The Democracy Paradox in Resolving Ethnic Conflicts: Is Democracy What Prevents a Resolution to the Arab-Israeli Conflict?

Abstract

The hypothesis underlying this article is that a democratic state provides a platform for the emergence of violent conflicts along ethnic lines that the state’s institutions are not designed to resolve.

The central argument is that liberal democracy, unlike dictatorship, is subject to a unique paradox: it creates high expectations among ethnic minorities for equality and national recognition, yet its institutional mechanisms, including the rule of law and the legal system, freedom of expression, and sensitivity to public opinion, substantially constrain its enforcement power. As a result, a structural “deadlock” emerges in which the democratic state is unable to suppress the conflict, but is also unable to bring it to a resolution through conventional liberal means.

To this end, the article examines four comparative case studies: the Basque and Catalan minorities in Spain; the Sikhs in India; the conflict in Northern Ireland; and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Through this comparative analysis, the article proposes a conceptual framework of “active sovereignty” as an alternative to the notion of “conflict management.” The conclusion is that in the absence of a willingness on the part of the radical side to accept a sovereign compromise, the perceived situation in which “there is no solution” is not a failure; it may constitute the only realistic strategic basis available to a liberal democracy.

The Liberal Illusion and the Asymmetric Reality

Since the second half of the twentieth century, and particularly during the 1990s following the Cold War, academic literature has focused on the internal relations of nation-states and on an optimistic assumption that democratization, economic prosperity, and the expansion of human rights would inevitably lead to the moderation and even decline of ethnic-national conflicts. This approach, referred to here as “the liberal illusion,” rested on three central pillars: first, the assumption that civic inclusion and the granting of formal equal rights would reduce alienation and eliminate the foundations of radicalism; second, the assumption that economic growth and the creation of shared prosperity would generate common interests and diminish the motivation for separatism; and third, that pluralistic constitutional arrangements, cultural autonomy, local self-government, and stable dual loyalties would enable the management of separate identities within the existing sovereign framework.

Yet these optimistic assumptions proved fundamentally mistaken, particularly in cases where the ethnic movement does not seek integration, but rather full sovereign independence. This is not merely a failure of implementation, but a structural failure arising from a fundamental mismatch between the internal logic of democratic government and the dynamics of extreme ethnic conflicts. The question we seek to examine is: Why are liberal democracies unable to resolve conflicts of this kind?

The argument of this article is simple in its formulation but complex in its implications: liberal democracy contains within it a structural paradox that leads to a prolonged “deadlock” in the management of acute ethnic conflicts. On the one hand, democratic tools themselves, such as civil liberties, freedom of expression, and freedom of association, are also granted to ethnic movements struggling against the territorial integrity of the state. On the other hand, democratic sensitivity to public opinion, judicial review, and international criticism limits the enforcement power that the state is permitted and able to exercise. As a result, democracy is often “behind the curve,” free enough to fuel the conflict, but constrained enough to prevent it from resolving the conflict.

To examine this argument, we will use four key and comparable case studies: the Basques and Catalans in Spain, a classic Western democracy with strong ethno-linguistic minorities; the Sikhs in India and the Kashmir case, the world’s largest democracy with complex ethnic and religious conflicts; the Catholic-Protestant conflict in Northern Ireland, an ethnic-religious conflict ultimately resolved through broad agreement; and the Israeli-Palestinian case as a central case for discussion. It is important to emphasize that at this stage, the analysis seeks to separate the religious variable from the purely ethnic variable, in order to allow for a focused examination of the democratic paradox.

High Expectations, Low Enforcement

The central paradox of liberal democracy in dealing with ethnic conflicts can be formulated as follows: the more democratic the state, the higher the expectations of the ethnic minority, and correspondingly, the more difficult it is for the state to enforce solutions. Democracy creates a commitment to formal equality before the law, freedom of expression and association, judicial review of government actions, and restraint on governmental power. These values, by their very nature, limit the tools that the state is permitted to employ against ethnic movements, even when those movements undermine the foundations of state sovereignty and pose a threat to it.

