By Tolulope A. Adegoke

“A truce can be signed in an afternoon; peace must be lived for a lifetime. Between the silence of guns and the awakening of memory lies the only ground on which nations may learn to stand together—not because they have forgotten, but because they have finally chosen to remember honestly.” – Tolulope A. Adegoke, PhD

Introduction: The Gap Between Two Kinds of “Ending”

On the stage of contemporary international politics, one recurring phenomenon deserves deep reflection: conflicting parties frequently announce “ceasefires,” “truces,” or “peace agreements,” yet lasting peace often remains elusive. This gap between “ending” and “peace” constitutes one of the most profound political paradoxes of our time. A truce is the silence of guns, while truth is the awakening of memory. The former can be achieved by a single declaration within hours; the latter requires years, even generations, of honest reckoning. The choices contemporary leaders make in navigating this paradox not only determine whether a conflict truly ends, but also shape whether future generations move toward reconciliation or slide back into a new cycle of violence.

This essay seeks to examine, from an unbiased perspective, the tension between “truce” and “truth” in contemporary world political leadership, to analyze its structural dilemmas, and to explore a way forward that does not inflict further harm.

I. The Nature of Truce: From “Pause” to “Transaction”

To understand the limitations of contemporary truces, one must first clarify their legal and political character. In international diplomatic practice, there is an essential distinction between a “joint statement” and a “peace agreement.” A joint statement typically expresses a common position or intention; its content is broad and flexible, without enforcement mechanisms or punitive provisions. A peace agreement, by contrast, is a formally binding document that stipulates clear rights and obligations and includes verification and implementation mechanisms. The border ceasefire document signed by Thailand and Cambodia in Malaysia in 2025 was a “joint statement” rather than a “peace agreement”—it was a “first step,” not the end of the conflict.

This distinction is crucial because it reveals a core feature of contemporary truces: a truce is often a “transaction,” not a “resolution.” Take the 2025 ceasefire in Gaza as an example. The core of the agreement was “hostages for prisoners” and the withdrawal of Israeli forces to a line that had not yet been clearly delineated. The ceasefire took effect on paper, but the postwar governance structure of Gaza, the armed status of Hamas, and the prospect of Palestinian statehood—these fundamental questions “remained to be decided.” As analysts have pointed out, this was more like “yet another temporary pause in a war that began in 1948.”

The Trump administration’s diplomatic maneuvers in the Middle East and on Ukraine pushed this “transactional truce” to its extreme. Its pattern can be summarized as follows: escalate threats to an “apocalyptic” level, force the other side to negotiate under pressure, and then accept a narrow exchange at the last moment—safe passage through the Strait of Hormuz for a two-week ceasefire, mutual non-attack on energy infrastructure for verbal assurances. The efficiency of this approach is real, but its costs are equally real: when every crisis is framed as a moment of “civilizational survival,” credibility gradually erodes. The next threat no longer sounds like a warning, but rather like a rerun.

II. The Absence of Truth: Why Truces Fail to Endure

If a truce is merely a pause in violence, why is it so difficult to transform into lasting peace? The answer lies in an insight that has been repeatedly verified yet repeatedly ignored: peace does not reside in documents; it resides in people.

In statements before the Security Council, the United Nations Secretary-General has pointed out clearly that conflicting parties can agree to cease hostilities, can initiate reconstruction processes, and can even form joint governments. But “without including a broad and diverse range of voices in every step of this process—without bringing everyone along—any peace will be short-lived.” Long-accumulated grievances, inequalities, distrust, and social divisions do not automatically disappear when the fighting stops. They can easily reignite, and may worsen if the people and groups yearning for change do not see their needs and visions addressed.

This judgment is supported by empirical research. Studies of transitional justice processes in Uganda, Haiti, and other countries show that formal transitional justice mechanisms established without a foundation of “mutual recognition” often fail to bridge social fractures—partly because their agendas are hijacked by divisive politics, and partly because such “false starts” are in fact more harmful than doing nothing at all. In other words, a truce without preparation for truth may be worse than no truce at all.

The ceasefire experience along the Lebanon-Israel border offers another sobering case. When the ceasefire agreement took effect, the parties held vastly different understandings of its content: Trump claimed the agreement covered Israel and Hezbollah, while Netanyahu insisted that the Lebanon front was not within its scope. This “each side telling its own story” meant that the ceasefire was “flawed from the outset.” Even if the agreement holds, it merely freezes the conflict rather than resolving it.

