This March marked the ten-year anniversary of the outbreak of civil war in Darfur, a western region of Sudan. The war was fought between the government of Sudan and two rebel groups: the Sudan Liberation Army (SLA) and the Justice and Equality Movement (JEM). This conflict led to the deaths of thousands of civilians, displaced millions, and created a humanitarian crisis in western Sudan. Some called the conflict a “genocide” and others a “holocaust,” while a United Nations report concluded that war crimes and crimes against humanity were committed. For these crimes, the International Criminal Court (ICC) indicted three Sudanese, including President Omar Al Bashir.

But criminal justice—the threat to hold perpetrators still holding power accountable for crimes—has prolonged the crisis in Darfur and postponed peace. Although the international community focuses on individuals like Bashir, durable peace is not always achieved in the court of law. Peace must be pursued within a comprehensive political agenda involving both yesterday’s perpetrators and today’s survivors, who must live side by side.

Two paradigms of justice have emerged to address the aftermath of violence. The first—advocated by the ICC—is criminal justice. Criminal justice is based on the Nuremberg trials of Nazi war criminals after World War II. The Nuremberg trials were effective because of the Allies’ military victory and the separation of survivors from perpetrators. These conditions do not hold in most African contexts, where violence has both history and agency, where conflict is ongoing, and where survivors have to live side by side with former perpetrators.

In these contexts, the Nuremberg model of justice proves ineffective, inappropriate, and an obstacle to peace. Achieving justice through a formal judicial process requires a dichotomy of right or wrong and seldom accounts for the politics behind violence. Such a model assumes criminal justice is a zero-sum game.

The second paradigm of justice is survivor justice. While the first demands criminal prosecution, the second combines impunity with reform. For example, the negotiations that ended apartheid in South Africa were based on an agreement to forgo criminal prosecution for a reformed state. The political settlement that ended Mozambique’s civil war was based on an agreement to decriminalize the main rebel group despite its notoriety for brutality against civilians.

Survivor justice has been the predominant paradigm in Sudan. Andrew Natsios, U.S. Special Envoy to Sudan from 2006 to 2007, noted that the Comprehensive Peace Agreement (CPA) said “not one word about prosecuting war crimes or compensating the victims of atrocities for just this reason.” John Garang, leader of the Sudan People’s Liberation Movement/Army (SPLM/A), recognized that “if he demanded justice, the north–south war would not end.”

The survivor justice paradigm was reinforced after South Sudan’s independence when newly elected President Salva Kiir Mayardit took office in 2011. He issued amnesty to six former South Sudanese rebel groups. In his inaugural speech, Kiir told the audience, “I want to offer public amnesty to all those who took arms against the people of South Sudan. Let them lay down these arms and help us in building this new nation.”

Survivor justice is not the exception in Africa; it is the norm. African experiences demonstrate that forgiving past wrongs combined with reform of the state is a better way to pursue peace than backward-looking judicial processes. The single-minded pursuit of criminal justice over survivor justice by the ICC has led to untold numbers of civilian casualties, a deteriorating humanitarian crisis, and a political leadership in Sudan determined to wage total war to save itself. The conflict in Darfur is ongoing with no military victory in sight. Even with a military victory and without a place for former perpetrators and political adversaries, the cycle of violence will return.

We must be willing to distinguish between violence as criminal and violence as political. To distinguish between these forms of violence is to recognize differences between a person who commits a crime and a regime that is violent. Sudan’s smallest problem is that individual leaders have committed crimes. The biggest problem is the regime itself. Changing personalities within a violent power structure will not solve Sudan’s political crisis. The punishment of an individual from a violent regime does not solve society’s problems if the system remains in place.

Survivor justice prioritizes the living over the dead. Criminal justice prioritizes victims while alienating perpetrators, thus postponing peace. To ensure peace in Darfur, a new paradigm is needed—one that includes survivors and perpetrators, addresses issues fueling violence, and reforms the state. Only comprehensive solutions that combine political reform with social justice can ensure a durable peace in Darfur.