At the same time, the democratic framework itself heightens the expectations of the minority. In a liberal democracy, an ethnic minority is not merely “tolerated”; it possesses rights, political representation, and access to the courts and free media. This reality creates a narrative of “deserved equality,” raising the threshold of demands made against the state. When a Catalan minority experiences economic prosperity but lacks national sovereignty, it interprets this, to itself and to others, as a circumstance of “oppression,” not despite the democratic framework, but precisely because of the expectations that framework creates. The political psychology of minority groups in democracies indicates that the democratic promise itself intensifies the dissonance between expectations and reality.

Confronting these expectations is the constraint of enforcement. In a liberal democracy, the state finds it difficult to employ the force necessary to suppress an ethnic uprising. Judicial review, a free press, human rights organizations, and international pressure all constrain the ability to suppress separatist movements. The democratic framework itself provides these movements with tools of protection: access to the courts, freedom of publication, political representation, and protection from arbitrary detention. Accordingly, a democratic government taking measures against an ethnic movement may appear to be acting in opposition to the very values in whose name it operates.

The result is that democracy is trapped between two poles: it cannot suppress the conflict effectively, but neither can it bear the political “cost” of making a sovereign concession. This is the structural “deadlock.” The state finds itself reacting rather than initiating; putting out fires rather than resolving the conflict. The status quo continues, along with its economic, security, and social costs.

“Democratic Cycle of Violence”

A phenomenon unique to democracies in managing ethnic conflicts is what may be called the “democratic cycle of violence.” When a democracy is required to act against a violent ethnic movement, it applies force “in small doses,” not because it lacks military capabilities, but because constitutional, judicial, and media constraints prevent it from containing the consequences of using the force necessary to suppress violent protests. Yet minimal force, as has been demonstrated time and again, does not deter, but rather provokes and encourages continued rebellion. It is sufficient to generate a narrative of “victimhood” and “oppression” among the minority and within the international community, but insufficient to alter the military-strategic equation of the separatist side.

Democratic governments become entangled in this logic: targeted action, which usually involves arresting leaders, shutting down organizations, or restricting their activities, creates heroes and a surge of morale on the other side; inaction is interpreted as weakness and invites escalation; and the use of full force provokes political and international turmoil that may undermine the legitimacy of the government itself. Thus, the democratic government responds with a level of force that is insufficient to achieve a decisive outcome. The conflict continues. Violence generates further violence at graduated levels of intensity, but never reaches a decisive point.

Of course, this cycle does not occur under authoritarian regimes: China in Tibet, and the Soviet Union in its attempts to suppress rebellions by its ethnic minorities, employed force without meaningful limits and faced only marginal domestic public criticism. The likelihood of an overwhelming victory by the authoritarian state was greater, even if the immediate humanitarian cost was enormous. Democracy, by contrast, refrains from an “overwhelming victory” because of its commitment to its values, thereby paradoxically prolonging the suffering of both sides.

The Constitutional Paradox: Rights as a Weapon

Another, deeper dimension of the democratic paradox lies in the constitutional-legal sphere. Democratic states are committed to the principle of equality before the law, enshrined in most modern constitutions and international human rights charters. This principle requires equal treatment of every citizen without distinction based on race, religion, or ethnic origin. Yet when an ethnic group cynically exploits democratic rights, such as freedom of expression, freedom of association, and the secret ballot, in order to undermine the very existence of the state, a “constitutional paradox” emerges, with far-reaching normative and practical implications.

The state is required to protect the civil rights of individuals working to abolish the sovereignty that protects them. Any attempt to restrict their activities is perceived as an infringement of fundamental liberal freedoms. Courts, committed to the principles of equality and freedom of expression, tend to permit separatist expressions even when their rhetoric is violent, and to give weight to “context” and “proportionality” even when their anti-democratic intentions are clear. A free media provides a platform for the minority narrative, sometimes without sufficient context and sometimes driven by ideological motives. Human rights organizations, which ordinarily serve legitimate interests, frequently define any enforcement action taken by the state against separatist activity as a “human rights violation.”

