The Peace That Pretended to Win

The fragile Middle Eastern peace advanced by Donald Trump does not mark the failure of pacifism. It reveals why pacifism remains indispensable. When peace is reduced to a strategic tool, pacifism becomes the only standard capable of telling the difference between an imposed pause and genuine justice. The bilateral deals and economic incentives hailed as diplomatic triumphs rest on a logic of power management, not reconciliation. They mute the conflict without reshaping it, producing not shared peace but supervised suspension, where ethics yields to convenience. In that gap, pacifism re-emerges not as naïveté, but as clarity and foresight.

Pacifism is not the absence of violence, nor a soft-hearted faith in spontaneous harmony. It is an ethical and political stance that treats peace as an intrinsic value, inseparable from justice, reciprocity, and dignity. It aims to transform the material, symbolic, and institutional conditions that make war possible. True pacifists do not dream idly; they exercise a higher political rationality, measuring the distance between a balance of power and a just peace. When peace becomes a managerial function of geopolitics, pacifism is the only force capable of restoring meaning to a word hollowed by expediency.

Yes, an imposed pause in fighting saves lives in the short term. No responsible pacifist denies that. But there is a difference between ending fire and building justice. A truce that freezes injustice risks sowing a more dangerous conflict later. Defending the need for a just peace does not reject the end of violence; it refuses to treat the end of violence as an excuse to ignore its causes.

A peace secured through coercion revives the old maxim si vis pacem, para bellum. Today, that principle is not confined to hard-line strategists; it quietly shapes the thinking of those who oppose war yet accept it as inevitable. What was once a last resort becomes ordinary logic, and war seeps into the collective imagination as a legitimate means to protect what one loves. In that landscape, pacifists are not relics or bystanders; they are guardians of a different horizon. They refuse to outsource peace to force, insisting instead on peace as a normative commitment, not a tactical settlement.


Trump’s Middle East “peace” didn’t prove pacifism wrong. It proved why we still need it. When calm is engineered through power, not justice, silence isn’t peace. Pacifism isn’t nostalgia; it is the clear demand that peace be real, earned, and rooted in dignity, not imposed for convenience.

Plato’s Republic offers a useful reminder: justice is not mere compliance or formal agreement, but structural harmony, where each part respects the other and no one dominates. Applied to global politics, the lesson is sharp. There is no peace without justice. Agreements that entrench inequality do not pacify; they immobilize.

Trump’s “peace” gestures toward stability but risks producing only a quiet enforced from above. It lowers the volume without easing the pressure. Pacifism, by contrast, refuses to mistake silence for reconciliation. It insists that peace detached from justice is an illusion.

Pacifism is not a relic of the twentieth century. It is a vigilant conscience resisting the conversion of peace into a tool of control. It is the one political language that refuses to confuse stillness with fairness. To be a pacifist today is not to retreat; it is to stand firm in the belief that peace must be earned through justice, not imposed through power. It is a stance of courage against the temptation to accept the provisional as definitive, and a commitment to treat peace as a real possibility rather than a slogan of convenience.



A Note on What Moved Me to Write.

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