Ever since Egyptian President Mohammed Morsi polarized the country with his infamous constitutional declaration on November 22, 2012, Egypt’s leading opposition coalition, the National Salvation Front (NSF), has wrestled with the question of whether to challenge the president by participating in or boycotting Egypt’s new institutions. Currently, the NSF is struggling to decide if it should contest upcoming parliamentary elections, which have been delayed in legal limbo. While overreach by President Morsi and his allies in the Freedom and Justice Party (FJP) might seem to justify a boycott, refusing to participate would be a serious mistake. For the sake of their political fortunes and the future of Egyptian democracy, Egypt’s opposition should compete in the elections.

When leaders in the NSF attempt to justify a boycott, they point to the fact that Morsi and the FJP have become increasingly authoritarian since November. They have a point. In the midst of economic emergency and political crisis, the legitimate concerns of the opposition and even those within the administration have been sidelined for the sake of partisan gain. Laws concerning elections, protests, and NGOs have been designed to disadvantage political opposition. Those who challenge the current administration—from opposition leaders to activists and entertainers—have been harassed by the state repeatedly.

However, despite these worrisome developments, it would be a mistake to think that Egyptian politics have settled back into their former authoritarian patterns. The president and his party are beset by rebellious state institutions, incompetence, competition from rival parties, and sliding support. By April, only thirty-seven percent of Egyptians said that they would vote to re-elect the president, down from fifty-eight percent in November 2012. In March, the Muslim Brotherhood lost control of student unions, the Journalist Syndicate, and the Pharmacist Syndicate. A recent study by the Rand Corporation concluded that support for the FJP has dropped across Egypt, leaving room for the secular opposition to make political gains at the Brotherhood’s expense.

Boycotting the elections, which the NSF had planned to do prior to the court-ordered delay, would mean throwing away this opportunity to weaken the FJP. Instead, the likely effect of a boycott would be to cement the very outcome that the opposition fears most, ceding control of the legislature to the FJP and permitting the party to consolidate its control of the government.  By refusing to campaign, the NSF would also lose an opportunity to challenge the ruling party’s governing record and its commitment to holding free and fair elections. Additionally, the coalition would strengthen its reputation for ineffectiveness and obstructionism, which has developed out of its tendency to adopt maximalist positions in an attempt to discredit the legitimacy of Morsi’s government.

Even worse are the broader repercussions that a boycott would have on the prospects for democratic consolidation in Egypt. Writing about the Arab Spring in Le Monde diplomatique, Hicham Ben Abdallah El Alaoui suggests that the fundamental question facing transitioning regimes in the Middle East is whether or not democracy can become institutionalized. He defines institutionalization as “the healthy convergence of politics around three arenas of competition: elections, parliaments and constitutions.”

In Egypt, the opposition is correct to point out that the country’s constitutional drafting process was seriously flawed, that the constitution contains troubling defects, and that the parliamentary elections will be imperfect, too. Flaws, however, do not have to be fatal. For all of the transition’s problems, Egypt has witnessed historic political argument amidst generally competitive conditions over the past several months. When the opposition responds to these developments by rejecting the legitimacy of the transition’s institutions and elections and choosing instead to participate outside of the new regime, they make the institutionalization of democracy in Egypt a less likely outcome.

If the NSF decides to participate, it will not win the elections. The coalition is still disorganized, financially poor, and ideologically fragmented. However, it is entirely possible that the NSF would be able to leverage anti-Brotherhood sentiment into a favorable showing in the elections, which could position the coalition to better influence government policy and develop a more effective political organization. Even more importantly, by committing to political competition within the framework of the new constitution, the NSF would contribute to the further institutionalization of democracy in Egypt.

NSF leaders still appear to be divided on the boycott, but it is not too late for the coalition to change course. If the parliamentary elections proceed, the leaders of the NSF should announce that they will contest the elections. Egyptians are tired of a government that cannot respond to the needs of its people, but the opposition must demonstrate that it is a real alternative. Saying “No” is not enough. For the sake of Egyptian democracy, the country’s opposition must compete.