The German Experience and “Defensive Democracy”

German constitutional jurisprudence, which developed after World War II in response to the rise of Nazism through democratic means, coined the term “defensive democracy.” This concept holds that democracy is under no obligation to grant constitutional protection to forces seeking to destroy it. Germany’s Basic Law permits the banning of anti-democratic political parties, restrictions on the freedom of expression of those acting against the free constitutional order, and even the forfeiture of fundamental rights by those who abuse democratic freedoms. In practice, however, in Germany, Israel, and other democratic states, courts tend to interpret these restrictions very narrowly, out of a deep commitment to fundamental freedoms. The broad interpretation of “freedom of expression,” alongside the narrow interpretation of “denial of sovereignty,” creates a significant operational constraint: it is difficult to prove the “actual denial” of the regime before the threat has become firmly established.

Numerous studies point to a connection between the manner in which governments respond and patterns of ethnic escalation within a given state. Raphael Zarytsky (1989), for example, presents a pluralist argument according to which the central government’s response to escalating ethnic demands may lead to increased ethnic radicalization. Where a government acts with complete insensitivity and refuses to negotiate in good faith with the leadership of the ethnic minority, the minority leadership may be inclined toward extremism. However, some scholars have shown that this argument is valid in the short term but incorrect in the long term.

A prolonged low-intensity conflict (“frozen conflict”) generates a range of direct and indirect economic costs: higher defense budgets than would be necessary in a state at peace; damage to credit ratings and attractiveness to foreign investors; a “brain drain” of professionals who choose to leave; opportunity costs associated with skilled personnel serving in the military; damage to tourism and international trade; as well as harm to the mental health of the population, which carries measurable economic costs. Comparative economic studies show that countries experiencing “low-intensity conflict” for decades exhibit significant growth gaps compared with countries in similar geopolitical environments that enjoy stability.

Yet the problem runs deeper than the total cost of defense spending. “Conflict management” creates political incentives that are inherently suboptimal. Political, security, and economic elites may develop a direct interest in maintaining the status quo, whether as a security industry benefiting from emergency budgets, as politicians who use the security threat to build coalitions, or as a bureaucracy whose entire sectors depend on managing the conflict. Over time, the economy of a “frozen conflict” creates “stakeholders” in its continuation, a phenomenon identified in the political-economic literature as the “political economy of conflict.”

Conversely, the costs of achieving a decisive resolution should also be presented honestly. A complete sovereign solution, such as India’s abrogation of Article 370, entails high initial costs: military confrontation, international reactions, and economic disruption. In the medium term, it may even require substantial government investment in development and governing institutions. The real economic question is not “How much does the solution cost?” but “What is the break-even point”: at what stage does the cumulative cost of managing the conflict exceed the cost of resolving it?

Domestic Politics in the Service of External Enemies

In Israel, considering the scale of the defense budget, the economic damage caused by cycles of conflict since 1948, and the loss of investment and trade with countries that refused to normalize relations because of the conflict, it appears that the economic break-even point for resolving the conflict was reached decades ago. The status quo is not “cheap”; it entails a substantial and ongoing cost. A central problem in democracies, one that does not exist in authoritarian regimes, is the mechanism of the “internal veto.” In a democracy, majority groups are not necessarily united around a single sovereign position. Governing coalitions reflect compromises among different groups, including groups whose positions on how to address the ethnic conflict differ fundamentally. This fragmentation creates an internal “veto” mechanism: virtually every governing coalition in a Western democracy will include groups that “moderate” the approach to the conflict, whether for ideological, economic reasons, including businesses that benefit from trade with the separatist population, or international reasons, including lobbying by foreign states.

This situation becomes particularly acute where deep political polarization exists. Polarized democracies find themselves not only responding to the separatist threat from outside, but also struggling internally over the basic definition of that threat. When opposition parties portray every government action against an ethnic movement as “reactionary,” “racist,” or “anti-democratic,” the government finds itself evaluating every action through the prism of coalition management rather than through the prism of the national interest.

