IT HAS BEEN ARGUED that the oldest maps may have been those that humans used to chart out celestial bodies, rather than features of the earth, but maps of earthly terrain have been with us for thousands of years. Their benefits are many, but perhaps the most basic of these is that they help us navigate terrain with which we are not intimately familiar. As such, maps serve as conduits of knowledge, allowing those without expertise to benefit from the efforts of those who came before them. Today, these representations of reality are everywhere: in our cars, on our phones, and in our heads. And they can get us into trouble.
I was born in the United States, but when I was five, my family moved to India for a few years. As a result, I spent some of my early school years there, returning to the United States when I was nine. When I started school again in the United States, I confronted the range of issues anyone would be expected to encounter when entering or reentering a different country: social, academic, and cultural. But then there was the problem that seemed to defy categorization. For quite some time, I puzzled over something that made no sense to me. Simply put, why was it that no one in the United States knew what the map of India looked like? Hanging on the walls, published in textbooks, and printed on globes in the classroom, the world looked like I had always known it—except when it came to the country in which I’d just spent almost five years.
Imagine for a moment, if you’re from the United States, that you traveled to Europe or Asia for the first time and discovered that every map of America was missing Florida, or perhaps Texas, or Maine, and that no one else seemed to be confused or bothered by this. In my case, a significant portion of northern India had been seemingly chopped off the country. It looked—weird.
Eventually, the realization dawned. In almost every other country in the world, the state known to Indians as “Jammu & Kashmir” includes a vast region (Kashmir) that is considered disputed territory. And here lies the problem. Of course, every Indian knows that there is a dispute in Kashmir. It’s just that the rest of the world believes the dispute is Kashmir. Then I realized that people in Pakistan, the other country with a heavy involvement in the Kashmir dispute, had probably spent their lives looking at a very different map than I had.1
The problem I encountered decades ago as a kid is far from unique—and the world getting flatter and more connected in recent years has so far done little to improve matters. In 2010, Washington Monthly published an article titled “The Agnostic Cartographer,” which gave a peek into how one of the most popular of all mapmakers, Google Maps, decides what the world should look like. In researching a story about how a technical glitch caused Google Maps to inadvertently reassign disputed territory in India (Arunachal Pradesh) as belonging to China, the author unearthed some fascinating facts:
Google runs an entirely separate maps site, ditu.google.cn, for Chinese users, which operates within the great Chinese firewall. This isn’t just a one-off concession to the party leaders in Beijing: Google maintains thirty-two different region-specific versions of its Maps tool for different countries around the world that each abide by the respective local laws.2
When Google first launched its Maps initiative in 2005, it announced to the world that “we think maps can be useful and fun.” Sometimes, it turns out, they are neither. Of course, the problem extends beyond maps. What is true of cartography is no less true of the “facts” one learns about history; each has been vetted, often without conscious or explicit intent, by the self-serving, identity-protecting, culture-replicating biases of otherwise well-intentioned people and institutions.
From their earliest memories, people on all sides of a conflict—anyone who has ever opened a book, turned on a TV, listened to a speech, or picked up a newspaper—have grown up with their own, entirely different, and incompatible, rendition of reality.
Consider the case of language. The Cuban Missile Crisis is remembered for the many lessons it teaches policy makers, leaders, and negotiators. But it is not just why we remember the crisis, but how we remember it that can be important. So it is worth asking: Why do we call it the “Cuban Missile Crisis”? Why not call it something else? How about the “Caribbean Crisis”? Or, let’s say, the “October Crisis”?
One reason seems obvious: “Cuban Missile Crisis” is more descriptive than alternative labels—after all, the conflict had to do with missiles in Cuba. But is there perhaps more to the story? The other two names I have suggested above were not arbitrarily chosen as options. Nor were they created by me. Where do you suppose they come from?
