Bargaining with the Devil

by Robert Mnookin

  Suppose an acceptable deal could be made that required Sharansky to do no more than confess and generally renounce the Soviet Zionist movement. Could the KGB be trusted to uphold its end of the bargain? Sharansky said the answer was yes. Although this may be a surprising conclusion to some, he reached it logically—by thinking about the KGB’s interests. He knew his enemy well. The KGB was a “repeat player” that needed to negotiate with other refuseniks. Therefore, Sharansky reasoned, the KGB had a strong interest in maintaining its reputation within the refusenik community for honoring such deals. Sharansky reports that his assessment was based on precedent: the KGB’s previous dealings with refuseniks who had cooperated.

  Sharansky also considered the costs of negotiating.

  Sitting in my cell, I asked myself the obvious question: why not recant and then repudiate it after I was released? But I already knew the answer. First, any confession I made would mean betraying my friends. When [dissidents] Yakir and Krasin decided to cooperate with the authorities, it was enormously demoralizing for the dissident community. I had no desire to undermine the movements I believed in, or to do anything that would leave my fellow refuseniks and dissidents with an even greater feeling of hopelessness, or of the KGB’s own impotence.

  Second, I knew that the only reason that the world paid any attention to a small group of Soviet dissidents and Jewish activ-ists was our strong moral position. While collaborating with the KGB might be understandable, it would severely compromise that stance. The moral righteousness of our struggle was our greatest asset, perhaps our only asset. To cooperate with the KGB would mean letting down our growing number of supporters in the free world and undermining their continued determination to help us.

  Finally, on a more practical level, I knew that every time the KGB made a political arrest, it required permission from the political leadership. If I recanted, it would only make it easier for the KGB to receive permission to initiate new repressions and another round of arrests.

  If you accept that Sharansky’s only interest was promoting the dis-sident movement, he did an impressive job of cost-benefit analysis. As to that interest, Sharansky found the costs of negotiating unacceptable. He believed that any sign of cooperation—even if subsequently recanted—would undermine the movement. He feared that any statement he made to the KGB might be twisted and used to implicate his compatriots in some fabricated crime. He also feared that the movement might lose Western support if its leaders were exposed as collaborators. He concluded that he would better serve the movement by resisting the KGB, and even becoming a martyr if necessary.

  Spock would not quickly dismiss this conclusion as irrational. He might question some of Sharansky’s predictions and assessments, and he might even caution Sharansky against grandiosity. (How could Sharansky be so sure that the movement would be better served if resistance led to his death and martyrdom?) But if we accept that Sharansky’s primary interest was the Zionist movement, Spock would have to agree that noncooperation met that interest better than negotiation. Indeed, it strengthened the movement by showing the world that Jewish dissident leaders could not be corrupted by the Soviet regime.

  But something remains a puzzle. Why did Sharansky so completely ignore his other interests in this calculus? Why didn’t they even count enough to be mentioned? Given how much Sharansky detested the Soviet regime, surely he had some desire to get out of prison and join Avital in Israel, where he could raise a family, speak freely, and further promote the movement. Rationally, it doesn’t make sense.

  And Sharansky would agree.

  In April 2004, he gave an interview at the University of California, Berkeley, that shed new light on his decision-making process.7 When asked how he decided what course of action to follow when imprisoned by the KGB, his answer had nothing to do with chess games or rational analysis.

  The source of his resistance, he said, was a “feeling that as long as you continue saying no, you’re a free person. … The moment you say to them ‘yes,’ you will go back again to that slavery of the loyal Soviet citizen.” Sharansky added that this “intuitive, automatic feeling”—this desire “to continue being free” and “to enjoy [his] inner freedom in prison”—was “the basis of [his] resistance” (emphasis added). In fact, the basis of his decision was “irrational.”

  But reason and logic also played an important role in implementing his goal.

  [I]t is very dangerous to rely only on intuition, on non-rational things. As a religious, rational person, I was relying on my instincts, but as a scientist I had to rationalize these instincts. I had to explain to myself, rationally, why I should not cooperate with them. I had to make sure that I was controlling my behavior during interrogations, in spite of the fear, which they could insert in me, threatening to sentence me to death. That’s why I developed the whole system of rationalization, of what are my aims and means.