Democracy, through freedom of the press, may create “heroes” out of the minority that is fighting. A separatist movement whose leaders are arrested, whose institutions are shut down, and whose members are killed in security operations gains public exposure, a broad platform, and international sympathy. In democratic media, “David” (the state) is fighting “Goliath” (the persecuted minority). This narrative, even where distorted, further narrows the government’s room for maneuver.

An authoritarian regime operates without “heroes.” There is no free press to portray the founder of ETA as a freedom fighter; no supreme court to examine the legality of deportation; no local human rights organizations to criticize a policy of blockade. Authoritarian repression, shielded from public criticism, may be carried out comprehensively without creating a counter-narrative. Democracy, by its nature, always generates a counter-narrative to its actions. This is its moral advantage, but also one of its principal tactical weaknesses.

International pressure on democracies managing ethnic conflicts constitutes an independent and significant constraining factor. UN organizations, the International Criminal Court, and neighboring states with vested interests all restrict the democratic state’s room for maneuver and frame enforcement actions in terms of “human rights violations.” Authoritarian regimes, by contrast, generally enjoy broader immunity from international criticism: China in Tibet and Russia in Chechnya face international pressure, but its influence on policy is limited. For Western democracies, by contrast, international criticism is too costly diplomatically, economically, and reputationally. The result is that democracy once again finds itself constrained. Among other things, these constraints may make it easier for an ethnic minority to establish illegal underground organizations that operate through violent methods.

The distinction between a “managing democracy” and a “surviving democracy” is a central conceptual distinction. The managing democracy operates according to the classical liberal assumption: every problem can be managed through liberal tools, and every conflict can be resolved through dialogue, rights, and prosperity. It is a democracy that does not ask itself, “What are the limits of what is possible?” but rather, “How can we manage this better?” The surviving democracy, by contrast, adds the question of sovereignty to the mechanisms of management: “How do we preserve the conditions for our existence?” It is a democracy that understands that its continued existence cannot be taken for granted, and that it requires active and continuous preservation.

The Decentralization Trap: The Basques and Catalans

Spain following Franco’s dictatorship represents one of the clearest cases for examining the democratic paradox. With the transition to democracy in the 1970s, Spain sought to “buy” peace and political stability by granting extensive autonomy to its historic regions, the Basque Country and Catalonia. The Spanish Constitution of 1978 established a system of “autonomous communities” that granted broad powers in a range of areas, including education, culture, local policing, and a separate official language.

The rationale was liberal and intuitive: if the Basques and Catalans were allowed to manage their cultural affairs, and if they were able to prosper economically within the Spanish framework, separatist radicalism would decline. Indeed, in the short term, the solution appeared to succeed: the number of ETA supporters, the Basque terrorist organization that fought for full independence, declined, the Catalan economy prospered, and relative calm prevailed.

Yet a close examination of the Spanish experience reveals a complex, twofold lesson. On the one hand, the combination of uncompromising military and police pressure with international intelligence cooperation, particularly with France, ultimately led to the dissolution of ETA in 2018. This success did not result from the generosity of autonomy, but from a consistent enforcement policy: determined anti-terror legislation, international legal cooperation to extradite operatives, the deployment of a sophisticated intelligence apparatus that penetrated the organization’s ranks, and the banning of political parties proven to have links to terrorism. These were exceptional measures grounded in the doctrine of defensive democracy. ETA was not dismantled voluntarily, but as a result of security exhaustion.

On the other hand, and here lies the central lesson, the autonomous structure that was created gave rise to new and more dangerous separatist entities. Catalonia represents the dark side of decentralization. Over the course of decades, Catalonia’s local elites exploited their autonomous powers to build a separate education system that shaped a distinct Catalan identity, an independent media ecosystem with a pro-separatist narrative, and government mechanisms possessing a semi-sovereign character. When the time came, these infrastructures were used to hold, in 2017, a referendum on independence, even though it had been declared illegal by the Spanish Constitutional Court.

