No Future Without Forgiveness

A new period in South African history began on April 27, 1994, when a democracy replaced the oppressive system of white rule and apartheid, but the question of how to deal with the past still loomed. The aftereffects of such discrimination were everywhere, and Black people were poorer and lacked an empowering education. From this point forward, a new Constitution would ensure the protection of human rights. However, what treatment should the perpetrators of injustice and violence receive for their past crimes?

Violence and oppression had virtually defined South Africa’s past. While most of the violence was by white people against Black people, Black people perpetrated acts of violence as well. Tutu chronicles egregious examples on both sides. In 1960, police fired at a peaceful crowd protesting the discriminatory pass laws, mowing down 69 people in what became known as the Sharpeville Massacre. In June 1976, children were killed in a peaceful demonstration, known as the Soweto uprising, protesting the schools’ use of the Afrikaans language, the “language of the enforcers of apartheid” (17). Several Black people died mysteriously in police custody. This list included Steve Biko, founder of the Black Consciousness Movement. In anti-apartheid fights, bombings killed many people; one bomb exploded at a shopping center right before Christmas, one at a bar, one at St. James Church, and another at the South African Air Force headquarters. Violence occurred within the opposition too. The ANC executed those it considered traitors via the necklace method, whereby it filled a tire with gasoline and then placed it around a person’s neck and ignited it. Tutu concludes, “Apartheid had succeeded only too well in dehumanizing its victims and those who implemented it” (19).

One way of dealing with past perpetrators of such violence is the Nuremberg model, which the Allies adopted after World War II. In this model, all perpetrators of significant human rights violations go to trial and receive punishment via the court system. This model would not have worked in South Africa, Tutu points out, because it was a victor’s form of justice. The Germans had no choice but to accept it because the Allies had defeated them. In South Africa, surrender was conditional, a negotiated agreement. That could not have happened if all perpetrators went to trial. In addition, South Africa did not have the enormous resources needed for costly trials—and in many cases, witnesses were no longer alive, and the concern was that apartheid supporters would lie. The legal standard of guilt was too high a bar.

Another model would be simply to grant general amnesty to all and “let bygones be bygones” (27). This was unacceptable. The victims and perpetrators had to confront the past. Otherwise, such a “national amnesia” would victimize once more those who had suffered under apartheid. Instead, South Africa opted for a third way: the restorative justice model. Perpetrators had to apply for amnesty and appear before an independent panel, which would rule on each application. Full disclosure of the crime could allow an individual to receive amnesty, a significant inducement to come forward, as the process would spare that person future arrest. Victims could tell their stories to the TRC, which had a “therapeutic effect on them” (27). The TRC “established facts on the basis of a balance of probability” (26) and did all it could to corroborate stories.

Tutu concludes the chapter by highlighting how this third approach was consistent with the African concept of “ubuntu” (31). While difficult to translate, this concept refers to the idea that people belong to a greater whole, and the humiliation or oppression of one individual diminishes all others. It implies compassion and generosity of spirit. Likewise, the restorative justice model exposes the truth but does not seek reprisal against those who committed crimes in the past.

Why did South Africa reach this point of democracy and forgiveness in 1994? Referring to Saint Paul’s letter to the Galatians, which states that Jesus was born at exactly the right moment, “in the fullness of time” (36), Tutu posits that South Africa’s rebirth came at a similar point. If the Communist empire had not unraveled, with the Berlin Wall coming down in 1989, it would not have been possible. Now, however, the South African government could not justify repression as an anti-Communist strategy. The leaders at the time also mattered greatly. President F. W. de Klerk willingly announced the normalization of South African politics, removing the ban on political organizations and therefore allowing the ANC, Pan Africanist Congress (PAC), and South African Communist Party (SACP) to operate legally. While speaking of power sharing, he helped convince white people to surrender exclusive control of political power. Tutu cannot imagine de Klerk’s predecessor, P. W. Botha, taking this action.