A moment’s reflection might reveal that, in fact, these are the names that other countries have used to describe the same conflict. In Russia, the event is remembered as the Caribbean Crisis. In Cuba, it is the October Crisis. These different names reflect the differing narratives that surround the conflict in these two countries. From the Soviet perspective, the real problem had little to do with missiles in Cuba per se. The missiles were just one element of the broader Cold War conflict, which included, from the Soviet perspective, other equally important factors, such as the US missiles in Turkey, the mounting conflict in Vietnam, and the tensions in Berlin. Indeed, at the time, the Soviet Union and the United States had multiple crises, in many parts of the world—this was merely the one in the Caribbean. Meanwhile, from the Cuban perspective, there probably appeared to be a crisis with the United States every month or so; this one was the October Crisis, not to be confused with the crisis in January or February or any other month of the year.
Negotiators cannot deal effectively with conflict without seeking to understand the narratives that exist on the other side(s) of the table. Indeed, even the agreement that President Kennedy ultimately reached with Premier Khrushchev required an appreciation for the Soviet position that the missiles in Cuba could not be considered in isolation from the threat posed by US missiles in Turkey. But it is not merely in the moment of conflict, and in the service of negotiation, that competing narratives need to be acknowledged. An appreciation for the different ways in which the past can be remembered, recorded, and taught on either side of a dispute can also help preempt conflict. When preemption is not possible, such an understanding can at least inject a measure of humility and respect into negotiations between parties who disagree on almost everything.
When people spend their entire lives knowing the truth, they come to believe that anyone who disagrees with them is incompetent, ignorant, or up to no good. There is an alternative possibility. Maybe the other side was simply brainwashed—and so were we. Identities and interests are socially constructed. This can help explain not only the depth of conflict that can exist between countries, but also the hostile divisions that can emerge between competing political parties, different religious ideologies, pro-life and pro-choice advocates, labor unions and management, and even rival corporate entities. In all such environments, each side can come to see its own perspective as moral while others are viewed with suspicion and derision. The discrepancy can persist and widen because all sides pass judgment on events using their own self-serving standards of legitimacy.
Conflict between people may be natural, but conflict between peoples always has a strong socially constructed basis that defines its parameters and sustains it over generations. It may not be possible for either side, at least in the short run, to overcome or set aside the potentially incendiary influences of upbringing. Nor is this something that we can unequivocally say would be desirable—it may be that some of the same forces that fuel fear and disparagement of others also motivate value-creating activities inspired by cultural pride or the comfort that comes from an expansive social identity. What is possible, and essential for resolving conflict, is an acknowledgment that the other side considers its perspective just as legitimate as we consider ours, and for much the same reasons. Acknowledging this is not always easy, but the failure to do so makes it hard to justify engagement and easy to justify escalation of hostilities.
Consider one of the barriers to negotiated agreement between Israelis and Palestinians. In addition to the creativity and courage that is needed if leaders on both sides are to work out a solution to the many issues they face, for any peace process to be effective there will need to be an accommodation for the differing narratives that each side holds dear to the heart. The date celebrated as Independence Day (Yom Ha’atzmaut) in Israel is remembered as the Day of Catastrophe (Naqba) by Palestinians. Each side’s narrative is based on the selective weighting of historic events and incongruous beliefs about who has suffered more, to whom the land really belongs, which rights are God given, and which issues ought to be negotiable.
What happens when, in this context, the prime minister of Israel demands that Palestinian recognition of Israel “as a Jewish state” must be a precondition to peace negotiations?3 It is difficult enough to expect someone to make a concession that compromises what they consider to be their sacred beliefs or rights; asking them to do so before negotiations can even begin is particularly unhelpful. Even in more mundane negotiations—for example, a business dispute or spousal conflict in which both sides feel that the other party has acted worse—it is typically ineffective to ask the other side to make a costly, irrevocable concession upfront (e.g., admit to wrongdoing) before there is any guarantee that you also plan to make some costly concessions, or that the dispute can be ultimately resolved if sufficient concessions are made.
