In sum, from a cost-benefit standpoint, I think Kasztner’s decision to bargain with Eichmann was wise but his apparent failure to pursue a mixed strategy was not.
What about the charges that Kasztner’s actions were immoral?
The trial judge accused Kasztner of making a devil’s bargain—that in exchange for the Nazis’ sparing the lives of those on the train, Kasztner had promised not to urge resistance or flight.111 It’s entirely plausible that Kasztner would make such a promise to Eichmann. My view is, so what if he did? Kasztner would promise Eichmann anything if he thought it would help save Jews. The critical question isn’t whether he made such a promise, but whether he honored it.
As noted, the historical record is far from clear. But let’s assume the worst. Suppose Kasztner made a vow of silence and kept it—that is, he chose not to warn in order to maximize the chance that the train would succeed. Would that be immoral? In my view, no. Such a choice would be morally culpable only if Kasztner knew or should have known that he would save more lives by making the opposite choice. At the time, there was no way for Kasztner to know which strategy would save more lives: negotiating with Eichmann or urging escape. It is simply preposterous to claim that Kasztner was morally responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths because, in hindsight, he may have failed to make the very best decision under conditions of such extreme uncertainty.
The second moral issue also relates to the train: Was the selection process fair? Whatever its flaws, these cannot be laid at Kasztner’s door. Many people played a role in the process, and a reasonably diverse group of Jews ended up being chosen.112 The selection process wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t a lottery—but under the circumstances, it could not have been perfect. Certain groups were overrepresented, mainly wealthy Jews, prominent Jewish leaders, and Jews from Cluj, including members of Kasztner’s family. But was it so terrible for Kasztner’s relatives to be included? Perhaps a saint would refuse to do so, but if I had been in Kasztner’s place I would have made sure my family members were on the train. What could be more human than favoring your own family?113
This dilemma is similar to “Sophie’s choice” in the William Styron novel of that name. In the novel, a Nazi tells Sophie that he will permit her to save only one of her two children—she has to choose which child or the Nazi will kill both children and Sophie as well.114 Eichmann and the Nazis, not Kasztner, deserve moral condemnation for forcing such a choice on Kasztner and his colleagues.115 Kasztner and his colleagues deserve sympathy.
A third moral issue relates to lying, and I find it the easiest. Having decided to negotiate with a devil, is it morally permissible to lie in order to save lives? One of Kasztner’s strengths was his ability to lie, bluff, evade, and mislead. In less extreme contexts, one might persuasively argue that it is wrong to lie, even if the lie has beneficial results, be-cause if everybody lies the social fabric falls apart; people stop relying on each other to keep promises. But what moral or social fabric existed in the Nazi regime? None. Even those philosophers with a very strict view, who broadly condemn all sorts of lies, acknowledge certain exceptions to interactions between oppressor and oppressed, especially if necessary to save lives.116
Several lessons can be drawn from this inquiry.
If you bargain with the Devil, develop alternatives. You will need them if the deal doesn’t work out.
If you bargain with the Devil, you’d better win big. Otherwise you may be harshly judged by history—and by your own people. You may even be demonized.
If you lie to the Devil, don’t get seduced by your own lies.
I am pleased that more sympathetic accounts of Kasztner’s rescue efforts are now emerging, after years in which he was vilified and then largely forgotten.117 I admire his courage. But I must confess to some ambivalence about his style of negotiation.
I don’t fault Kasztner for lying to Eichmann. But I find troubling that at his trial he lied under oath about helping Becher. I wonder whether Kasztner was someone who lied, apparently without moral qualms, whenever he thought it was expedient.
Kasztner’s style of negotiation is definitely not the approach that I teach and practice. My hunch is that Kasztner would claim that lying in negotiation—like bluffing in poker—is an appropriate part of the game. You must simply be clever enough not to get caught. I disagree. I can typically achieve good results—as good as someone like Kasztner—without lying. Getting caught can ruin your reputation and have long-term consequences that outweigh any benefits. Besides, it’s wrong. This is what I teach my students.
But this case strains the limits of any notion of principled nego-tiation.
If you were dealing with a devil like Eichmann, who would you want to negotiate on your behalf—a negotiator like me who hates to lie, or someone like Kasztner, who lies persuasively because he’s had lots of practice?118 The answer is pretty obvious and it troubles me.
FIVE
Winston Churchill: May 1940—Should Churchill Negotiate?
Early in World War II, in May 1940, British prime minister Winston Churchill met with a large group of his cabinet-rank ministers and announced a fateful decision. He told them: “I have thought carefully in these last days whether it was part of my duty to consider entering negotiations with That Man.”1 That Man was, of course, Adolf Hitler. At the meeting, Churchill did more than announce that he would not negotiate with Hitler. With the rhetorical flair so characteristic of his wartime speeches, Churchill declared that Great Britain must fight to the finish: “If this long island story of ours is to end at last, let it end only when each of us lies choking in his own blood upon the ground.”2
This chapter tells the story of Churchill’s decision and the secret deliberations that preceded it. For three days, Churchill and the members of his War Cabinet debated and wrestled with the question of whether to pursue peace negotiations with Nazi Germany. Later in the chapter, I will assess the wisdom of Churchill’s refusal to negotiate. Should he instead have tried to negotiate a compromise peace with Hitler?
