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FORGIVE? NOT ME!
Wednesday, January 21st, 2015
Suzanne Khardalian
BY SUZANNE KHARDALIAN
She crushed the cigarette butt with her heel in the bitter wind outside
Srebrenica's town hall and said "never, I shall never forgive him. His
apology is not even worth the little finger on my son's dead body."
The other women gathered on the broken sidewalk all nodded in consent
and laughed mockingly at the idea of forgiving.
The women were all widows and had come in order to get information
about their lost family members. During this meeting to bring the sides
together, a short a film was shown, initiated by the Hague Tribunals.
One of the convicted mass murderers spoke into the camera from his
cell in prison: "I am sorry," he said.
Not so long ago, the person on trial had the power to play God,
to murder at will. Now, the women gathered on the sidewalk were
dissecting his little words and dismissed the apology, calling it
empty, worthless.
Grasping the power to forgive is a notion that the South African
Archbishop and Nobel laureate Desmond Tutu made his mission. And now
he is conducting a Web campaign, in which one can learn the "healing
power" of forgiveness in 30 days.
When we discuss forgiveness, we see that it is a phenomenon that mainly
belongs in the realm of personal relationships. But an examination
of Tutu's new project reveals forgiveness rendered as a social and
political tool in post-conflict societies.
In the last few decades, a global discourse has emerged in which
reconciliation, forgiveness, and peace are intertwined to create
a potent trinity. This approach and its practitioners have had an
astounding impact. It is now a key element in efforts to rebuild
communities after war. A key catalyst was the South African Truth and
Reconciliation Commission that Tutu chaired. His message of "forgive
but not forget" spread all over the world. He was offering a moral
and seemingly manageable template for the international community as
investigators tried to understand how to build peace in the new age
of war and genocide, where violence unfolds on city streets rather
than on distant battlefields.
Since then, a substantial "reconciliation industry" has been built up.
Forty truth commissions have been established where reconciliation and
forgiveness occurs periodically. In almost any post-conflict country
there are countless NGO projects - sometimes frighteningly naïve -
trying to get perpetrators and victims to reconcile and forgive,
all largely financed by international aid.
The reconciliation efforts that we are witnessing today concerning
Turks and Armenians are no exception. These, too, are enormously
naïve, again, financed by international actors, including the EU,
Russia, and the US.
There are at least two problematic aspects to this development. First,
it places responsibility on individual victims. In practice, it is
thus expected that Srebrenica widows accept the offender's plea for
forgiveness, through this individual act, taking moral responsibility
to "heal the nation."
The same is happening with the Armenian-Turkish reconciliation
process. A Turkish individual is saying "I am sorry," and on the
receiving side is an Armenian, an individual, who is expected to
accept the apology. Thus we are supposed to heal the nation and go
on with our lives.
The second is that Tutu's "Christian" message of forgiveness maintains
the illusion of a smooth transition to a harmonious society where a
neat line can be drawn between war and peace.
The "forgiveness" discourse as advertised around the world is a denial
of a conflict's ongoing consequences. Everyday life in post-conflict
societies is often not at all harmonious, but rather filled with
uncertainty--whether that rises from the expectation that you sit
calmly on the bus beside someone who took away your father or that
go hungry and watch your children's lifetime opportunities shrink
rather than grow. Forgiveness is obviously a flawed strategy to deal
with these profound problems of security and livelihood.
The discourse seems to be flawed on a larger scale, too. Imagine the
life of Armenian survivors' children today, who are offered a cup
of tea to share with, for example, Cemal (Jemal) Pasha's grandson,
or given posters with texts that say "make dolma, not war."
We are offered the chance to visit our ancestral homeland as tourists,
enjoy koufte and other local dishes. They are so similar we are told.
And, we are offered the chance to listen to a lecture or two and then
shake hands.
We are expected to bite the bullet and then go on with our lives. As
if nothing has happened. As if all the pending questions of justice
and restitution are only unnecessary details.
The "forgiveness" discourse acts as a potent tool in the friction-laden
(re)negotiation of power that is so central in post-conflict Turkish
and Armenian societies, as both victims and perpetrators will be
establishing a coexistence under a new set of rules.
However, taking a look around us, we see what the forgiveness discourse
is not telling us. It is not telling us that we will never be able
to create a new order. The forgiveness discourse makes unreasonable
demands of those who have been abused.
