7. Conclusion
In the after math of political violence and oppression, a society is tasked with the difficult challenge of moral and material reconstruction. This is a complex process that involves many moral goals, actors, and institutions. I have sought to show how reconciliation in a society emerging from a period of significant violence is shaped by a number of normative goals that operate across diverse social spaces, and I have sought to provide a theoretical framework for understanding such processes that differs from prevailing approaches. The understanding of reconciliation provided here attempts to ground a realistic, critical account of what is feasible by using a set of normative criteria that can work to gauge its success.
As I have argued, there are five key concepts at play: (1) public dissemination of the truth of past atrocities, as well as a critical interrogation of ideologies supporting the violence, (2) accountability of perpetrators, (3) public recognition and acknowledgment of victims, (4) a commitment to the rule of law, and finally, (5) the development of mutual respect among erstwhile enemies.
Respect is the core principle here. Reconciliation is ultimately a condition of mutual respect between former adversaries that necessitates the reciprocal recognition of moral worth and dignity. We can speak of reconciliation when earlier, conflict-era identities are no longer the primary fault lines in politics, and citizens have new identities that cut across earlier identifications. This requires moving away from estrangement and distrust toward tolerance and respect of others, especially former enemies. The emergence of respect takes time and is unlikely to develop when the other normative concepts have not been adequately addressed. Respect develops partially in tandem with these other norms but also in the wake of their successful actualization. It is only then, after erstwhile adversaries can come to see each other as moral beings (even if politically at odds), that the goals of tolerance and respect can be said to take root.
I have sketched a conception of reconciliation as respect that emphasizes reciprocal recognition between equal actors. It emphasizes the recognition of the inherent moral value of others, while accepting that basic worldviews and political ideologies may often remain at odds and disagreements will persist. Reconciliation is primarily a public relationship that differs from both esteem (which recognizes some exceptional aspect or attribute in a person) and liminal conceptualizations of thin coexistence, because reconciliation rests on the possibility of discussion, deliberation and, in short, politics. Furthermore, it falls short of the deep acceptance, or willful embrace of the “other,” that some have argued is the essence of reconciliation. The disagreements that pull us apart are balanced by a commitment to a sustained, significant relationship.
Mutual respect is intimately tied to the other normative concepts presented earlier. Lies and half-truths about the past signal that victims’ experiences are considered unworthy of public attention, and require truth telling efforts to resist. Some accountability, too, is necessary, as continued impunity effectively means contempt for all citizens and their basic rights. In a similar vein, survivors will not be respected if there are no efforts to recognize them morally. Under these conditions, they will likely remain marginalized and ignored. The protection of the law and the commitment to democratic practices are also necessary to deepen principles of respect.
These normative concepts allow us to see how reconciliation develops across social space. The fundamental difficulty with previous approaches like legal minimalism or maximalism based on forgiveness, as I indicated, is their univalent origin. What the model presented here has attempted to show is the necessity of each social level for broad-based social reintegration. Each level on its own is both necessary and insufficient to achieve reconciliation. Such an approach highlights how reconciliation is fundamentally disjunctured and uneven, occurring across social space in different ways and susceptible to different challenges. The complexity and disjuncture of the process come from the fact that actors at different levels are influenced by different factors and that no one level is sufficient to guarantee reconciliation. The different levels are, in effect, engaged in a complex relation where developments at one level may affect the others.
For example, political society can contribute much to reconciliation, especially if elites commit themselves to endorsing and defending values like deliberation and the rule of law and rejecting violence, while pursuing the reform of key institutions responsible for violations. Leaders can also shape popular historical understanding by calling for sustained reflection on the past and establishing memory sites that rewrite shared historical narratives. And yet elite-driven reconciliation carries risks, particularly because they are typically concerned with the immediate needs of stability and legitimacy, rather than extensive public reflection or moral discourses about responsibility. Pacted transitions further constrain the opportunities available to leaders and are likely to focus elite attention on establishing basic ground rules for politics, even through amnesties, rather than embarking on morally challenging and politically fraught challenges to in justices. Substantive justice claims like reparations and apologies can fall by the wayside under these conditions. Reconciliation among elites does not indicate societal reconciliation but only that they have settled on rules and procedures for solving differences (no small accomplishment, of course). Achieving this may mean avoiding the complex issues of responsibility, guilt, and the burdens of memory. For leaders, the need to strengthen state legitimacy and efficacy may sideline a commitment to deepen reconciliation.