It is always best if a conflict can be resolved without requiring either side to make very costly concessions, but this is not always possible. Even when necessary, the demand for such concessions ought not to be rushed. In armed conflicts, business disputes, and family skirmishes, there may come a time—perhaps when the prospect of a lasting settlement becomes credible, or because there has been a long-lasting and mutually hurting stalemate—when parties will agree to do what was previously considered “unthinkable,” or to make concessions on issues that were once deemed nonnegotiable. But it is usually a bad idea, and likely to be a deal breaker, if you start off negotiations with a demand for such concessions.
Across protracted conflicts around the globe, parties of every race and creed are making demands that they truly believe are legitimate and just—and they are concluding that the other side is uninterested in legitimacy or justice because these demands are being rejected. But a refusal by the other side to agree to our demands, especially when we have failed to mention how their core concerns will be met, should not put into question their character or motivation. The problem is that what we consider to be the greatest injustice, or the highest moral imperative, or the first problem that needs addressing, is largely dependent on which history books are sitting in our library.
In Great Hatred, Little Room, Jonathan Powell recounts an event in which the clash of narratives underlying the Northern Ireland conflict came to the surface in somewhat colorful fashion. It was December 1997, and Martin McGuinness of Sinn Fein (the political partner of the militant IRA) was visiting 10 Downing Street, the official office and residence of the British prime minister. Upon entering the Cabinet Room, McGuinness remarked to Prime Minister Tony Blair, “So this is where all the damage was done.” Assuming this was a reference to an IRA attack on the residence in 1991, Powell, the PM’s chief of staff, started to go into some detail about the damage that was done by the attack. No doubt bemused by Powell’s response, McGuinness clarified that he had not been referring to the damage caused by the IRA bombing six years earlier. He was referring to the damage caused by the negotiations that had taken place, in that very same room, between Irish Republican leader Michael Collins and then-Prime Minister Lloyd George, which had led to the partitioning of Ireland—back in 1921.
Sinn Fein’s perspective that day, and throughout the ensuing years, was firmly rooted in the events that had taken place three-quarters of a century earlier, the last time Sinn Fein had been invited to 10 Downing Street. From Powell’s perspective, one of the elements most essential for holding together the tenuous, but ultimately successful, peace process was a deliberate and persistent effort to bridge the gap between “our shorter-term perspective” and the other side’s “longer sense of historical grievance.”
I have witnessed such discrepancies in negotiations of all kinds: labor leaders typically have longer memories than management; the party that got less value in the last round of negotiation perceives the current negotiation as an opportunity to settle scores, while the other side takes a “rational” forward-looking perspective; employees will remember how their boss treated them in every previous encounter, while the boss will have to be reminded about even having met with the employee a few days earlier. History typically begins the first time I did the right thing or you did the wrong thing—not the other way around.
Ignoring such differences in the hope that everyone will come to terms with “current reality” and will be forward-looking in their behavior fails to appreciate the long and powerful shadow that the past casts on how people see their sense of self and purpose. Asking people to forget the past is not a very effective strategy. One religious leader discovered this in 1973, when, calling for peace in Northern Ireland, he instead gave rise to one of the enduring slogans of the violent resistance. In response to his impassioned appeal to the crowd that it was time to set aside what had divided them in the past and to get on with the future, someone shouted back, “To hell with the future, let’s get on with the past!”
A wiser strategy may be to help people build a bridge between the past and the future. I have found it much easier to negotiate with someone when, instead of fighting about the importance of historic rights and wrongs, I have encouraged the idea of applying the lessons of the past to help deal with the current situation. If someone feels they have been wronged, the “lesson” may be that they should mistrust and perhaps retaliate against the wrongdoer—and that does not leave much space for negotiation. But sometimes the other side can be encouraged to embrace a different lesson: to ask for reparations, to ask for an apology, to make amends, to simply forgive, or to work together with the objective of ensuring that no future wrongdoings can or will be perpetrated. Each of these paths requires negotiation. Each requires that history be confronted, not ignored. Even if it were possible, it is not obvious that we should wish for a world in which everyone could forget historic conflict and wrongdoings. There might be no vengeance in such a world, but there would also be little inspiration or capacity for preempting future conflicts or working towards a stable peace.