III. The Tension Between Truth and Justice: A Difficult Balance

If truth is a necessary condition for lasting peace, then the relationship between truth and justice constitutes one of the most intractable problems in contemporary peace-building. Human rights advocates argue that perpetrators of war crimes and serious human rights violations must be held accountable and punished to prevent further violence. Conflict resolution practitioners, meanwhile, worry that condemning perpetrators of violence may reinforce social divisions and make the healing process more difficult.

This tension exists at every stage of conflict, not only after a peace agreement is signed. South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission provides a widely studied example. The Commission was mandated to investigate human rights violations committed under apartheid and—this was its most controversial aspect—to grant amnesty to perpetrators who fully disclosed their crimes. For many South Africans, this was a high price paid in the name of truth. Critics pointed out that the focus on individual acts of violence obscured the structural evils of the apartheid system, while the government’s lack of willingness to prosecute after amnesty further aggravated perceptions of impunity.

The South African experience reveals a deeper dilemma: truth itself is not neutral. Who defines truth? Whose suffering is recorded, and whose is forgotten? The narrative of reconciliation is often dominated by political elites, while the everyday experiences of ordinary victims may be marginalized. In Kenya, the Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission established after the 2007 election violence was itself led by figures accused of involvement in political violence, and its recommendations have largely been ignored by those in power. This failure gave rise to alternative civil society efforts: a widows’ dialogue group led by a Kenyan woman brought together women from different ethnic communities to share their experiences of losing partners in the violence. The husbands of these men had once fought and even killed one another, yet these women, through sustained, safe, and context-sensitive dialogue spaces, slowly rebuilt trust between communities.

This grassroots experience points toward a different politics of truth: not grand-national narratives, but everyday, relational, and slow mutual recognition.

IV. Thin Sympathy: A Realist Way Forward

Faced with the tension between truth and justice, and between truce and lasting peace, what path is feasible? Joanna R. Quinn, in her book Thin Sympathy, proposes an approach that deserves serious consideration.

Quinn’s central argument is this: in divided multi-ethnic societies, most citizens know very little about the suffering of other groups, while politicians deliberately deepen the information and emotional divide to exploit social fractures. Under such conditions, demanding “thick sympathy”—that is, deep emotional resonance and active empathetic engagement—is unrealistic. But “thin sympathy” is possible: it means learning about and acknowledging the experiences of others, without requiring deep emotional investment.

Thin sympathy can be cultivated through various means: unstructured contact at the level of daily life; cross-community cultural diplomacy (including art, exhibitions, educational programs, literature, language teaching, broadcasting, and listening with respect); and the creative use of local and national media. The goal of these practices is not to achieve “reconciliation” or “forgiveness” immediately, but to gradually accumulate a foundation of mutual recognition, so that formal transitional justice mechanisms can operate on more solid social ground.

The core insight of this approach is that the success of formal mechanisms depends on informal, everyday-level preparation. Truth commissions, amnesties, and reparations programs can produce only limited results on their own; if there is no basic mutual understanding among members of society, these mechanisms may be politically manipulated or even prove counterproductive.

V. The Colombian Lesson: The Possibility of an Integrated Path

If South Africa represents one attempt to resolve the tension between truth and justice, Colombia offers a more integrated and long-term example.

Colombia’s conflict involved the government, paramilitary groups, guerrillas, organized crime, and drug trafficking cartels, and it lasted for decades. Its peace process did not begin with the signing of the 2016 Havana Agreement; it can be traced back to the 2005 Justice and Peace Law, which dismantled paramilitary groups through reparations, amnesties, and demobilization. Subsequently, the Santos government pushed forward negotiations with the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) and established an integrated system comprising a Special Jurisdiction for Peace, a truth commission, a unit for the search for missing persons, land restitution programs, and a victims’ affairs department.

A notable feature of this system is that it sought to balance local concerns with international legal standards (particularly regarding amnesties), while maintaining “genuine local ownership.” International input and expertise proved valuable, but ultimately the driving force of the process came from within Colombia. Through long-term cooperation—often amid serious disagreements—Colombians developed a shared conception of “transformative reconciliation,” including common positions on key justice issues such as amnesty and reparations.

The Colombian experience shows that an integrated path is possible, but it requires time, patience, and institutionalized commitment. It also shows that the balance between truth and justice is not decided once and for all, but is continuously adjusted through ongoing negotiation and adaptation.