I am not against dialog. But I am against this forced forgiveness
template.
It is important to note that around the world, resistance is growing.
For example, in Rwanda's new free speech climate more and more critical
voices are heard that protest against the forced forgiveness culture,
while in South Africa and the Balkans people are examining strategies
for co-existence that is not based on forgiveness.
Opposition to the forgiveness discourse says something important about
the victims' possibilities for action, and the power relationship they
have with the perpetrators. Forgiveness can only be given, not taken.
The power of this decision rests neither with the perpetrator, an
NGO, Desmond Tutu, nor anyone else who advocates forgiveness as a
"quick fix" for individuals or communities.
No one claims that forgiveness means that the victims and perpetrators
have to live harmoniously in close proximity- but whoever forgives
gives up his natural right to retaliate.
In the context of the centennial of the Armenian Genocide there is a
lot of talk about sharing pain and thus forgiveness. I have listened
to Turkish journalist Hasan Jemal's candid talk with Civilitas' Maria
Titizian, in the context of a project called "Climbing the Mountain."
It was supposed to be candid. However, my disappointment was great.
The whole discourse about sharing pain and understanding each other
verges on ridiculous.
Let me say it loud and clear. I am a firm believer in dialogue,
especially when it comes to the "normalization of Armenian -Turkish
relations." Yet here and now I am not interested in meeting Jemal's
viewpoints nor arguing against his case.
What I find repulsing is the atmosphere of falseness and duplicity
that is growing by each day.
That is why I brought up the issue of forgiveness. The expectation
is that as an Armenian I should forgive. Forgive the wrongdoing of
the Turks, because we too as Armenians have done wrong, including
illegal behavior, unlawful activity, and crime.
However, I think those who have initiated the work of creating dialog
between the hostile sides are trivializing the process of forgiveness.
They have absolutely no idea how daunting a project they have
undertaken, a project that is indeed needed in both the individual
and political conflict fields. No one claims that forgiveness means
victims and perpetrators will hug each other and live harmoniously
beside each other forever after. Instead, forgiveness should be seen
as an ongoing process in which one discovers that it is subject to
confession/admission and does not rely on a common understanding
of the past, nor is it an excuse for the perpetrator's actions. In
this context of Armenian-Turkish relations the one who forgives is
expected to give up his natural right to retaliate, dispense with
restoring trust, draw a line, and move on.
So, the process the way it looks now raises nothing but suspicion
and is ridiculed on both sides. At least from my side. Today my life
is not dependent on what the perpetrator side does or says, I am no
longer a victim.
But what gives me the strength to move on and develop is the people
who have broken with victimhood and bitterness and transformed their
lives to the magnificence that I am naive enough to believe is every
man's heritage.
I listened to Mr. Hasan Jemal with anticipation. Yet his themes of
"I understand your pain," and "let us bring down the walls," are
equivalent to making unreasonable demands of the injured, the victim.
Forgiveness in certain situations is destructive for the victim's
self-respect and society's common morality. In some circumstances it
may be inappropriate, even morally indefensible, to forgive. There
are things that are unforgivable.
Forgiveness is a phenomenon that belongs to the realm of personal
relationships, and in such relationships that are valuable to
maintain. To be human means occasionally both betray and become a
victim of betrayal, which means that the person who does not forgive
will end up very lonely. Forgiveness is essential, important and sound,
in the case where a ruptured relationship is more painful than the
violation that caused the break. It is possible to forgive lies,
betrayal, infidelity - but somewhere we must draw the line when
the violation is so harsh, that maintaining a relationship becomes
hurtful. As with physical and sexual abuse. And murder!
Suzanne Khardalian is an independent documentary filmmaker and writer
living in Sweden. She has studied both in Beirut and Paris. She has
directed several films, including "Back to Ararat" (1988), winner
of a Guldbagge award (Sweden's Oscar equivalent) for Best Film and a
Red Ribbon at the American Film and Video Festival. Her other films
include "Unsafe Ground" (1993), the most frequently shown documentary
in Sweden, "Her Armenian Prince" (1997), "From Opium to Chrysanthemums"
(2000), "Words and Stones - Gaza" (2000), and her most recent film,
"Grandma's Tattoos" (2014).
http://asbarez.com/130982/forgive-not-me/
From: Baghdasarian
Wednesday, January 21st, 2015
Suzanne Khardalian
BY SUZANNE KHARDALIAN
She crushed the cigarette butt with her heel in the bitter wind outside
Srebrenica's town hall and said "never, I shall never forgive him. His
apology is not even worth the little finger on my son's dead body."
