In the End

After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won’t
straighten themselves up, after all.

Wisława Szymborska “The End of the Beginning” translated by Joanna Trzeciak

“War,” Hillman writes, “contains within it, in the broader sense, the word peace: peace as victory. This fusion of peace with military triumph reveals itself fully in prayers for peace, where—quietly and between the lines—one is really praying for victory in war.” Every war eventually comes to an end; more or less fortunately, more or less satisfactorily for the warring sides and their allies, with greater or lesser guarantees of security, and ultimately establishing some form of peace.

The ideal ending of war is a lasting peace. But history has shown us many versions of peace. We know the “shameful peace,” the merely apparent peace that by the next day collapses back into war, the peace that wounds and breeds resentments—step by step leading toward a new conflict—or, finally, the most desired one: a just peace. As a rule, it forms part of the wartime triad that allows us to judge a war and determine whether, in whole or in part, it was just. Paradoxically, the conditions for a just post-war settlement are, at least in theory, the easiest to fulfill.

Today, when we consider post-war justice, we typically speak of two approaches: minimalist and maximalist. Minimalism refers primarily to rules that temper the imagination and possible excesses of the victors. Post-war norms, understood here as permissions, define what may be done after victory is achieved. Some of these rules stem from the theory of just war; others are shaped within international and humanitarian law, yet all of them are essentially general principles.

The primary ones remain: protecting oneself, recovering what was originally taken, and punishing the aggressor. These are non-negotiable, and one must accept nothing less. Any other option is not peace but a suspended dispute—a frozen conflict that merely buys time to “rethink the war” and restart it. Such unresolved disputes return to haunt us; unfinished wars avenge themselves, reappearing in forms even more brutal, more brazen, more demanding, unrestrained because no one once effectively told them: “enough.”

When we speak today of “just peace,” however, it is the second approach—maximalism—that dominates. Maximalism assumes, as Frowe notes, that “post-war justice imposes duties on the victors rather than granting them special rights or permissions.” These duties are legal and moral in nature. A just peace entails, among other things, holding perpetrators of crimes and aggression accountable, war reparations, penalties and sanctions against the aggressor, and elements of rehabilitation and renewal—including the rebuilding of social bonds and the preservation of memory.

In a just peace, there is no room for patting the aggressor on the head and saying: “Fine, keep the land you seized. We can work together. No one will haul you before any court.” Such a proposal, especially one negotiated above the heads of the victims or other concerned parties, would be a new version of the shameful peace. It would be not a “just peace,” but “just peace” (meaning, a mere peace). Peace bought at too high a price, peace as a transitional state, likely unstable, with the seeds of the next war already embedded within it.

A multidimensional post-war justice—a well-constructed post-war order—must offer something far more meaningful than restoring the status quo ante. For in that ante, in the pre-war condition, lie the very causes of conflict. Depending on the war in question, these may have included illicit armament, a regime’s aggression toward its own population, discrimination, racial segregation leading to genocide, violations of human rights, aggression toward neighbors or on the international stage, a will to power pushed to madness, imperial thinking, and more. No one in their right mind would build a new house on the cracked foundations of the old one. No one would construct it from rotten, decayed boards, because soon enough, like in the fairy tale of the three little pigs, another wolf will come, huff, puff, and the whole structure will collapse.

Today, what is needed in Ukraine’s case are solid security guarantees, allowing the country to rebuild and develop without constantly feeling Russia’s breath on its neck (for what if it attacks again?), and without falling under pressure from the United States on the other side. What is needed is a better state of peace, one in which words like “independence,” “sovereignty,” “self-determination,” and “territorial integrity” have real meaning. It is a potential peace (difficult to achieve) in which “security” feels closer rather than further away.

We need such resolutions to preserve international order and to ensure that, however great the catastrophe, however devastating the conflict, we can ultimately resolve it without creating conditions that sow the seeds of an even more destructive future. History knows one-day wars and hundred-year wars, conflicts festering between neighbors for decades, as well as solutions worthy of cutting the Gordian knot. It knows frozen wars that paralyze development for years, wars that breed long-term mistrust between neighbors, wars that entrench uncertainty about tomorrow.

In each of them, peace is a fragile dream: sometimes an illusion, sometimes a promise that proves too difficult to fulfill. Hillman rightly argued that war is normal. What does this mean? Its constancy and regularity throughout history, its universality and global omnipresence, and finally, its social acceptability, the tacit permission for war as (following Arendt) “the final judge of international affairs.” The question is whether peace, too, can become normal.

Today’s wars are no longer disputes over a strip of land between neighbors but contests of grand strategic interests. Trump is playing for Ukraine’s rare metals as well as for his own regional influence. He is playing for his personal image, to trumpet victory. Yet considering how much the United States has invested in supporting Ukraine (and how much Trump envisioned benefiting “after the war”), a quick fix is not an option. For although we hear about “a new course in American diplomacy” or the “necessity of far-reaching concessions,” it would be politically disastrous for Trump if Ukraine were to lose the war. At the very start of his term, he would become the American president who capitulated to Russia. His propaganda of success—echoed by every member of his cabinet—simply could not accommodate such an outcome.

Yet he is far removed from traditionally American doctrines such as peace through strength (familiar in the U.S. since George Washington and already invoked in Europe by Emperor Hadrian) or later slogans like making the world safe for democracy or a crusade for freedom. What Trump promises the Ukrainian president—and what he tries to negotiate with Putin—remains hidden in the secrecy of their phone calls. The vaguely presented details are troubling, as the once “leader of the free world” not only seeks negotiations but appears to be cultivating a relationship with an obvious war criminal.

The emerging scenario seems to involve not only concessions but stripping Ukraine of part of its territory, denying it reliable NATO guarantees, and creating potential new threats to Europe, which is now forced to take responsibility for its own security, to stand on its own feet, and to revive the old principle: if you want peace, prepare for war (si vis pacem, para bellum).

It is said that no party leaves good negotiations one hundred percent satisfied. That is likely the scenario awaiting Ukraine. A scenario to which we must not remain passive observers, but active shapers. We need a “just peace,” not merely “the only achievable peace.” And when thinking about a just peace for Ukraine, we know exactly what cannot be accepted. Nothing above the heads of those concerned. Mark Rutte is right to insist that Ukraine’s involvement in all matters concerning it is essential. No matter how much peace is needed, negotiations cannot take place without the participation and decision-making rights of those who have fallen victim to Russian aggression in Ukraine.

Responding to Trump’s calls with Putin and his self-appointed negotiation leadership, equally right are the statements issued by representatives of six European governments (including Poland), stressing that “Ukraine and Europe must be part of all negotiations,” and adding that “We are committed to respecting Ukraine’s independence, sovereignty, and territorial integrity in the face of Russian aggression.” Supporting Ukraine also means recognizing that Europe must regain its own voice and its own strength, securing its interests within NATO while caring for every dimension of security so clearly defined by the priorities of the Polish Presidency.

In contemplating the potential “negotiations,” it is worth recalling the recent words of Denmark’s Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen, who summed up the debate on Europe’s defense strategy by saying: “If Russia is allowed to win the war, Putin will continue it.” It is hard to disagree: freezing the conflict would grant Russia the illusion of victory and, over time, allow it to accumulate new funds, train soldiers, acquire quiet allies—increasing its military strength and… leading to yet another war. And that is something we cannot allow. In the end, the consequences of this peace will be borne by all of us.

Originally published at https://liberte.pl/koniec-koncow/