Can ‘Realism’ Justify Injustice? Crimea, the Sudetenland, and Political Legacies

‘Soyez réalistes, demandez l'impossible (Be realistic - demand the impossible),’ students in Sorbonne shouted in 1968. This slogan came to mind after Czech President Petr Pavel called on Ukrainians to be realistic about their capabilities and even accept that some of the territories occupied by Russia would not be liberated in the near future. In fact, Pavel suggested something that is impossible for any Ukrainian politician or official - if they plan to remain a politician, let alone an official. 

To question the internationally recognised borders of one's state is to commit suicide, at least politically.

However, Pavel seemed genuinely surprised. ‘I didn't say anything I haven't said for a long time. At last year's conference in Munich, I also warned against raising unrealistic expectations,’ he told reporters in New York. It was as if he had not noticed that the mere combination of the words ‘Czech Republic’ and ‘Munich’ in a news report unwittingly creates sad associations. It was in Munich that the infamous agreement on the forced partition of Czechoslovakia was signed on 30 September 1938. 

According to this agreement, Prague had to give up the territories that Nazi Germany had set its sights on (primarily the Sudetenland), as well as Hungary and Poland. The pretext was that these lands were inhabited by Germans, Hungarians and Poles, respectively. In addition, the Czechoslovak government was humiliated by learning about the agreement second-hand. The ‘great powers’ - Britain, France, Italy, and Germany itself - simply ‘informed’ it. And the allies (London and Paris) also strongly recommended... yes, ‘to be realistic’. Not to resist. And to obediently fulfil the suicidal terms of the agreement, which is still called ‘Mnichovský diktát’ in Prague.

Modern Ukrainians, perhaps more than anyone else in the modern world, understand the feelings of the Czechs at the time. They were being betrayed - and at the same time, they were indignant at their ‘stubbornness’ and ‘reckless behaviour’. Why would they make sacrifices for the sake of ‘some’ Eastern Europeans? Jan Masaryk, the son of the first president of Czechoslovakia and then ambassador to London, recalled how British MPs would look at a map of Europe in surprise and only remark that his country resembled a ‘big sausage’.

Sometimes it is said that it was the West's concessions that led to the outbreak of World War II in Munich a year later. Of course, this is not true. The agreement was in fact a desperate attempt to stop the war that Europe was heading towards, and that was before Munich. A cowardly attempt, of course. And a failed one. In a phrase that is persistently attributed to Winston Churchill (and he was attributed to many things), the Allies chose disgrace over war, and in the end, they got war. 

British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, of course, thought differently at the time. On his return to London, he quoted Benjamin Disraeli as saying that ‘the peace brought from Germany was an honourable one for our time’. However, unlike the Berlin Treaty of 1878, the Munich Agreement did not limit the invader, but satisfied his demands, and therefore encouraged new conquests. As a result, the remnants of the Czech state - Bohemia and Moravia - were occupied by the Nazis within a few months. Contrary to the document signed in Munich! And after Hitler's attack on Poland, even the ‘peace-lover’ Chamberlain was forced to declare war on Germany.

Even after the fact, Western leaders tried to explain the behaviour of Western leaders by complex calculations, including preparations for war (because Britain was not ready for it as of 1938) - among those who held this view was, in particular, the future American president John F. Kennedy (however, this was also in line with the then US policy, which resisted entering the war to the last - and it was Hitler who declared war on them, not vice versa).

In Russia, by the way, the ‘Munich argument’ is still used to justify the 1939 German-Soviet pact. Although in Munich, Britain and France were not trying to tear off a piece of Czechoslovakia for themselves. And they did not hide the content of the agreement - as was the case with the additional protocols to the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact on the division of Eastern Europe between Moscow and Berlin. And most importantly, no one in the modern world is proud of Munich or talks about the ‘wise Chamberlain policy’. Even if in reality he is trying to act like a ‘realistic’ British prime minister.