VI. Conflict Sensitivity and “Do No Harm”: A Methodology

In discussions of peace-building, one methodological principle that is often overlooked but crucially important is “conflict sensitivity” and the “do no harm” principle. Conflict sensitivity means recognizing the two-way interaction between aid interventions and the conflict context: any action—however well-intentioned—may inadvertently exacerbate conflict dynamics. The goal is to minimize negative impacts and maximize positive contributions.

This principle applies to all contexts and all stages of conflict, regardless of the level of violence, and to all types of humanitarian, conflict resolution, peace-building, and recovery work. Conflict sensitivity requires three key steps: understanding the context (a nuanced grasp of peace and conflict dynamics), identifying interactions (recognizing how interventions may affect or be affected by the conflict context), and adjusting activities (making changes based on that understanding to avoid exacerbating conflict and to enhance peace opportunities).

The significance of this methodology lies in its transformation of “do no harm” from an abstract principle into actionable practice. In the field of peace-building, this means conducting rigorous conflict impact assessments for every intervention—whether diplomatic mediation, humanitarian assistance, or transitional justice mechanisms. A truth commission whose design ignores local social fractures may inadvertently reinforce divisions; a reparations program perceived as favoring one group may provoke new resentment.

VII. The Way Forward: A Long Journey from Truce to Living Together

What, then, should a path toward lasting peace that does not cause further harm look like?

First, face the nature of truce honestly. A truce is necessary, but it is not peace. Confusing a truce with peace is not merely a conceptual muddle; it is a political danger, because it can obscure fundamental problems and allow conflict to ferment in a deeper silence. The Gaza experience shows that a “ceasefire” can simultaneously be a “diplomatic breakthrough” and a state in which “fighting continues.” Acknowledging this complexity is the first step toward genuine resolution.

Second, place truth at the core of the truce, but understand truth in a realistic way. Truth is not a single, state-led narrative, but a multi-layered, relational process that requires time to cultivate. The lesson of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission lies both in its success—bringing systemic violence into public view—and in its limitations—failing to adequately address structural injustice. The experiences of Kenya and Colombia point toward alternative paths: grassroots, community-led, slow mutual recognition.

Third, adopt “thin sympathy” as a feasible starting point. Do not expect people in divided societies to develop deep emotional resonance immediately. Instead, create opportunities for different groups to encounter one another in daily life, and accumulate a foundation of mutual recognition through culture, education, media, and dialogue. This “thin” starting point is precisely the preparation required for “thick” reconciliation.

Fourth, institutionalize conflict sensitivity. Any peace-building intervention—from diplomatic agreements to community projects—should undergo rigorous conflict impact assessment. This is not a demand for perfection, but a demand for honesty: acknowledging that even the most well-intentioned actions can produce unintended negative consequences, and establishing mechanisms to identify, monitor, and adjust for those consequences.

Fifth, embrace a long time horizon. Colombia’s integrated path was the product of decades of evolution, not the outcome of a single summit. South Africa’s truth and reconciliation process, though concentrated in 1996–1998, continues to shape and provoke debate to this day. Lasting peace is the work of a generation, not the achievement of a single administration.

Conclusion

The gap between “truce” and “truth” in contemporary world political leadership cannot be bridged by smarter diplomatic or greater coercive power. It is rooted in a deeper recognition: peace is not the silence of guns, but the willingness of people to decide to live together. That willingness cannot be imposed; it can only be cultivated.

For those who lead amid conflict—whether heads of state, international organization officials, or ordinary citizens in communities—the most important quality may not be negotiating skill or mobilizing capacity, but patience: the patience to listen to uncomfortable truths, the patience to wait for trust to grow slowly, and the patience to accept that peace is not a single arrival but a continuous practice.

The call issued by Pope Leo XIV during his 2026 visit to France may be the best summary of this quality: do not yield to the view that war is “inevitable,” but instead “unceasingly promote dialogue and diplomacy to preserve a peaceful society.” This “unarmed, disarmed peace” is precisely where truce and truth ultimately meet.

Dr. Tolulope A. Adegoke, AMBP-UN, is a globally recognized scholar-practitioner and thought leader at the nexus of security, governance, and strategic leadership. His mission is dedicated to advancing ethical governance, strategic human capital development, resilient nation-building, and global peace. He bridges the worlds of academic rigor and practical application, contributing to leadership discourse at the highest levels of policy and practice. He can be reached via: tolulopeadegoke01@gmail.com, globalstageimpacts@gmail.com