  He makes a similar point about the decision tree he created in prison. In looking back at that tree now, he says in his memoir,

  [It] seems like pseudo-science, a pathetic attempt to impose order on my racing and chaotic mind. But at the time it was tremendously important, as the familiar terminology from my scientific training helped me adjust to my new reality. After hours of scattered thoughts, I was finally able to organize my impulses under the rubric of a logical plan. This alone was comforting, and gave me a sense of control.

  In other words, he is admitting that he rigged the analysis. His desire to survive, which favored negotiation, was so powerful that he was afraid he would sacrifice his principles. So he simply removed that “interest” from the equation.

  He was very much caught in the Faustian tension I described earlier: a conflict between pragmatism and conscience. And he is telling us, with remarkable frankness, how he managed that tension. He used the intuitive, feeling part of his brain to decide what his goal should be, and then went back and manipulated the analysis so it would lead him to the “right” conclusion.8

  The “feelings” that were so decisive here relate to self-respect, moral purpose, and identity. Spock’s analysis cannot easily capture these factors, but they are very powerful motivators in human life. Indeed, a constant theme in the memoir was the importance Sharansky attached to maintaining his self-respect and not allowing the KGB or the system to humiliate him. “When I was stripped and searched, I decided it was best to treat my captors like the weather. A storm can cause you problems, and sometimes those problems can be humiliating. But the storm itself doesn’t humiliate you. Once I understood this, I realized that nothing they did could humiliate me. I could only humiliate myself—by doing something I might later be ashamed of.” He turned this thought into a kind of mantra: “[N]othing they do can humiliate me, I alone can humiliate myself.”

  As for the traps we mentioned earlier, they too played an impor-tant role. It appears that Sharansky used the negative traps as a survival tactic.

  Take demonization, for example. Sharansky consciously repressed any impulse to empathize with his interrogators, or even to think they might in any way have any of his interests at heart. When Sharansky overheard his interrogators chitchatting among themselves about their families and children, he told himself that he must resist the natural impulse to realize that outside the prison the KGB personnel might be normal people.

  What worried me most about my isolation was that if it continued I would inevitably, perhaps even unconsciously, start adapting myself to the world of my interrogators. And once that process began, helped along by my fear of being killed and by [his cellmate’s] constant chatter about the possibility of reaching an agreement with the KGB, I would gradually abandon my own world and my own values. The next step was all too clear: I would begin to “understand” my captors, and would try to reach an accord with them. Unless I stopped this process, it was only a matter of time before I succumbed.

  To counteract that impulse, Sharansky demonized the Soviet regime in sweeping and absolute terms. He viewed the regime as
evil and soulless, oppressing not only him but his community—the Soviet Jews—and more broadly, the entire Soviet population.

  Sharansky also appears to have used the zero-sum trap to strengthen his resolve. He viewed every interaction with the KGB in purely competitive terms. In a chess game, there cannot be two winners. If your opponent wins, by definition you lose. And vice versa. He genuinely loved to do battle. He saw himself as supremely intelligent, and he relished the feeling that he could outsmart and defeat his captors. Sharansky did not want to see the “evil” regime win on anything, no matter how trivial. He refused to negotiate with the KGB even about receiving care packages in prison, or about receiving fewer days in a punishment cell in return for simply conversing with an interrogator.

  Finally, his extreme moralism and self-righteousness, mixed with apparent narcissism, appear to have helped him fight the fear and loneliness of life in the Gulag. Sharansky told himself that when even one individual cannot be co-opted, the entire Soviet regime is undermined. He saw himself as waging a moral battle in which he alone held the key to victory. If he did not cooperate, he won and the KGB lost. It was as if he believed that if he gave up, his whole purpose in life—his struggle against the Soviets for Jewish liberation—would be shattered.

