Soap Box Corner

Politics is often messy and divisive, yet it is essential for a healthy society. While I am not aligned with any partisan perspective, I am deeply concerned with a destructive, systemic problem: the corrosive effects of compromise when it violates core principles. From unilateral executive actions in the United States to historical episodes in Europe, leaders and citizens alike face the tension between pragmatism and moral clarity. This essay argues that compromise, while necessary for governance, becomes dangerous when short-term expediency erodes the ethical foundations that sustain democracy, reshaping both institutions and the people who rely on them.

A recent example illustrates this tension clearly. In August 2025, President Donald Trump announced a unilateral decision to cut nearly $5 billion in foreign aid, bypassing Congress through a controversial maneuver known as “pocket rescission.” This move, executed late in the fiscal year to prevent legislative intervention, has ignited a firestorm of bipartisan criticism. Senate Appropriations Committee Chair Susan Collins labeled the action “unlawful,” while Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer warned it could jeopardize efforts to avert a looming government shutdown.

As Congress returns from its August recess, the nation faces a critical deadline: by September 30, lawmakers must reconcile deep partisan divides to fund the government and prevent a shutdown. In this high-stakes environment, the question arises: how do compromises, once seen as necessary for governance, evolve into decisions that challenge the very principles they aim to uphold?

The Trump decision illustrates the tension at the heart of modern governance. Leaders are often faced with high-stakes choices that pit expediency against principle, and the pressure to act unilaterally can be immense when deadlines loom. Cutting billions in foreign aid without congressional approval may seem like a tactical maneuver to achieve immediate policy goals, but it also raises questions about the long-term costs of such shortcuts.

When elected officials bypass institutional safeguards in the name of efficiency, they risk normalizing decisions that chip away at accountability and public trust, precisely the dynamic that this essay explores. In this moment, the challenge is not just balancing budgets but maintaining the moral and civic foundations that allow compromise to function as a stabilizing force rather than a corrosive one.

We’re often told to pick the lesser of two evils, as though that’s the only realistic way to keep things from falling apart. But that advice comes with a hidden cost. Every time people settle for something they know cuts against their values, it chips away at principles and changes how they see themselves as citizens. Over time, that habit can weaken institutions that were supposed to protect us. History, and current politics, are full of warnings that compromise is rarely neutral.

The story of Weimar Germany makes the point starkly. In the 1920s and early ’30s, moderates joined shaky coalitions in the name of stability, convinced that small sacrifices might hold back extremists. The opposite happened: each concession made space for Hitler to grow stronger. A few years later, Britain and France struck the Munich Agreement, hoping appeasement would buy peace. Instead, it emboldened aggressors. These aren’t just old cautionary tales, they show how quickly “practical choices” can erode moral ground.

That doesn’t mean compromise itself is poisonous. Democracies can’t function without it. Arguments over budgets or policy details usually reflect the give-and-take of governing, not a collapse of principle. The danger comes when leaders and citizens cut deals that run straight through their core commitments, fundamental rights, ethical red lines. Knowing the difference between ordinary pragmatism and corrosive concession is what keeps democracies from drifting.

The pressure to give ground hasn’t gone away. In the U.S., the two-party system squeezes a huge range of opinions into just two tents: Republicans who span neoconservatives to populists, Democrats from centrists to progressives. In Europe, coalitions twist themselves into awkward shapes to keep governments standing, consider the Red and Blue Bloc’s in Sweden. After a while, compromise feels less like a choice and more like the default setting of politics itself. That’s when it starts to reshape both institutions and the people who live under them.

And the cost isn’t only political. On a personal level, constant concessions blur moral clarity. People begin to define themselves by what they’re against instead of what they’re for. What once looked extreme begins to seem normal. Civic engagement, instead of sharpening principles, ends up normalizing choices that contradict them.

The 1990s in America show how this plays out. The 1994 Crime Bill, championed by Democrats, expanded prisons and imposed mandatory minimums that devastated marginalized communities. Two years later, welfare reform gutted safety nets that progressives had long defended. Republicans also made trade-offs, watering down parts of their “Contract with America” for party unity. Both sides scored tactical wins but lost a piece of their moral compass in the process.

Fear-driven compromises ripple outward. Conviction turns into group loyalty. Short-term victories harden into long-term resentment. Little concessions stack up until society itself feels different

But history doesn’t just warn, it also points to a way forward. The Velvet Revolution in Czechoslovakia in 1989 showed that citizens could push back, nonviolently, and reclaim democratic life without sliding into chaos. That movement didn’t rely on “lesser evil logic;” it leaned on clarity and persistence.

The real lesson isn’t that compromise is bad, but that it’s dangerous when people forget what lines should never be crossed. Citizens who know when to bend and when to refuse are the ones who keep democracy alive. In a time when “lesser evil” politics feels baked in, drawing that line may be the most radical act we have left.