Image taken by Scott Williamson during the June 2012 Egyptian presidential elections.

Countries that trade with each other don’t go to war with each other. While this argument has been debunked repeatedly throughout history, many—including the U.S. government—still believe that increasing trade between estranged neighbors and nuclear rivals India and Pakistan will reduce the likelihood of conflict. After witnessing three wars in the twentieth century, a mammoth military standoff in 2002, and countless terrorist attacks and recriminations, the world is eager to pin its hopes on anything that might cool tensions in one of its most volatile regions. Improved trade relations between India and Pakistan may in fact be the solution.

Following a complete breakdown in relations in the wake of the 2008 Mumbai attacks, India and Pakistan reestablished diplomatic ties in early 2011. Relations have improved rapidly ever since, as both governments engaged in diplomatic dialogue publically and behind the scenes. The greatest signs of progress came in November 2011, when Pakistan announced it would grant Most Favored Nation (MFN) status to India, and in September 2012, when the two countries signed a new visa agreement. Although such policy changes have yet to be implemented, the thaw in relations is historic due to its substance and the speed at which it came to fruition. But why now?

Détente has always been in both country’s best interests, but institutions—the military in Pakistan and electoral politics in India—have repeatedly gotten in the way of greater economic integration. But the current situation in each country has opened the door for the two to resolve some of their problems by developing trust and connections on both sides of the border as well as by having specific political constituencies push for peace. Trade combines these objectives perfectly.

The events of the past decade have forced politicians in both countries to think beyond competition. Pakistan has lived through a grueling ten years as its economy stagnated and its support for radical militants led to sectarian violence and terrorism at home. India, on the other hand, has seen its fortunes rise steadily because of its robust growth rates, emerging as an economic power with influence on the world stage. Graphical depictions of each country’s trajectory provide a sharp illustration of the contrast between them. To put it simply, India now has global aspirations and Pakistan has been left behind.

India and Pakistan’s GDP have diverged sharply in the past decade.

India’s per capita GDP has grown at a much faster rate than Pakistan’s since 1991.

Consequently, each country’s priorities and threat perceptions have shifted. India has positively transformed its diplomatic relations with the U.S., while Pakistan’s relationship with the world’s preeminent power has deteriorated. Each governments mistrusts the other’s ambitions in Kashmir, dedicating significant military and economic resources to the border region, but Indian strategic thinkers now see China’s rise as their most pressing strategic problem. And both countries remain concerned about economic development, but only recently has Pakistan realized that continued instability is deleterious to that goal. The recent thaw in relations suggests that the two governments realize they cannot forgo stronger economic ties.

Estimated at just $2.6 billion in 2011, trade between India and Pakistan is atrociously low given the cultural similarities between them and the history of economic activity in the region. The figure appears even lower when compared to India’s trade with China, which may soon surpass $100 billion. Studies have projected that moving immediately to free trade between India and Pakistan could triple the amount of commerce to as high as $8 billion by 2015. If restrictions are removed and trade between India and Pakistan is allowed to flourish, larger constituencies for peace would automatically develop. Thousands of workers, entrepreneurs, and companies that reap the benefits of trade would pressure politicians to maintain healthy bilateral relations. Such a constituency has already started to develop in the Punjab, where leaders of both the Indian state and the adjacent Pakistani province of the same name have called for greater trade as the key to creating a sustainable peace.

Despite improved bilateral relations in the past two years, significant roadblocks persist. Politics and unnecessary border skirmishes have interfered with progress, and major economic policy changes have repeatedly been delayed and will have to be implemented by the new civilian government that comes to power after today’s elections. Although it is widely believed that both countries are waiting for the other to make concessions, neither has been willing to take the first step thus far. Business interests in both countries are pushing to change that and the international community should voice its support.