Not long ago, on a flight to India, I was filling out a customs declaration form. It asked most of the questions one would anticipate, including “Are you bringing the following items … ?” One of the items on the list was Prohibited Articles. Turning the card over to find out what was prohibited, I found, along with the usual suspects (narcotic drugs, counterfeit currency, etc.), something I did not quite expect: “Maps and literature where Indian external boundaries have been shown incorrectly.”
So there it was—just one more barrier erected to keep people from finding out how others might see the world differently. Just another obstacle to bridging divergent perspectives and reaching greater understanding. Such maneuvers are by no means unique to one country. And that is the point. Among the most natural reactions to conflict is fear: the fear of internal dissent or disunity; the fear of being perceived as weak; the fear of being the only one who will decide to act with civility or to take a softer stance; the fear of being exploited. Such fear is natural, and understandable. But fear alone should not dictate the parameters of whether and how we engage with our enemies or adversaries. It is not the way forward if conflict is to be mitigated or resolved.
President Kennedy, in his inaugural address to the nation on January 20, 1961, focused much of his attention on speaking to erstwhile adversaries of the United States and offered his own advice on how to handle seemingly impossible negotiations:
So let us begin anew—remembering on both sides that civility is not a sign of weakness, and sincerity is always subject to proof. Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate.
Time and again we have seen that neither caution nor courage alone provides sound basis for human interaction. Both are needed. Engagement does not guarantee success in the short run, but a failure to engage almost always prolongs and worsens conflict. President Kennedy understood this all too well:
All this will not be finished in the first 100 days. Nor will it be finished in the first 1,000 days, nor in the life of this Administration, nor even perhaps in our lifetime on this planet. But let us begin.
• Empathy expands the set of options—for you.
• Empathy is needed most when dealing with people who seem to deserve it least.
• Create slack. Your calculus for when to retaliate or escalate should accommodate mistakes and misunderstanding.
• There is a trade-off between maintaining strategic flexibility and safeguarding credibility.
• Don’t corner yourself with unwise or unnecessary ultimatums and threats.
• Don’t force the other side to choose between smart decisions and saving face.
• Beware the curse of knowledge.
• Don’t just prepare your arguments, prepare your audience for your arguments.
• Consider all potential explanations for the other side’s behavior; do not start by assuming incompetence or ill intent.
• Identify all the barriers: psychological, structural, and tactical.
• Work the whole body: target all barriers; use all levers.
• Ignore ultimatums.
• Rephrase ultimatums.
• What isn’t negotiable today may be negotiable tomorrow—shape future incentives and options.
• Yielding means “going with,” not “giving in.” Understand, adopt, and leverage the other side’s perspective.
• Bridge to accommodate competing perspectives.
• Yielding to the other side’s frame might enhance your leverage.
• If necessary, give up control over proposing the solution—but clarify the conditions the other side must meet.
• Think trilaterally.
• Map out the negotiation space.
• ICAP analysis: what are the Interests, Constraints, Alternatives, and Perspectives of all parties?
• Your analysis should include the static, dynamic, and strategic possibilities of leveraging third parties.
• Be prepared—psychologically, organizationally, and politically—for good fortune.
• If reaching a deal today is impossible, improve positioning and create option value for the future.
• Don’t pick a winning strategy too soon. Maintain options and strengthen your ability to change course.
• See the other side as partners, not opponents.
• Focus on creating value, no matter how ugly the conflict.
• “Imagine a world where this would be possible. Now paint me a picture.”
• Understand the deep-seated forces that legitimize each side’s perspective and behavior.
• Avoid asking for sacred concessions as a precondition to engagement.
• History begins when we were wronged.
• Don’t ask people to forget the past—encourage them to find value-creating ways to apply its lessons.
• Never let fear dictate your response to problems of human interaction.