  He had little use for fellow dissidents who could not maintain this standard. In the Gulag, he confronted a former colleague, another Jewish dissident, Mark Morozov, who was negotiating with the KGB. Morozov wanted desperately to get out of captivity, and he justified his cooperation with the KGB by arguing that he would be more valuable to the Zionist movement on the outside than in prison. Sharansky felt both pity and contempt for him. His encounter with Morozov reaffirmed his intuition that “without firm moral principles it was impossible to withstand the pressure of the KGB. If you’re a captive of your own fear, you’ll not only believe any nonsense, but you’ll even invent nonsense of your own in order to justify your behavior.”

  After his trial, as he left the detention prison where the KGB had tormented him for sixteen months, Sharansky saw that prison as “the place where I had emerged victorious, defended my freedom, retained my spiritual independence against the kingdom of lies, and reinforced my connection with Israel and with [my wife].” On his way to serving a thirteen-year sentence, he felt joy in having exercised his freedom by speaking the truth at the trial.

  In the ensuing years of imprisonment, Sharansky continued to demonstrate extraordinary discipline and courage. With the benefit of hindsight, there can be no doubt that his refusal to cooperate accomplished exactly what he hoped: to increase worldwide pressure on the Soviet regime.

  Now we return to the heart of the matter. What constitutes a wise decision?

  In the Sharansky case, one could quibble with whether his decision was rational or not. Cost-benefit analysis would hardly require him to risk his life and liberty for the Soviet Jewish cause. His choice to resist was courageous, even heroic. And in my view, it was also wise. I say this for two reasons: First, he did not simply rely on his moral intuitions. He understood the risks. Second, he alone bore the costs of resistance.9

  Using these criteria, what can we say about the Bikuta case? You, too, have thought through the costs and benefits of negotiation. Whatever the outcome, this will not be a knee-jerk decision. But will you alone bear the risks? Hardly. You are a CEO, not a political prisoner. You are a representative acting on behalf of a corporation and its stakeholders. The costs of your decision will be borne not just by you, but by Evelyn, Fred, and the venture investors. You are not entitled to impose your personal values on them. If you can persuade your board of directors to share your moral convictions, by all means, take the high road. That would be a wise decision. But I believe there is reason to be deeply concerned whenever an agent or representative allows personal morality to override a rational analysis favoring negotiation—even with a devil.

  I have introduced you to the tension that arises when pragmatic and moral demands conflict. I’ve used two examples: one that I hope you will never encounter (Sharansky) and one that may remind you of conflicts you’ve already faced.

  This tension cannot be resolved; it can only be managed. It can be rationalized away, but I’m not going to let myself (or you) off the hook that easily. This is a real dilemma, and you will see it come up repeatedly throughout the book. In the next chapter our protagonist decided to manage the tension in a very different way.

  PART II

  Global Devils

  FOUR

  Rudolf Kasztner: Bargaining with the Nazis

  Natan Sharansky’s story had a happy ending. After risking his life by refusing to negotiate with the KGB, he won his freedom and was celebrated as a hero.

  Rudolf Kasztner made the opposite decision. As a Jewish leader in Nazi-occupied Hungary during World War II, he chose to bargain with Nazi devils—including SS colonel Adolf Eichmann—in an effort to save Jewish lives. Kasztner’s negotiations succeeded in saving some lives, but his story is infinitely more complicated than Sharansky’s and presents some of the most difficult questions in this book. Were Kasztner’s decisions wise?

  Rudolf (Rezsö) Kasztner1 was born in 1906 in Kolozsvár, Transylvania, a proud, cosmopolitan city of sixty thousand. The city was part of the kingdom of Hungary and had a significant Jewish community.2 Kasztner’s parents were successful merchants. Kasztner, educated at the elite Jewish gymnasium, was a gifted student with a facility for languages.