Once the Pakistani election results are in, the two governments should make trade a top priority, implementing mutual steps to maximize political cover. Pakistan’s parliament should stop stalling and officially approve India’s MFN status as well as the bilateral visa agreement. Meanwhile, India should take steps to simplify its trade rules and tariffs, especially on key Pakistani export industries like textiles and agriculture. In the end, bold political leadership will be necessary to jump start trade, which would have enormous economic benefits for both countries. Most importantly, the promise of a booming trade relationship could finally put a lasting peace within reach.

The political and social change brought about by the “Arab Spring” presents an historic opportunity for the West to recalibrate its relationship with the Middle East. To do so, the Western world—particularly the United States and the former European colonial powers—should try to understand the causes of these uprisings and carefully examine the evolution of Arab identity, particularly since the period of decolonization in the 1960s.

To better understand this evolution, we need to revisit the “Arab Revolt” against Ottoman rule, which occurred from 1916 to 1918. During this time, the Arabs living in the empire understood cultural identity mainly in ethnic, not religious, terms. Pan-Arab nationalism remained the dominant paradigm in discourses about the political future of the region in 1947, when the United Nations passed the Palestine partition resolution. The paradigm thrived in the periods after the Six-Day War of 1967 and the October (or Yom Kippur) War of 1973.

In the wake of these successive defeats by Israel, the Arab people increasingly shifted towards Islam as the source of their dignity and self-esteem and away from the secular ideologies of nationalism and socialism. The annexation of East Jerusalem in 1980 further solidified this Islamic bond and provoked anger among Muslims in the Middle East and beyond. This not only resulted in the Arab loss of Haram al-Sharif, the third holiest site in Islam, but also solidified the perception that the West, judging by their acquiescence to the take-over, favored Israel.

Another factor that helped shift Arab identity from nationalism to political Islam was the collapse of communism and the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991. For the first time since the start of the Cold War, Arab governments could no longer benefit from the legitimacy the two superpowers had given them, as Washington and Moscow no longer needed their support for containment. As Arabs realized this, the resulting fragmentation of nationalism created a vacuum that Islam quickly filled. During the 1990s, this rise of political Islam in Arab civil society mirrored the deep disillusionment of the masses, not only with the failure of their governments to do anything about the situation in Palestine, but also with the refusal of those regimes to respond to the desire for democratic change as the communist systems in Eastern Europe collapsed.

Against this background, the Western attitude towards the Islamic revival has been ambiguous and largely determined by power politics. During the 1980s, the United States, in close cooperation with Saudi intelligence, secretly propped up Muslim “mujahideen” fighting groups in Afghanistan with the goal of defeating the Soviet occupation army, but without paying attention to the “unintended consequences” of such a strategy. To a large extent, the Afghan operation—which aimed to change the global power equation—triggered the very Muslim revival the United States had been eager to “contain.”

In the last two decades, the complicated relationship between the Western world and Islam has taken another turn. The West—in particular the United States and the European Union—actively supported democratic elections in the Middle East, but acted as an arbiter of the results by openly taking sides in situations where they considered the people’s choice to be unacceptable. This was the case with the aborted second round of elections in Algeria in 1992, and with the elections in the occupied Palestinian territories in 2006, which gave Hamas a majority.

This dilemma has become most obvious in the course of the uprisings collectively dubbed the “Arab Spring.” While the revolts in Tunisia, Egypt, Bahrain, Libya, Yemen, and Syria were, or continue to be, fuelled by social grievances and political despair—not by religious fervor—a majority of citizens in the countries where free elections were held nonetheless voted for Islamic parties. In the cases of Libya and Syria, outside military interference by the West, whether open or covert, has risked strengthening some of the most intransigent Muslim factions.

If history is a guide, Western attempts to “patronize” the new Islamic-inspired movements may be futile. Only time will tell whether “Arab Spring” or “Islamic Awakening” is the proper characterization of the Middle East’s social and political transformation. Irrespective of the final outcome, the West should avoid a “policy of double standards,” or supporting social revolts in certain countries while effectively siding with the government in others. It should also strive to develop a more balanced position on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, which remains one of the main concerns of Muslims in the region. Finally, after decades of “authoritarian stagnation” in the Middle East, for which the Western partners of Arab regimes bear some of the responsibility, the United States and Europe should renew their relationship with the Arab world on the basis of mutual respect. Ultimately, the West must realize embracing democratic change means accepting the people’s choice.

