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Changed
I’m often interested in what leads people to read the books they read. I chose to read Desmond Tutu's "No Future Without Forgiveness" after listening to historian Thomas Cahill discuss Dominique Green’s case on the 28 December podcast of Bill Moyers' Journal. Green was convicted (wrongfully, from what I have gathered listening to Cahill discuss the case) of murder, spent 11 years on death row, and was executed in 2004. During his conversation with Moyers, Cahill described how Green had read Tutu's book and had also influenced the other men on death row to read the book. At the end of the podcast, Moyers played excerpts of an interview with Tutu, and Tutu talked about the importance of forgiveness in the healing process. Since I felt I had been struggling with forgivness, I decided to read his book to see if anything in the book could help me, as it seemed to have help the death row inmates ask for and offer forgiveness.
I expected a heavy-handed sermon on forgiveness and the "sin" of not forgiving. (As sick as I am of that sort of presentation, particularly from Christians, I was willing to wade through it in the hopes I could find a crumb of help amongst the dross; that is how badly I want healing.) What I got, instead, was a bit of a history lesson on the gruesomeness of apartheid in South Africa, a glimpse into the start of the South African reconciliation process, and validation of my own suffering. The book stated the importance of forgiveness, but it was always stated in conjunction with other things, not (as it had always been presented to me at home or at church) as the only thing that needed to happen when injustice occurs. Yes, I need to forgive, but I also need to tell my story (even in the face of opposition), because the storytelling often enhances the ability to forgive and heal. Yes, I need to forgive, but I also need some kind of closure (at least) or reparation (ideally); real suffering deserves real restitution. It was the first time I have read a book which talked about forgiveness in terms of both sides of the coin: what the victim needs to receive as well as what the victim needs to give.
Reading the book has changed me, but not in the ways I expected. I expected to read the book, pick out the things which could help me, and come out of the experience more spiritual, able to more easily forgive, and distanced from my pain. What has happened is I have learned to embrace and validate my pain as a way to move towards healing. I hurt for a reason. I need to acknowledge and respect my pain, not shove it deep inside of me in hatred or embarrassment and never talk about it. I have been reminded of the importance of seeking out safe, victim-friendly spaces to express that pain. Some of those spaces may be private, but some may be public, just like the TRC created a public venue for the victims to talk about what they had suffered, and they did not allow dissenters to interrupt the process. I was reminded those who played a part in the injustices may vehemently oppose public disclosure, but that does not diminish the victim’s right to tell her/his story; the opposition would have ample opportunity in some other venue at some other time to tell their version of the story. (In my case, if I tell my story here in my blog, dissenters will need to find their own venue to tell their story; I am not obligated to create such a venue for them, just like the victims who testified to the TRC were not tasked with then creating a way for the opposition to rebut them.) But the most surprising change is that as I have embraced my pain and pondered these things, my pain has diminished. It may never be eradicated; a person who has lost a physical limb often feels phantom pain from that limb for the rest of their life. But where the pain may have been a 9 or 10 before I read the book, it is now somewhere around a 6 or 7, which is a marked improvement. I guess I was expecting to simply be better able to accept swallowing my pain and living with it gnawing at my insides. Instead I am experiencing real relief.
As it turns out, I had not been struggling with forgiveness as much as struggling to swallow my pain. Now that I've been reminded that is not the way to heal, now that I've seen there are real alternatives, I have a feeling forgiveness isn't going to be as much as a problem for me. I've never wanted revenge as much as I've merely wanted to have my grievances heard.
I expected a heavy-handed sermon on forgiveness and the "sin" of not forgiving. (As sick as I am of that sort of presentation, particularly from Christians, I was willing to wade through it in the hopes I could find a crumb of help amongst the dross; that is how badly I want healing.) What I got, instead, was a bit of a history lesson on the gruesomeness of apartheid in South Africa, a glimpse into the start of the South African reconciliation process, and validation of my own suffering. The book stated the importance of forgiveness, but it was always stated in conjunction with other things, not (as it had always been presented to me at home or at church) as the only thing that needed to happen when injustice occurs. Yes, I need to forgive, but I also need to tell my story (even in the face of opposition), because the storytelling often enhances the ability to forgive and heal. Yes, I need to forgive, but I also need some kind of closure (at least) or reparation (ideally); real suffering deserves real restitution. It was the first time I have read a book which talked about forgiveness in terms of both sides of the coin: what the victim needs to receive as well as what the victim needs to give.
Reading the book has changed me, but not in the ways I expected. I expected to read the book, pick out the things which could help me, and come out of the experience more spiritual, able to more easily forgive, and distanced from my pain. What has happened is I have learned to embrace and validate my pain as a way to move towards healing. I hurt for a reason. I need to acknowledge and respect my pain, not shove it deep inside of me in hatred or embarrassment and never talk about it. I have been reminded of the importance of seeking out safe, victim-friendly spaces to express that pain. Some of those spaces may be private, but some may be public, just like the TRC created a public venue for the victims to talk about what they had suffered, and they did not allow dissenters to interrupt the process. I was reminded those who played a part in the injustices may vehemently oppose public disclosure, but that does not diminish the victim’s right to tell her/his story; the opposition would have ample opportunity in some other venue at some other time to tell their version of the story. (In my case, if I tell my story here in my blog, dissenters will need to find their own venue to tell their story; I am not obligated to create such a venue for them, just like the victims who testified to the TRC were not tasked with then creating a way for the opposition to rebut them.) But the most surprising change is that as I have embraced my pain and pondered these things, my pain has diminished. It may never be eradicated; a person who has lost a physical limb often feels phantom pain from that limb for the rest of their life. But where the pain may have been a 9 or 10 before I read the book, it is now somewhere around a 6 or 7, which is a marked improvement. I guess I was expecting to simply be better able to accept swallowing my pain and living with it gnawing at my insides. Instead I am experiencing real relief.
As it turns out, I had not been struggling with forgiveness as much as struggling to swallow my pain. Now that I've been reminded that is not the way to heal, now that I've seen there are real alternatives, I have a feeling forgiveness isn't going to be as much as a problem for me. I've never wanted revenge as much as I've merely wanted to have my grievances heard.
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Tutu is fascinating - he used to attend my church in Atlanta when he was at Emory, but I never had a chance to interact with him personally.
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Because, he's right. It isn't about shoving the pain away or ignoring it. You should acknowledge it, and you do have a right to be heard.
I wish I could say that you'll get the ideal situation, some acknowledgment from those who wronged you and reparation, even if only in stating "I'm sorry," but it can't be promised (not by me anyway), only prayed for.
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Beautifully worded. I think that's true for a number of people.
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I'm figuring it out as I go, just like you and just about everyone else. :-)