deal to their respective sides, but also that they will help one another do so. Famous examples include, arguably, the relationship between Nelson Mandela and Frederik de Klerk that made the end of apartheid possible in South Africa in 1993 or the relationship between Jerry Adams and John McDonnell that made Northern Ireland’s Good Friday agreement possible in 1998.
It does not require much courage on the part of European philosophers to plead for compromise or even to suggest the territorial concessions it should involve. But it often requires considerable courage for political leaders to accept and defend a compromise. Michael Collins, chairman of Ireland’s provisional government, was assassinated in 1922 by an Irish nationalist after having signed the Anglo-Irish Treaty that abandoned Ulster to the United Kingdom. Israel’s President Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated in 1995 by a Jewish nationalist after winning the Nobel Peace Prize for having struck a deal with Yasser Arafat.
And Gandhi was assassinated in 1948 by a Hindu nationalist while he was trying to appease the violence between Hindus and Moslims in the aftermath of a partition he had tried in vain to avoid. For those convinced that justice is on their side, any concession is a treason, any compromise is a surrender, and the leaders weak enough to agree to them deserve to be punished.
Compromis à la belge
In many places, therefore compromise has a bad name. Less so, perhaps, in Belgium, where people often speak jokingly of a “compromis à la belge”. Some Belgians may vaguely remember that their country was born out of a compromise between Catholics and liberals that allowed Catholicism to thrive without being imposed and was euphemistically enshrined in the national motto “L’union fait la force”.
Later, Belgium’s fiercest national conflicts were settled through compromise. The “royal question” was solved in 1950 by getting rid of Leopold III while allowing his son to reign. The “school question” was solved by allowing catholic schools to receive public subsidies, though not quite at the same level as government-run schools. The “linguistic oil stain” was stopped by agreeing that the administrative boundaries of bilingual Brussels would never expand while granting “linguistic facilities” to French speakers in a few Flemish municipalities. And the “Louvain issue” was solved by kicking the francophone university out of the old town of Leuven while giving it sufficient money to enable Louvain-la-Neuve to flourish.
Not all of these compromises were clever, let alone elegant. None of them fully satisfied both parties. In all of them, many people on each side believed that peace had been bought at the cost of injustice. In all of them, leaders had to muster some courage in the face of revolt among their own troops. But all of them have contributed to a degree of pacification that can only be dreamt of in places where courage is confused with intransigence.
Compared to the earlier examples and despite a number of casualties, the stakes in these Belgian squabbles were pretty low, you might say. Precisely. It is because courageous compromises were struck from the start and all along that the stakes never escalated.