Recently, TV audiences have watched as entire nations have been steered towards the abyss by two mad boy-kings: the sociopathic Joffrey Baratheon of HBO’s Game of Thrones, and the inexplicable Kim Jong Un of North Korea. To compare North Korea’s Supreme Leader to the fictional ruler of the swords-and-sorcery realm of Westeros might seem like a bad joke, but the behavior of both has much in common. This is because the world of Game of Thrones is inspired by an era of real-world history that is critical to understanding the emergence of modern states and the political dynamics of modern authoritarian regimes.

In the backstory to Game of Thrones (based on George R.R. Martin’s meticulously researched book series, which in turn is based on the English Wars of the Roses), Westeros, much like Europe in our own Middle Ages, saw the emergence of centralized political organization thanks to a revolution in warfare. In Westeros, this was because the kings had dragons; in our world, the reason was the development of effective cannons. No longer able to control land by simply holding now-vulnerable castles, rulers needed to be able to march out to give battle in the open field—and the military advantage went to the leader with more troops. Surviving in this new world required a tax base large enough to sustain massive armies. The Military Revolution of 14th-16th century Europe thus led to the centralization of power and favored the growth of larger political units. According to this school of thought, the need to field a robust military was the raison d’être for the emergence of the modern state. Consequently, powerful military leaders became both essential actors within such centralized political systems and potential threats to their own masters.

Modern democracies place military leaders firmly under civil control; however, having a state is not synonymous with having democracy or egalitarianism. Early states controlled the military power of nobles through patronage and personal fealty, a system reflected accurately in Game of Thrones, and some modern states continue to manage power relationships this way.

North Korea is such a case; power there, as in Game of Thrones, is hereditary, and neither North Korea nor Westeros place much stock in plurality or social welfare. Rather, they are crony states, where those in the inner circle are the beneficiaries of a spoils system that excludes the non-elite. Social dissent—which is, after all, often economically motivated—is crushed. To protect against enemies both external and internal, a ruler like Kim must rely on the military, the key to a state’s sovereignty and often an important player in its internal political organization. Military leaders in modern crony states, like the old hereditary nobility, are thus some of the prime beneficiaries of this spoils system. However, this semi-feudal organization also contains within itself the seeds of conflict.

A despot’s grasp on power, particularly one who came to that power through his family but whose legitimacy may be questionable, is dependent on keeping his military leaders occupied, lest they seize the whole pie for themselves. The best way to do this is to keep them occupied with external conflict, or at least the threat of external conflict. Failure to do so often results in challenges from powerful subordinates, like the medieval warlords seeking to toss the (illegitimate) king off the Iron Throne of Westeros. The English Wars of the Roses and French Wars of Religion are two prominent historical analogues. Later, when the French Revolution overthrew 175 years of absolute monarchy, it was the National Guard that led the way, and a military man, Napoleon, who ultimately seized power. Similarly, it was by and large army officers such as Gadhafi and Nasser who replaced the puppet kings set up in post-Ottoman protectorates. More recently, the case of Bashar al-Assad shows what happens to those with hereditary power who fail to keep their militaries’ minds occupied: decades of détente with Israel led to idle hands in the ranks, which may have been one factor behind some of the Syrian armed forces siding with the current rebellion. In the same way, the Egyptian Revolution was abetted by that country’s military.

It’s a dilemma that goes back to the Military Revolution: without internal benefits and an external enemy to occupy its attention, a despot’s own military threatens his regime’s stability. While much of the speculation on the current standoff with North Korea suggests that Kim Jong Un is trying to gain aid concessions by tilting at windmills with a nuclear lance, a study of history shows another dimension to the fabricated foreign crises and continual brinksmanship of the Pyongyang regime: preparing to slay imaginary giants keeps the North Korean generals, who would otherwise be playing their own Game of Thrones, under control.