The other women gathered on the broken sidewalk all nodded in consent
and laughed mockingly at the idea of forgiving.
The women were all widows and had come in order to get information
about their lost family members. During this meeting to bring the sides
together, a short a film was shown, initiated by the Hague Tribunals.
One of the convicted mass murderers spoke into the camera from his
cell in prison: "I am sorry," he said.
Not so long ago, the person on trial had the power to play God,
to murder at will. Now, the women gathered on the sidewalk were
dissecting his little words and dismissed the apology, calling it
empty, worthless.
Grasping the power to forgive is a notion that the South African
Archbishop and Nobel laureate Desmond Tutu made his mission. And now
he is conducting a Web campaign, in which one can learn the "healing
power" of forgiveness in 30 days.
When we discuss forgiveness, we see that it is a phenomenon that mainly
belongs in the realm of personal relationships. But an examination
of Tutu's new project reveals forgiveness rendered as a social and
political tool in post-conflict societies.
In the last few decades, a global discourse has emerged in which
reconciliation, forgiveness, and peace are intertwined to create
a potent trinity. This approach and its practitioners have had an
astounding impact. It is now a key element in efforts to rebuild
communities after war. A key catalyst was the South African Truth and
Reconciliation Commission that Tutu chaired. His message of "forgive
but not forget" spread all over the world. He was offering a moral
and seemingly manageable template for the international community as
investigators tried to understand how to build peace in the new age
of war and genocide, where violence unfolds on city streets rather
than on distant battlefields.
Since then, a substantial "reconciliation industry" has been built up.
Forty truth commissions have been established where reconciliation and
forgiveness occurs periodically. In almost any post-conflict country
there are countless NGO projects - sometimes frighteningly naïve -
trying to get perpetrators and victims to reconcile and forgive,
all largely financed by international aid.
The reconciliation efforts that we are witnessing today concerning
Turks and Armenians are no exception. These, too, are enormously
naïve, again, financed by international actors, including the EU,
Russia, and the US.
There are at least two problematic aspects to this development. First,
it places responsibility on individual victims. In practice, it is
thus expected that Srebrenica widows accept the offender's plea for
forgiveness, through this individual act, taking moral responsibility
to "heal the nation."
The same is happening with the Armenian-Turkish reconciliation
process. A Turkish individual is saying "I am sorry," and on the
receiving side is an Armenian, an individual, who is expected to
accept the apology. Thus we are supposed to heal the nation and go
on with our lives.
The second is that Tutu's "Christian" message of forgiveness maintains
the illusion of a smooth transition to a harmonious society where a
neat line can be drawn between war and peace.
The "forgiveness" discourse as advertised around the world is a denial
of a conflict's ongoing consequences. Everyday life in post-conflict
societies is often not at all harmonious, but rather filled with
uncertainty--whether that rises from the expectation that you sit
calmly on the bus beside someone who took away your father or that
go hungry and watch your children's lifetime opportunities shrink
rather than grow. Forgiveness is obviously a flawed strategy to deal
with these profound problems of security and livelihood.
The discourse seems to be flawed on a larger scale, too. Imagine the
life of Armenian survivors' children today, who are offered a cup
of tea to share with, for example, Cemal (Jemal) Pasha's grandson,
or given posters with texts that say "make dolma, not war."
We are offered the chance to visit our ancestral homeland as tourists,
enjoy koufte and other local dishes. They are so similar we are told.
And, we are offered the chance to listen to a lecture or two and then
shake hands.
We are expected to bite the bullet and then go on with our lives. As
if nothing has happened. As if all the pending questions of justice
and restitution are only unnecessary details.
The "forgiveness" discourse acts as a potent tool in the friction-laden
(re)negotiation of power that is so central in post-conflict Turkish
and Armenian societies, as both victims and perpetrators will be
establishing a coexistence under a new set of rules.
However, taking a look around us, we see what the forgiveness discourse
is not telling us. It is not telling us that we will never be able
to create a new order. The forgiveness discourse makes unreasonable
demands of those who have been abused.