Today, many would find this question absurd. Of course Churchill’s decision was wise. No regime in history was more evil than Hitler’s. If there was ever a time to reject compromise, this was it. Of course, we know the rest of the story: the British endured the Nazi onslaught during the Battle of Britain, the United States and the Soviet Union eventually joined the war effort, and the Allies crushed Hitler’s regime. Most historians—and laymen—see Churchill’s refusal to negotiate as not only right, but heroic.3
However, Churchill’s decision seems obvious only in hindsight. What if we go back in time to May 1940?
In his own magisterial, six-volume history of World War II, Churchill did not even acknowledge that extended War Cabinet discussions had taken place, much less that the cabinet had seriously considered opening a channel for negotiations with the Germans.4 Lord Halifax, his foreign secretary, also denied it. But the secret minutes of these cabinet meetings—long classified—reveal a much more complex reality and an intense debate.5 As we shall see, it was a close call.6
The War Cabinet was made up of five men, including Churchill, who formulated Britain’s war policy. As prime minister, Churchill had appointed the other four members: Edward, Lord Halifax, his foreign secretary; Neville Chamberlain, the former prime minister; and two leaders of the Labor Party, Clement Attlee and Arthur Greenwood. Neither Attlee nor Greenwood plays a critical role in our story.7 Halifax, Chamberlain, and Churchill do. Their deliberations and struggle in May 1940 occurred against a backdrop of earlier differences among the three men about Britain’s prewar foreign policy of appeasement.
Today appeasement is a dirty word. But it can be defined in more neutral terms as “the policy of settling international quarrels by admitting and satisfying grievances through rational negotiation and compromise, thereby avoiding the resort to an armed conflict which would be expensive, bloody, and possibly dangerous.”8 While the notion of appeasement now carries a “shameful and even cr
aven”9 connotation, quite the opposite was true in Great Britain during most of the 1930s. At that time, “the policy of appeasement … occupied almost the whole moral high ground. The word was originally synonymous with idealism, magnanimity of the victor and a willingness to right wrongs.”10
When Hitler began annexing territory in the mid-1930s, many in Great Britain thought he was simply trying to right the “wrongs” of Versailles. The Versailles Treaty of 1919 had transformed the map of Europe after World War I, carving up old nations, creating new ones, and literally cutting Germany down to size. Germany lost vast amounts of territory to France, Belgium, Poland, and the entirely new nation of Czechoslovakia. By the 1930s, many in Britain had come to believe that Versailles had treated Germany unfairly.
Other factors favored the British policy of appeasement. After the horrors of World War I, many Britons felt that another war in Europe should be avoided “at almost any cost.”11 As a practical matter, Britain was totally unprepared to fight another war. And some conservatives viewed the fascists in Germany and Italy as bulwarks against communism, which was seen as a far worse menace.
So in 1936, when Hitler violated Versailles by reoccupying the demilitarized Rhineland—Germany’s own “backyard”—Britain did nothing to stop him.12 Churchill, then a Conservative backbencher, was the only one in British politics who “wanted to call Hitler’s bluff”13 with a display of force. He was ignored. Throughout the 1930s, Churchill would remain one of the very few voices warning of the dangers of German rearmament.
Chamberlain became prime minister in 1937, and both he and Halifax are associated with appeasement because of their failure to resist German aggression in the late 1930s. Hitler’s next target was the Sudeten region of Czechoslovakia, which included a significant German-speaking population. Hitler launched a vitriolic propaganda campaign, threatening the Czech government and claiming that the Sudeten Germans were being horribly mistreated under Czech rule.
In late 1937, Chamberlain sent Halifax to Germany—on the pretext of attending a hunting exhibition—to meet personally with Hitler and convey a respectful, nineteenth-century message: that Britain understood Germany’s concerns about the treatment of German minorities and was not necessarily opposed to changes in the European order, as long as they were made peacefully. In a high water mark of appeasement, Halifax complimented Hitler on “performing great services in Germany” and expressed Britain’s hope that any modification of the Versailles Treaty would come through “peaceful evolution.”14
Chamberlain later declared that Halifax’s visit was a great success in “convinc[ing] Hitler of our sincerity.”15 Soon afterward, Halifax became foreign secretary.
In fact, Halifax and Chamberlain had completely misread Hitler, who was not playing by Marquess of Queensbury rules. The visit convinced Hitler of something else entirely—that the British were so desperate to avoid war that he could maneuver freely in Europe without risk of their putting up a fight. He moved quickly. In 1938, he marched into Vienna and incorporated Austria into his Reich without firing a shot. Next he demanded that the Sudetenland be annexed to Germany and that all non-German Czechs leave the region.
Trying to avert war, Chamberlain hastily arranged a four-power conference in Munich that excluded the Czech government. The result was a historic shift in the European balance of power. The Munich Agreement among the four great powers—Britain, France, Italy, and Germany—allowed the Nazis to absorb the Sudetenland in return for Hitler’s promise to allow an international commission to settle any other German claims over Czech territory. The Czechs were presented with a fait accompli. At Chamberlain’s request, Hitler also signed a piece of paper—soon to prove worthless—in which Germany and Britain promised to resolve their differences peacefully. Chamberlain returned to England, “peace treaty” in hand, proclaiming “peace with honor” and “peace for our time.”