Given the general similarities between the Latin American sovereign debt crisis of the 1980s and the European sovereign debt crisis today, a number of commentators have sought to compare the two. Others have questioned whether this comparison is even valid. After all, Latin America is very different from Europe, and the 1980s were very different from the 2010s. Habitually underdeveloped, Latin America emerged from its debt crisis with ample space for rapid development. Such slack does not exist in Europe. Meanwhile, the unified nature of the eurozone creates opportunities and challenges that were not part of the Latin American experience.

However, as I argued in my paper Surviving a Debt Crisis: Five Lessons for Europe from Latin America Latin American policy makers and central bankers were forced to disentangle precisely the same Gordian knots that we face today. Some of their efforts succeeded, others failed—and all told, they left a body of work that is absolutely relevant to the current crisis in Europe. The principal lesson is clear: pounding austerity into a recession does not work. Such policies cost Latin America what is now known as the “Lost Decade,” and it was not until Latin American policymakers incorporated growth into the strategy that the region began its long trek towards recovery. In short, it is not austerity or growth but austerity then growth that is required. Europe—on pace to lose a decade itself—would do well to take notes.

When examined from a bird’s-eye view, Europe’s current sovereign debt crisis and Latin America’s sovereign debt crises of the 1980s follow a similar pattern. Both crises began when a series of countries that had historically suffered severe macroeconomic fluctuations were suddenly able to borrow extensively and cheaply on the international markets. While the “good times” rolled, the general perception was that they would keep rolling. That is to say, as long as property values were high in Marbella and Dublin, policy makers saw no need to tackle painful reforms. Finally, once this model proved unsustainable, afflicted countries staved off default by accepting bailout packages contingent upon austerity packages.

Like Europe today, the initial response in Latin America was austerity, and the results were underwhelming. The region muddled through years of poor growth while development stagnated. It was not until 1985 that the dialogue—let alone the policy—expanded to incorporate growth. However, this policy shift eventually facilitated Latin America’s resurgence. Current Brazilian-Chinese trade tops $60 billion and Mexican-U.S. trade eclipses $350 billion, while the Pacific Pumas (Mexico, Colombia, Peru, Chile) are signing free trade agreements the world over.

Given its current trade proclivity, it is easy to forget that the Latin American economic philosophy of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s was far more insular. Under import substitution industrialization (ISI), Latin America nurtured state-owned enterprises and protected its economies from competition. However, when these policies led to crisis, Latin America proved willing to fundamentally reconceive the foundation of its economy in order to leverage international comparative advantages. Europe needs to do the same, because the status quo is unsustainable.

Unfortunately, the European response to the sovereign debt crisis thus far has focused overwhelmingly on fiscal contraction. Growth may be “part of the dialogue” or a biannual conference topic somewhere in Brussels, but the policy has zeroed in on taxes, public wage cuts, and weakened labor protection.

The result has been three years of stagnancy. Europe has fumbled to the extent that one would be forgiven for thinking that this is the first time the world has faced these problems. The lesson from Latin America suggests that Europe has been sucked into a false debate of austerity versus growth. While it is true that a degree of European austerity is necessary, just as it was in Latin America during the 1980s, it must be understood as an emergency brake slammed on economies that are spiraling out of control; once brought to a halt, a strategy is needed to restart the engine. Part of this can come from much-discussed structural reforms, but looser monetary policy needs to be on the table as well.

Austerity without growth will yield only reform backlash. Nationalists in core Europe will rail against supposedly indolent southerners while their counterparts in peripheral Europe will demand the removal of repressive economic policies enforced by the powerful core. As the crisis trudges on, both arguments will find increasingly receptive audiences. Such a backlash, replete with unfortunate historical overtones, could result in an erosion of European integration from both sides. Luckily, as described in my full study, the Latin American experience of the 1980s offers a roadmap for recovery. Will anybody bother to follow it?