  In addition to his native Magyar (Hungarian), he learned to speak German, French, Latin, and Romanian, the last of which became essential. Before he graduated from high school, his hometown became part of Romania—a less hospitable country for Jews—and was known as Cluj.3 The young Kasztner also showed other talents, including a knack for maneuvering himself quickly onto center stage. At the age of fifteen, he joined a Zionist youth movement. Within a year, he was the leader of his group. After finishing high school and collecting a law degree (to please his mother), he turned to his real passions: politics, journalism, and Zionism. He took a job with a Jewish newspaper in Cluj and began to write bold political commentary, which alienated some readers but brought him to the attention of Dr. Joseph Fischer, one of the city’s wealthiest and most respected Jews. Indeed, Fischer stood at the very apex of Jewish society in Cluj: he was the president of the city’s Jewish Community and a member of Parliament—and thus a national spokesman for Romania’s seven hundred thousand Jews.4 It did not take long for Kasztner to become Fischer’s assistant, protégé, and eventually son-in-law (when Kasztner married Fischer’s daughter, Elizabeth). The two men developed a strong bond.

  The Kasztner of those years was already demonstrating the strengths of character that would also become his weaknesses. “Not only was Kasztner smarter and better read than others, but he also let everyone know that he was superior in wit and knowledge. … Kasztner often dismissed people as stupid, incompetent, or intellectually cowardly.”5 A law school friend recalled: “He had no sense of other people’s sensitivities, or he didn’t care whether he alienated his friends.”6 A member of his Zionist youth group recalls him as “sharp-witted and shrewd” but unreliable: “he often made promises he couldn’t keep.”7

  But he was dedicated to helping Jews in trouble. His fellow citizens were often harassed by Romanian authorities, and Kasztner “was one of the few who could deal with the authorities as an equal,” writes Anna Porter.8

  In local government, Kasztner was remembered as a “fixer,” a man others trusted to solve their problems, but he was too smart to be much loved even by those he had helped. Still, he was sought out. The Jews of [Cluj] needed someone like Kasztner to help them survive the difficult years after Transylvania was ceded to the Romanians. … Kasztner managed to keep in touch with bureaucrats and gentile functionaries of all political stripes. He knew whom to bribe and how much to offer, whom to flatter and how.9

  By the late 1930s, Kasztner was also helping Jewish refugees who had fled Nazi-occupied Europ
e and ended up in Cluj. He raised money for them, organized food and shelter, and helped them obtain safe passage to Palestine, which was then controlled by the British. Some of this work was legal—for example, obtaining exit visas from the Romanian government—but much of it was not. The British kept strict control over entry visas to Palestine, so getting Jews aboard ships often required the liberal use of bribes. This was Kasztner’s forte. He worked closely with the Jewish Agency in Palestine, which encouraged illegal immigration.10 Anna Porter provides a vivid portrait of the Kasztner of this period:

  Kasztner was outspoken, brash, unafraid. He could be seen striding toward government offices and into police headquarters, a pale, muscular, slender man, his dark hair swept back, his well-tailored black suit stark even during the summer heat, his tie loosened over his white shirt, the collar perfectly starched. He was confident, in a hurry, his briefcase casually swinging from one hand, the other ready to wave to all his acquaintances.11

  In 1940, Kasztner moved to Budapest, where his skills as a fixer would soon be needed. Kasztner’s hometown of Cluj had once again become part of Hungary, and Kasztner was now a Hungarian citizen. By this time Jewish refugees had begun pouring into Budapest from Nazi-occupied Poland and Slovakia, telling of Nazi atrocities. Hungary and Nazi Germany became wartime allies in that year but Hungary retained its autonomy.12 In comparison to Nazi-occupied Europe or Germany itself, Hungary seemed like a safe haven for Jews.

  The Budapest Jewish establishment was wealthy, cultured, and among the most assimilated in Europe. Its members had dominated Hungarian industry, finance, and the professions. Some socialized with Hungarian aristocracy and had political influence. Unlike Kasztner, they considered themselves Hungarians first, and Jews second. Few in the establishment would have dreamed of moving to Palestine. Indeed, you couldn’t have gotten them out of Budapest with a crowbar—a fact that was soon to contribute to their downfall. Moreover, the Jewish establishment was utterly unprepared for the needy horde of terrified Jewish refugees flooding into Hungary. Where would the refugees go? They didn’t even speak Hungarian.