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OP|ED - Wars rarely end when the fighting stops. Ceasefires may still the guns, treaties may redraw maps, but the most enduring battles are fought in memory; in courts, commissions, parliaments, and village squares where survivors demand to know what happened, who is responsible, and whether reconciliation is even possible. For diplomats and policymakers, the moment after war is as decisive as the war itself. Justice, or the lack of it, can shape a nation’s trajectory for generations.
As the war in Gaza drags into its second year and Ukraine braces for what will one day be a negotiated settlement with Russia, the international community must begin asking the uncomfortable questions about what follows. How will accountability be defined? Who will tell the story of what happened? What does justice look like when atrocities have been committed on all sides?
History does not offer a single answer, but it does offer guideposts. From Rwanda’s descent into vengeance, to Nuremberg’s landmark trials, to Chile’s uneasy compromise, to South Africa’s grand experiment in truth-telling, four distinct models of post-conflict justice show what is possible, and what is perilous, when nations attempt to turn the page after war.
The Temptation of Revenge
Rwanda’s genocide in 1994 was one of the darkest chapters of the 20th century. Over the span of 100 days, nearly 800,000 people—mostly Tutsi—were murdered by Hutu militias and neighbors who had been primed by years of hate speech and political manipulation. After the killing stopped, Rwanda faced the impossible task of rebuilding a society where victims and perpetrators lived side by side.
Justice, in the immediate aftermath, often took the form of revenge. Killings continued, reprisals were widespread, and tens of thousands were imprisoned without trial in a justice system that was overwhelmed and under-resourced.
The lesson for Gaza and Ukraine is stark. If justice after war devolves into vengeance, if it becomes a score-settling process designed to punish rather than reconcile, it risks perpetuating cycles of violence that no treaty can contain. In Gaza, where generational trauma already defines both Israeli and Palestinian lives, the lure of revenge will be powerful. In Ukraine, where villages like Bucha have become synonymous with massacre, survivors will not easily accept compromise with perpetrators. Without mechanisms that channel grief and anger into structured processes, vengeance will spill into the streets.
The Nuremberg Model
After World War II, the Allied powers chose another path: tribunals. At Nuremberg, leading Nazi officials were tried for crimes against humanity, establishing principles that continue to underpin international law today. The idea was simple but radical, that individuals, not just states, could be held accountable for war crimes.
The Nuremberg trials provided a precedent for the International Criminal Court and for special tribunals in Yugoslavia, Rwanda, and Sierra Leone. They showed that justice could be codified, transparent, and global. But they also raised enduring questions. Were they a triumph of universal law, or simply victor’s justice imposed by the powerful on the defeated?
Ukraine is already pressing for its own Nuremberg moment. With evidence of atrocities piling up, Kyiv has called for a special tribunal to prosecute Russian leaders for the crime of aggression. The international community, particularly Europe and the United States, faces pressure to act. Yet such a tribunal would be politically explosive, particularly if Russia is excluded from the process.
In Gaza, the question is even more fraught. Calls for accountability extend to both Israeli and Palestinian actors, yet any tribunal risks being dismissed as biased by one side or the other. For Washington, which has long resisted ICC jurisdiction over U.S. or Israeli officials, the Nuremberg model poses diplomatic dilemmas as much as moral imperatives.
The Chilean Compromise
Sometimes, the pursuit of justice collides with the pursuit of stability. In Chile, when General Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship gave way to democracy in the late 1980s, the country’s leaders opted for compromise. An amnesty law shielded many perpetrators of torture, killings, and disappearances. Truth commissions documented abuses, but accountability was partial, delayed, and often unsatisfying for victims.
This selective memory allowed Chile to transition peacefully but left open wounds. Decades later, the debate over justice versus stability continues to divide the country.
In both Gaza and Ukraine, similar pressures will be immense. Western governments eager to see reconstruction in Ukraine may prefer to sidestep thorny questions of accountability in the interest of economic recovery and regional stability. In Gaza, regional powers may prioritize rebuilding and preventing another war over digging into the responsibilities of Israeli leaders, Hamas commanders, or international actors. The Chilean path shows that stability purchased at the expense of truth can hold for a time, but it rarely brings lasting reconciliation.
The South African Experiment
Perhaps the most ambitious attempt at post-conflict justice was South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC). Rather than focusing primarily on trials, the TRC sought truth-telling as a path to healing. Perpetrators could receive amnesty if they publicly confessed their crimes. Victims were invited to testify, ensuring their stories became part of the national record.
The TRC was rooted in the philosophy of ubuntu, the idea that humanity is shared and that reconciliation is possible even after decades of brutal oppression. It did not resolve every grievance; many South Africans still criticize the process for allowing perpetrators to escape punishment. But it created a foundation for coexistence and offered a model for societies where the line between victim and perpetrator is blurred.
Could something similar work in Gaza, where Israelis and Palestinians must eventually live alongside each other, or in Ukraine, where Russian-speaking populations will remain part of the nation? The TRC suggests that reconciliation requires not just trials, but storytelling, acknowledgment, and a willingness to face unbearable truths.
Looking Ahead
For diplomats in Washington, Brussels, and the United Nations, these historical models are not academic. They are blueprints for choices that will need to be made soon. Will Ukraine push for sweeping tribunals that risk alienating potential peace brokers? Will Gaza’s postwar process lean toward selective memory to satisfy international donors? Could hybrid models, combining elements of courts, truth commissions, and amnesties, be designed to fit the unique contexts of these conflicts?
The answers will shape more than the fate of Gaza and Ukraine. They will test the credibility of international law, the resilience of diplomacy, and the global community’s capacity to respond to atrocity with something more enduring than vengeance.
Wars end on paper; peace begins in practice. As the world looks ahead to the eventual silence of guns in Gaza and Ukraine, the task of building justice will be as daunting as it is necessary. History warns us of the costs of getting it wrong, and offers glimpses of what it takes to get it right.
(George Cassidy Payne is a freelance journalist, poet, and crisis counselor based in Rochester, New York. He writes extensively on faith, culture, and social justice, weaving together perspectives from philosophy, theology, and lived experience. George’s work has appeared in local and national outlets, and he is passionate about exploring the intersections of religion and community in a rapidly changing world.)