The British public rejoiced when they heard the news, but Churchill proclaimed it a “total and unmitigated defeat” and a “disaster of the first magnitude” for both Britain and France. Speaking before the House of Commons, he said, “Do not let us blind ourselves to that. It must now be accepted that all the countries of Central and Eastern Europe will make the best terms they can with the triumphant Nazi Power. The system of alliances in Central Europe upon which France has relied for her safety has been swept away, and I can see no means by which it can be reconstituted.”16
He said he did not blame the British people for their “natural, spontaneous” outburst of relief that war had been averted for the moment.
But they should know the truth. They should know that there has been gross neglect and deficiency in our defenses; they should know that we have sustained a defeat without a war, the consequences of which will travel far with us along our road; they should know that we have passed an awful milestone in our history, when the whole equilibrium of Europe has been deranged, and that the terrible words have for the time being been pronounced against the Western democracies:
“Thou are weighed in the balance and found wanting.”
And do not suppose that this is the end. This is only the beginning of the reckoning. This is only the first sip, the first fore-taste of a bitter cup which will be proffered to us year by year unless, by a supreme recovery of moral health and martial vigour, we arise again and take our stand for freedom as in the olden time.17
Once again, Churchill was proven right. Six months later, in March 1939, Nazi troops marched into Prague and seized what was left of the country. As a consequence, Czechoslovakia disappeared entirely as a nation.18
That was the end of appeasement as British policy—a humiliating failure from which the reputations of Chamberlain and Halifax would never fully recover. Both men became completely disillusioned with Hitler, adopted a tougher policy of deterrence,19 and began to mobilize Britain for war. As Hitler began to make ominous threats toward Poland, parts of which had substantial German-speaking minorities, Britain and France guaranteed Poland’s security through a treaty,20 in effect warning Hitler that if he invaded Poland, there would be war.
But it was too late for warnings. Hitler was not to be deterred. On September 1, 1939, the Nazis invaded Poland. Two days later, Britain and France declared war on Germany.
The outbreak of World War II brought about rapid changes in British leadership. Churchill, thoroughly vindicated, became first lord of the Admiralty. Poland was overrun in a month.21 Chamberlain’s credibility ebbed and Churchill’s grew. In 1940, when Hitler overran Denmark and Norway, British public opinion turned decisively against Chamberlain. Germany had been neither appeased nor deterred, and British mobilization had failed to meet the Nazi challenge.
Chamberlain decided he should resign. Both he and King George VI wanted Halifax to replace him. But, for reasons that were never publicly explained, Halifax turned the job down. Winston Churchill became prime minister on May 10, 1940.
At the pensionable age of sixty-five, Churchill was thrilled at long last to become prime minister. From his youth, he had been persuaded that he was a man of destiny. He also held “a high romantic view of the monarchy and the empire”22 that can be easily understood from his background.
He was the grandson of the Duke of Marlborough and the son of Lord Randolph Churchill, a Tory politician, who died young and had an unrequited dream of becoming prime minister himself. Winston’s American-born mother, née Jennie Jerome, was a famous and pas-sionate beauty. Both were distant and indifferent parents, and Winston’s nanny was the “central emotional prop of [his] childhood.”23 After boarding school at Harrow, Churchill attended the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst. The year he graduated, he was commissioned as an officer in the Royal Hussars.
As a young officer, Churchill saw combat in India and the Sudan. He was seen as flamboyant and impatient, with a “dominating desire … to attract the greatest possible attention to himself, both on the local and the world scene.”24 An extraordinarily fluent writer, he “lived by phra
se making”25 and supported himself financially during most of his life as a war correspondent and author. By the age of twenty-five, he was already a celebrity because of his capture, imprisonment, and escape during the Second Boer War in South Africa, which he chronicled as a foreign correspondent.
As a politician, he was self-centered, self-confident, and nakedly ambitious. By twenty-six, he was a Conservative member of Parliament, but his independent views soon forced him to switch parties and become a Liberal. By thirty-three, he was a cabinet minister, and during World War I he held a variety of important posts. He became chancellor of the exchequer in 1924 under a Conservative prime minister and formally rejoined the Conservative Party the following year. “[A]nyone can rat,” he quipped, “but it takes a certain amount of ingenuity to re-rat.”26
The Tories hardly welcomed him back as a prodigal son. To many of them, Churchill’s “wit and oratorical ability were not enough to overcome severe doubts about his judgment.”27 Many saw him as “unscrupulous, unreliable and unattractively ambitious”—a “political turncoat” who had twice changed his party affiliation. His personal eccentricities only alienated them further. He spoke with a lisp and a stutter. He wore loud suits and bow ties. His bowler hat and cigar seemed like theatrical props. He gambled and consumed great quantities of alcohol. By 1929, his political career hit the skids and he entered his “wilderness years”28 as a Tory backbencher with trivial influence.
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