Fortunately, the leader of the anti-apartheid forces, Nelson Mandela, was “a man regal in dignity, bubbling over with magnanimity and a desire to dedicate himself to the reconciliation” (39) of all citizens. Despite spending 27 years in prison, Mandela had no desire for revenge. His suffering not only gave him authority and credibility with his supporters but made him stronger and more compassionate. He was therefore willing to reach a deal with de Klerk.

The ANC, which Mandela led, was founded in 1912 and was a large and diverse coalition. Not all were keen to “acquiesce in the conciliatory approach” (40). Some wanted trials and retribution—and other political parties, such as PAC, opposed the very “thought of negotiating with the ‘enemy’ as a sign of weakness” (41). It took great skill for Mandela to convince his organization to take the route of negotiation. In this effort, he received help from lesser-known figures, such as Joe Slovo and Chris Hani, both of whom had served as General Secretary of the SACP. Given their credibility with hard-liners and militants, they were critical to getting all factions to accept a negotiation process. The Christian churches also helped in the acceptance of a conciliatory approach: “Nearly all the leaders in the black community had been educated in church mission schools” (43).

All these factors contributed to a just peace in South Africa. Tutu recounts how one of two men accused in one of the longest treason trials, Popo Molefe, became Premier of the North-West Province and sat next to the white judge that presided over his trial. The Minister of Justice who introduced the act that created the TRC, Dullah Omar, had lived through the apartheid government’s attempt on his life. This third way of truth and reconciliation came about because the right people, people with strength of character, were in place at the right time.

According to the law that Parliament passed to establish the TRC, called the Promotion of National Unity and Reconciliation Act, an applicant could win amnesty for politically motivated acts committed between 1960 and 1994 about which they made “a full disclosure of all the relevant facts relating to the offense” (50). Importantly, the applicant need not express remorse. While many at first criticized the absence of a requirement for remorse, Tutu defends its wisdom: How could the commission determine the sincerity of such contrition?

Critics claimed that perpetrators were getting off scot-free by simply stating their crimes. Answering these complaints, Tutu explains that for gross violations of human rights, perpetrators had to come forward in a public hearing: “Virtually all the applications have been considered in public in the full glare of television lights” (51). Perpetrators thus faced public humiliation, which often destroyed personal relationships. Tutu includes the full text of a letter from the wife of a perpetrator to emphasize how perpetrators and their families paid a steep price through a guilty conscience. She ends the letter with a quote from her husband, who stated, “‘They can give me amnesty a thousand times [...] I have to live with this hell. The problem is in my head, my conscience. There’s only one way to be free of it. Blow my own brains out’” (53-54). Clearly, no court could impose a harsher punishment. To qualify for amnesty, individuals had to admit guilt as well. For example, the commission did not grant amnesty to those police officers who denied having committed a crime in Steve Biko’s death.

Tutu celebrates restorative justice in which “the central concern is the healing of breaches, the redressing of imbalances, the restoration of broken relationships, a seeking to rehabilitate both the victim and the perpetrator” (54-55). Justice need not be punitive, though this form of justice asked a great deal of victims: They not only lost the potential to see their tormentors punished in the criminal justice system but also did not have the right to sue for civil damages or compensation. Tutu explains that many who passed these laws were themselves victims. Additionally, the people put them in office via a “landslide election” (56). While this solution was far from perfect, it was the “best that could be had in the circumstances” (58) given the need for white support during the transition.

The perpetrators denied victims compensation, so the law allowed for governmental reparations. However, because of the need to reconstruct society and the numbers of victims, such reparations were “symbolic rather than substantial” (61). Victims received the equivalent of about $3,830 US. South Africa did not have the funds to adequately compensate all victims. Nevertheless, the reparations were meant to acknowledge the human rights violations. In practice, this process caused much frustration. While perpetrators received amnesty at once, victims had to wait years for reparations. To address this inequity, an interim relief package passed in 1998.

Many debated who would qualify for reparations. All Black citizens and other non-white people were victims. However, “only those victims who had approached the commission” were eligible for reparations. In addition to monetary reparations, the Commission recommended naming streets and schools for fallen heroes and erecting monuments and memorials, in a manner that would bind the country “after so long enduring things that were designed to tear us apart and instill hostility” (64).