I am not against dialog. But I am against this forced forgiveness
template.
It is important to note that around the world, resistance is growing.
For example, in Rwanda's new free speech climate more and more critical
voices are heard that protest against the forced forgiveness culture,
while in South Africa and the Balkans people are examining strategies
for co-existence that is not based on forgiveness.
Opposition to the forgiveness discourse says something important about
the victims' possibilities for action, and the power relationship they
have with the perpetrators. Forgiveness can only be given, not taken.
The power of this decision rests neither with the perpetrator, an
NGO, Desmond Tutu, nor anyone else who advocates forgiveness as a
"quick fix" for individuals or communities.
No one claims that forgiveness means that the victims and perpetrators
have to live harmoniously in close proximity- but whoever forgives
gives up his natural right to retaliate.
In the context of the centennial of the Armenian Genocide there is a
lot of talk about sharing pain and thus forgiveness. I have listened
to Turkish journalist Hasan Jemal's candid talk with Civilitas' Maria
Titizian, in the context of a project called "Climbing the Mountain."
It was supposed to be candid. However, my disappointment was great.
The whole discourse about sharing pain and understanding each other
verges on ridiculous.
Let me say it loud and clear. I am a firm believer in dialogue,
especially when it comes to the "normalization of Armenian -Turkish
relations." Yet here and now I am not interested in meeting Jemal's
viewpoints nor arguing against his case.
What I find repulsing is the atmosphere of falseness and duplicity
that is growing by each day.
That is why I brought up the issue of forgiveness. The expectation
is that as an Armenian I should forgive. Forgive the wrongdoing of
the Turks, because we too as Armenians have done wrong, including
illegal behavior, unlawful activity, and crime.
However, I think those who have initiated the work of creating dialog
between the hostile sides are trivializing the process of forgiveness.
They have absolutely no idea how daunting a project they have
undertaken, a project that is indeed needed in both the individual
and political conflict fields. No one claims that forgiveness means
victims and perpetrators will hug each other and live harmoniously
beside each other forever after. Instead, forgiveness should be seen
as an ongoing process in which one discovers that it is subject to
confession/admission and does not rely on a common understanding
of the past, nor is it an excuse for the perpetrator's actions. In
this context of Armenian-Turkish relations the one who forgives is
expected to give up his natural right to retaliate, dispense with
restoring trust, draw a line, and move on.
So, the process the way it looks now raises nothing but suspicion
and is ridiculed on both sides. At least from my side. Today my life
is not dependent on what the perpetrator side does or says, I am no
longer a victim.
But what gives me the strength to move on and develop is the people
who have broken with victimhood and bitterness and transformed their
lives to the magnificence that I am naive enough to believe is every
man's heritage.
I listened to Mr. Hasan Jemal with anticipation. Yet his themes of
"I understand your pain," and "let us bring down the walls," are
equivalent to making unreasonable demands of the injured, the victim.
Forgiveness in certain situations is destructive for the victim's
self-respect and society's common morality. In some circumstances it
may be inappropriate, even morally indefensible, to forgive. There
are things that are unforgivable.
Forgiveness is a phenomenon that belongs to the realm of personal
relationships, and in such relationships that are valuable to
maintain. To be human means occasionally both betray and become a
victim of betrayal, which means that the person who does not forgive
will end up very lonely. Forgiveness is essential, important and sound,
in the case where a ruptured relationship is more painful than the
violation that caused the break. It is possible to forgive lies,
betrayal, infidelity - but somewhere we must draw the line when
the violation is so harsh, that maintaining a relationship becomes
hurtful. As with physical and sexual abuse. And murder!
Suzanne Khardalian is an independent documentary filmmaker and writer
living in Sweden. She has studied both in Beirut and Paris. She has
directed several films, including "Back to Ararat" (1988), winner
of a Guldbagge award (Sweden's Oscar equivalent) for Best Film and a
Red Ribbon at the American Film and Video Festival. Her other films
include "Unsafe Ground" (1993), the most frequently shown documentary
in Sweden, "Her Armenian Prince" (1997), "From Opium to Chrysanthemums"
(2000), "Words and Stones - Gaza" (2000), and her most recent film,
"Grandma's Tattoos" (2014).
http://asbarez.com/130982/forgive-not-me/
From: Baghdasarian