Violence is not freedom either

I just read an article on the reader blog called “Fear is not freedom”. Sipho Mazibuko, who labels himself a recent victim of crime seems to suggest that the solution to South Africa’s shared fear is to take the law into our own hands. He says:

What is our prerogative as citizens when taking the law into your own hands is frowned upon as vigilantism? Is this the end of our world as we know it? … [later on] Do we harbour criminals in the form of our brothers, uncles and fathers? If so then we are not only perpetuating crime but are the criminals themselves.

So Sipho is worried that if we don’t act against violence, we are committing violence of omission. By not doing something we are allowing violence to affect others, and essentially we are making our own uncomfortable bed upon which we must eventually lie.

In some ways I agree with him. If we don’t act against violence it will continue. If we don’t actively promote human rights they will become mere ink in paper. If we aren’t being protected by the state forces, and we are not protecting ourselves, then who are we to hold responsible for our protection?

The law exists only in its applicability and only because the general public accept that it is legitimate and can be applied to others. When the public finds that a law is no longer just, they have the means to change the law by application, by protest and by public outcry. In this way the law is a constant and evolving body of regulations that serve to make society governable, and to secure our rights. So taking the law into our hands should mean that we look at it, consider its application and judge as part of a collective whether we see our interests reflected inside it.

If I have understood his article correctly, what Sipho is suggesting sounds slightly more sinister. It suggest a process of becoming part of the cycle of violence until we recycle its aggression and the forces of good prevail. But taking the law into our own hands is inherently problematic. At what point does the group who has taken it upon themselves to apply the law become governed by the law? Or to put it more simply, how many people do I murder in the name of the law, before I too must be judged as a murderer? If I assault someone because they assaulted someone, the bottom line is that in the name of stopping assault I have become my own enemy and a threat to the cause.

So what then? Many of us feel helpless to do something and the thought of criminals escaping unpunished or with punishments that simply do not seem just in light of their crimes can feel like a heavy burden to bear. But what if there were no laws, and no justice system at all? Imagine then how many crimes would go unnoticed in the scrabble for scarce resources and the barking madness of a dog eat dog world. Is this the sort of system that we would advocate for?

Violence can never be freedom because at its roots is the necessity for retaliation. An eye for an eye will soon become a body for a body. But lives are simply not expendable in this fashion. So whilst fear may feel like a cage and the sieve-like concepts of human rights may make you feel like you are watching your rights trickle past you and around you, a society without the rejection of violence is inherently more dangerous and more prison-like. It is just not the way forward.

Pardon?

Today the Pretoria High Court granted an interim interdict preventing our acting president from pardoning over 100 prisoners. The original idea was that, in the spirit of the TRC, people who had been imprisoned for 'political crimes' could apply and be pardoned if the president (and a few others...) considered them worthy. Those who had already been denied amnesty by the TRC could not apply. So from the perpatrators side, it would be those who had not applied to the TRC and yet considered themselves worthy of an application for freedom. Given that many of the apartheid arrests were highly suspect and politically motivated this seemed like a fair idea, or at least one that is worthy of negotiation.

More suspect though is the way this all happens. Perhaps in Mbeki's quick departure from the presidency he managed to take his list of how it should all work out fairly with him in his pocket. Otherwise, I'm not sure if there really was ever a plan. It was supposed to be done in the spirit of the TRC. For those of you not familiar with the process don't expect to learn anything from this one.

The TRC encouraged both victims (survivors) and agents of apartheid violence to come forward, talk through the crime and the effects of it and reach a decision, with various parties, about what the next step would be. But most importantly, it was out in the open, names were heard and faces were seen. The hearings were public, and this publicity was part of the healing process.

It was not a case of blanket freedom for all, some cases of application for amnesty were rejected. In fact, of the over 6000 who applied, only around 850 were successful. The commission emphasized reconciliation and the revalation of 'truths', and 11 years after it handed in its report it is not clear whether the present government's incentives for these particular pardons are similar or discordant.

So what is different this time around?

What seems to be the top of the list for most critics is the unwillingness of the reference group (created by Thabo Mbeki) to reveal the names of those who have applied for pardon. It is not the secrecy of the individuals applying that is resented; rather it is the inability of the victims/survivors of their crimes to have their say or their suffering acknowledged. Current president Motlanthe verbally suggested that each victim/survivor would have the opportunity to have their say. It is not clear how else the import of the convincted criminals crime can be established. How can someone pardon you, when they are not aware (other than the legal documents they have been provided with) what you are asking forgiveness for? More troubling for me is that perhaps these criminals have not asked for forgiveness at all. This process will ensure that they never have to do that.

Who are these new criminals who did not apply for amnesty? What politically based crimes have they committed since the end of apartheid? If a crime is politically motivated, does it make it less criminal? What truths will be revealed by keeping their identities secret? How will this breed reconciliation?

I struggle with the idea of forgiving someone who has not asked for forgiveness. How does one forgive without an apology? Perhaps there is the idea that one can 'see the bigger picture' or 'be the bigger person', but in all this bigness the acknowledgement that something was done that caused harm is lost. So perhaps the idea is to forgive, but not to forget. Are we supposed to remember that something went horribly wrong, to acknowledge social factors in the creation of a criminal and then to focus on reintroducing, relearning, and reintegration?

Or is it still important to look at choices? The choice to commit a crime. The choice to avoid saying 'I'm sorry'.