Spain’s response was an inconsistent mixture: legal measures, including the activation of Article 155 of the Constitution, which permits central intervention in regional government, the arrest of leaders, and the filing of indictments, alongside political hesitation and division within Spanish society itself. Spanish democracy discovered that the more powers it granted to the local level without close sovereign oversight, the greater the appetite for dismantling the state became. Generosity created an infrastructure for separatism.

The legal-political lesson that can be drawn from the Spanish case is fundamental: territorial autonomy may serve as a stable solution only when it is accompanied by three binding mechanisms: the clear supremacy of federal law over regional law; substantive judicial oversight of local government actions; and an institutional guarantee of the local elites’ loyalty to the state. In their absence, autonomy turns from a solution into a problem in its own right, an “autonomy trap.” Spanish democracy “bought” a short period of peace and created a new separatist stronghold.

The Fighting Democracy: The Sikhs in India and the Kashmir Case

India represents a unique and particularly illuminating case for examining the options available to a large democracy in dealing with ethnic and religious minorities. India is the world’s largest democracy, a pluralistic and multinational state, and a site of deep ethnic conflicts that have persisted since its independence in 1947. Two major cases are relevant to our analysis: the Sikhs in Punjab and the struggle in Kashmir.

The Sikh conflict in Punjab, during the 1970s and 1980s, was among the most severe conflicts experienced by Indian democracy. The “Khalistan” movement sought to establish an independent Sikh state. The Indian government initially attempted a variety of solutions: committees to examine grievances, proposals for limited self-government, and mediation efforts. However, the radicals within the Sikh movement, who had entrenched themselves in the “Golden Temple” in Amritsar, refused to compromise. Ultimately, in 1984, Indira Gandhi’s government undertook direct military action (“Operation Blue Star”) to eliminate the separatist stronghold. The price was enormous: hundreds were killed, irreversible damage was inflicted on a major religious symbol, and Prime Minister Gandhi was assassinated by Sikh bodyguards. Yet after several more difficult years, the conflict was ultimately resolved: Khalistan was never established, and Punjab was reintegrated into democratic India.

The Kashmir case presents a different dynamic. Kashmir, a region that acceded to India under controversial circumstances in 1947, was granted Article 370 of the Indian Constitution, an exceptional autonomous arrangement that allowed Kashmir to maintain a separate constitution and limit the applicability of Indian law. This provision, which was designed as “temporary,” effectively became a “legal lever for separatism”: it served to reinforce a separate identity, delay economic development, and preserve dependence on local elites linked to Pakistan.

In 2019, under the government of Narendra Modi, India took a dramatic step: it unilaterally abrogated Article 370 and extended the full body of Indian legislation to Kashmir. The Indian Supreme Court unanimously upheld the abrogation, ruling that it constituted a legitimate constitutional power of Parliament. From the perspective of international law, the Indian move represents an important precedent: a democracy may revoke autonomous arrangements established in the past, provided that the revocation is carried out through a proper constitutional process. The abrogation required the application of the full body of Indian legislation, the granting of full equal rights to all residents of Kashmir, including women and minorities who had been disadvantaged by local traditions, and the opening of the door to broad economic investment.

The Indian experience demonstrates that a democracy can, and at times must, use hard legal and military tools to dismantle separatist centers of power. At the same time, it is important to note the conditions that made this possible: broad political consensus among the Indian majority, strong public support, and political leadership willing to bear the political cost, including international criticism and diplomatic tensions with Pakistan. These are conditions that do not exist in every democracy, particularly not in internally divided democracies.

The Indian experience offers a profound lesson concerning the paradox under examination: even the world’s largest democracy, despite its pluralistic commitments, was unable to “resolve” the Kashmir conflict through liberal-consensual means for seventy years. When the decisive step finally came, it was carried out through parliamentary power, in the form of a constitutional abrogation, and military power, through an increased deployment in Kashmir at the time of the abrogation.

Northern Ireland: Agreement Without Surrender

The conflict in Northern Ireland between the Catholic-nationalist community, associated with the Irish Republic, and the Protestant-unionist community, associated with maintaining ties with Britain, is known as “The Troubles.” It lasted from the late 1960s until the Good Friday Agreement in 1998 and claimed the lives of more than 3,500 people.

The uniqueness of the Northern Irish conflict for our purposes lies in several fundamental characteristics. First, both sides operated within a democratic framework: Britain is one of the world’s oldest democracies, while the Republic of Ireland, whose border with Northern Ireland served as a lifeline for IRA activists, is also a democratic state. Second, the conflict involved not only an ethnic component, but also a religious component and a historical dimension of British colonialism. Third, the agreement that was ultimately reached, which did not constitute a “victory” for either side, represents, in the view of many, a living experiment in managing an ethnic conflict within a democracy while respecting both narratives.

For years, Britain employed a variety of tools: military measures, including a large troop presence in Northern Ireland and security operations; legislative measures, including emergency laws, administrative detention, and juryless courts for terrorism offenses; and political measures, including attempts at dialogue with moderate parties. The result was not a “resolution” of the conflict; the identity-based divisions were not resolved. Instead, an outcome emerged that may be described as the “institutional management” of the conflict.

The Good Friday Agreement, signed in 1998 after years of negotiations, did not eliminate the identity-based conflict, but institutionalized it: it established a power-sharing government in which both sides were required to cooperate, allowed the citizens of Northern Ireland to hold both Irish and British citizenship, and recognized the parties’ right to distinct cultural expression. According to numerous scholarly analyses, what made the agreement possible was not a liberal “victory” of dialogue and tolerance, but a combination of two factors: the growing effectiveness of British security efforts, which brought the IRA to a state of tactical exhaustion, and a shift in the strategic calculations of Sinn Féin, the political wing of the IRA, which understood that demographic and political circumstances required a change in strategy.

The lesson from the Northern Irish case for our purposes is profound: the “solution” was not a classical liberal solution. It did not eliminate the separate identities, did not resolve the question of sovereignty, as Northern Ireland’s relationship with Britain remains contested, and did not result from democratic gestures alone. It was the product of a drive toward institutional “non-resolution,” combined with sufficient enforcement power that helped create the conditions for compromise. Nevertheless, Brexit and questions concerning the island’s border repeatedly demonstrate that the “solution” in Northern Ireland is a cautious truce, rather than absolute peace.

The Israeli-Palestinian Case: Management as Cumulative Risk

The Israeli-Palestinian case constitutes the focus of the analysis and fits particularly clearly within the theoretical framework developed here. It should be clarified at the outset that the analysis focuses solely on the democratic variable, the relationship between a democratic regime and ethnic conflict, and deliberately sets aside, at this stage, additional variables unique to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, including the religious-Islamic component, the connection to the Iranian axis, the diasporic-colonial dimension identified by some scholars, and the unique history of Zionism and the settlements. This focus does not disregard these variables, but rather seeks first to examine the basic democratic logic.

Two decades of “conflict management” policy, from the Oslo Accords through “separation” and “economic conflict management,” rested on a basic liberal assumption: improving the standard of living of the Palestinian population would, at least in part, neutralize radicalism. The assumption was that if people were occupied with earning a living, educating their children, and building an economy, they would prefer stability over confrontation. This assumption was not without foundation: during periods of relative economic prosperity, measures of violence did indeed decline. Yet experience has shown that the relationship between economics and security is more complex than it appears.

The policy of “economy in exchange for calm” in Gaza and parts of Judea and Samaria failed, at least in its simplest form. Economic resources were frequently used to build terrorist infrastructure: combat tunnels, weapons procurement, and recruitment of personnel for terrorist organizations. The explanation lies in the logic formulated here: where the national-sovereign aspiration is for statehood rather than administrative autonomy, a “good economy” is not enough. At most, it is perceived as a temporary consolation, rather than a substitute for the national aspiration. Under conditions of intense nationalism, many will choose economic sacrifices if these advance a national goal perceived as exalted.

The 2005 disengagement from Gaza represents a clear example of the failure of the “conflict management” approach in its most extreme form: a unilateral sovereign concession in the hope of changing the dynamics. From a legal perspective, the disengagement sought to create a physical and sovereign separation between Israel and the Gaza Strip. Israel withdrew its forces and settlers, in the hope that its international responsibility for the territory would come to an end. Instead of calm, Israel received Hamas rule in 2007, which transformed Gaza into a terrorist base, a launching site for rockets, and a center for underground military infrastructure.

From the perspective of international law, the disengagement created an anomaly: Israel argued that it no longer bore responsibility for Gaza, given the absence of a permanent military presence and the absence of internal control, yet the international community continued to regard it as an “occupying power” because of its control over the borders, airspace, and maritime space, as well as certain aspects of civilian life. An intermediate situation emerged: Israel remained internationally responsible, but lacked the legal and practical capacity to influence what was taking place inside the Strip. In other words: all the sovereign disadvantages, without all the advantages.

The Israeli case illustrates the article’s argument with particular clarity: whenever Israeli democracy attempted a liberal-consensual “solution,” whether Oslo, disengagement, or “economy in exchange for calm,” the result was not peace, but the creation of new nationalist-military infrastructures that were subsequently used against Israel itself. This is precisely the dynamic predicted by the proposed theoretical framework.

One of the common arguments in favor of “conflict management,” as opposed to resolution, is the economic argument: the status quo, however costly it may be, is still cheaper than war or vigorous intervention by force. A long-term macroeconomic analysis.

Principles of “Active Sovereignty”

Before explaining the term “active sovereignty,” it is appropriate to first emphasize what it does not entail. Active sovereignty is not support for the forcible suppression of minorities. It is not a call to violate international human rights. It is not a denial of the right to cultural identity, to the minority language, or to legitimate political expression. It is not national paternalism that denies the minority its ability to express itself.

Active sovereignty, as defined here, is the concept that a democratic state neither needs to nor can remain “value-neutral” with regard to the question of its very existence. It may, and indeed must, establish clear boundaries for the subversive use of democratic rights, and actively, proactively, and continuously enforce its sovereignty, while strictly maintaining a legal and democratic framework.

The principles of active sovereignty can be formulated as several operational parameters.

• First principle: establishing clear boundaries for the subversive use of rights. Defensive democracy does not deny freedom of expression; it prohibits its exploitation for the purpose of turning the tools of democracy into weapons for destroying democracy. In practice, this means clear legislation defining a red line: what is permitted as politics, even radical politics, and what is prohibited because it is defined as active subversion of sovereignty.
• Second principle: normative uniformity. The state applies its laws uniformly throughout its territory and to all of its population, and does not permit areas in which a different normative regime applies.
• Third principle: proactive, rather than merely reactive, use of lawful instruments of force. The state does not wait for escalation and then respond; it identifies centers of separatism at an early stage and deploys economic, legal, and security tools before they become more powerful.
• Fourth principle: strengthening internal cohesion. Sovereignty ultimately rests on civic consensus. A state in which the majority is divided over the very question of its right to the territory loses the moral capacity to enforce its sovereignty. Strengthening internal cohesion, national, civic, and social, is an integral part of active sovereignty.
• The fifth principle, and perhaps the most fundamental: abandoning the “illusion of neutrality.” A state facing an existential conflict cannot afford a position of “having it both ways.” Sovereign independence is not a “political position” among other positions; it is a condition of existence. Active sovereignty requires democratic governments to relinquish the political convenience of “management” and decide the question: what are the boundaries that the state will not allow to be crossed?

An essential point in formulating this framework is that active sovereignty does not represent weakness. “No solution as a solution” is not a nihilistic statement of despair, but a realistic statement about the limits of what is possible for a liberal democracy. Where a democratic state concludes that there is no liberal-consensual solution to a particular conflict, it should draw from this conclusion not despair, but operational requirements: (a) proactive preservation of the status quo, actively rather than passively; (b) preventing the arming of separatist infrastructures; (c) strengthening the institutions of sovereignty itself; and (d) preserving the “capacity for decisive action” when more favorable conditions emerge.

In this context, preserving the status quo is not a “political inspiration,” nor should it be, but rather an active strategy. Active sovereignty, by contrast, means that the state recognizes that no solution is currently available and therefore directs its efforts toward preserving its future capacity to act.

From a Managing Democracy to a Surviving Democracy

After examining the democratic paradox, the comparative cases, and the structural analysis, it is time to formulate the conclusion clearly. “No solution as a solution” is not merely a pessimistic finding; it is a realist principle with strategic value.

In ethnic conflicts in which the radical movement does not seek territorial compromise but strives to abolish sovereignty itself, there is no political-liberal solution in the classical sense. Autonomy, partial self-rule, and interim arrangements are not perceived by the radical side as an endpoint, but as stages in an ongoing process of building a competing state entity. Past experience, both in Western democracies and in multi-ethnic democracies, shows that such institutional concessions do not restrain separatist dynamics, but may even intensify them by creating separate governmental, educational, and ideological infrastructures.

This assertion is not equivalent to a nihilistic statement. It means that there is no comprehensive liberal-consensual solution to this type of conflict. The absence of a political solution is not necessarily a policy failure, but rather a sober recognition of the limits of what liberal democracy can achieve when confronted with an existential challenge. In such situations, the deliberate preservation of the status quo is not an expression of stagnation, but a calculated sovereign strategy whose purpose is to prevent deterioration, contain the consolidation of a hostile entity, and preserve the state’s future capacity to make decisive choices.

This can be illustrated schematically: an ethnic conflict within a democracy exists at an unstable equilibrium. The liberal solution, an agreed compromise, is possible only if both sides accept it as a settlement. In conflicts in which the radical side accepts no settlement other than an independent state, the liberal solution cannot be achieved, not because of a failure to act, but because of the underlying logic. Maintaining an active status quo is the only course available to a democracy without causing harm to itself. Liberal democracy does not guarantee a solution to every ethnic conflict, particularly not to those in which the radical side seeks not compromise but the abolition of sovereignty. In such situations, the absence of a comprehensive political solution is not a failure, but a realistic recognition of the limits of what is possible. The comparative analysis presented here, Spain, India, Northern Ireland, and Israel, shows that there is no single formula and no “comprehensive solution.” ETA was dismantled not out of a love of peace, but through exhaustion. The Sikhs were integrated into India following military action. The Northern Ireland Agreement was signed after years of “attrition.” Kashmir was integrated following a constitutional abrogation. None of these solutions was “liberal” in the narrow sense. All combined, in different ways, state power with institutional arrangements.

The central challenge facing democracies in the 21st century is not “how to reach an agreement at any cost,” but “how to survive and preserve their room for maneuver over time within a conflict that may not be resolvable under current circumstances.” This is not futility; it is strategic maturity.

The concept of “active sovereignty” presented here does not reject democracy and does not seek to abandon its principles, but rather aims to ensure the conditions for its survival. It means relinquishing the illusion of value neutrality in situations of acute conflict, and establishing clear boundaries for the use of democratic rights as a subversive instrument. Active sovereignty requires the proactive, consistent, and unapologetic use of state power, legal, security, economic, and informational, while maintaining a legal framework, but without expecting a comprehensive solution or complete reconciliation.

Ultimately, “no solution as a solution” is not surrender; it is a statement of realism. The democratic state refuses to succumb to the liberal illusion that every conflict can be resolved through dialogue and generosity. It also refuses to fall into the temptation of total repression, which is incompatible with its values. Instead, it chooses a third path: active, sovereign, and consistent management that does not seek a “solution” but rather “survival”; and from that survival, as the lessons of the comparative cases demonstrate, unexpected opportunities for decisive resolution may emerge.