Trials and truth commissions may also play important roles in reconciliation but they, too, are only part of the puzzle. To be sure, fair prosecutions show the state's commitment to fight impunity and return to the rule of law. Indeed, prosecutions can change the expectations citizens have of the state by highlighting the importance of protecting rights and bringing violators to justice, as well as by developing a record of violations that can inform public debate. Truth commissions can play a somewhat similar role. Their official status and public nature, coupled with the publication and broad dissemination of a final report, means that commissions are particularly well suited for furthering public debate. As important as trials and truth commissions may be, however, they can only contribute to public discourse; neither prosecutions nor commission hearings can address the host of complex issues confronting transitional societies. Trials must contend with the difficulty of selecting whom to prosecute and the danger of misrepresenting patterns of abuse by individualizing guilt. Furthermore, we should be wary of overemphasizing the democratizing effects of trials (as Osiel (1997) sometimes does). While fairness is crucial, trials are likely to have a deeper impact if they confirm popular expectations of guilt. Nevertheless, acquittals may be legitimate if they are reached through fealty to procedural and substantive norms, though popular support is likely to wane in the face of too many acquittals, however appropriate. For their part, commissions can provide, at best, only a general history of violence and responsibility since they lack prosecutorial (and often even subpoena) powers. Their final reports are best thought of as provisional though important histories rather than a final truth. It is not uncommon for evidence to emerge after a commission report that can deepen or even change important findings. In any case, strong advocates of truth commissions often promise a sea change in social relations—or even reconciliation—following a report; something that is exceedingly unlikely.
Civil society plays an important role as well, for it is here where more critical and nuanced historical understandings can counter statist or elitist accounts while encouraging greater recognition of victims. Most importantly, perhaps, is the contribution civil society can make to developing modes of public deliberation that take contestation seriously without collapsing into conflict. But exclusionary discourses may undermine this, or civil society may simply be so weakened that there are few resources or little interest in rebuilding social relations.
Finally, I have argued that reconciliation must develop among individuals. While interpersonal relations are shaped by events in public, reconciliation between people follows a different path, for most individuals are at least partly shielded from public attention and are much more responsive to the immediacy of everyday experiences and demands. Through sustained and personal interactions with former enemies—at work and in our neighborhoods—we slowly rehumanize them, we individualize them in ways that are impossible when collective identities trump individuality. Through this process, fraught as it often is with distrust, anger, and fear, respect can develop over time, though it may take years. Forgiveness may not always be possible but mutual respect can serve as the cornerstone of new relations. The complexity of these dynamics highlights how interpersonal reconciliation remains somewhat detached from broader social and political developments, yet responsive to the everyday experiences of individuals.
I have shown that reconciliation requires development across these different social levels. We cannot be certain of the success of any of these strategies in reconciling former enemies, for as Andrew Schaap notes, reconciliation—and politics more generally—is constituted by risk and we must “maintain an awareness of the frailty and contingency of community” (2005: 150). It is unlikely that reconciliation across levels will unfold smoothly in practice. But by sketching a multivalent theory I have shown how various developments can shape, for better or worse, the possibility of reconciliation, as well as highlight the main normative issues that transitional societies confront.
Placing respect at the center of reconciliation may appear like the abandonment of loftier aims. Some may feel that this view of reconciliation, which ultimately sees new relations and identities as a form of success (and perhaps the most we can expect), gives up on the need for deep personal transformation and reflection. This may be so, but we should be aware of the challenges that post-atrocity societies face. The period following conflict is frequently marked by bitterness, recriminations, and the threat of more violence. The challenges—emotional, material, political, and social—are often so staggering that any discussion of peace or justice appears fanciful to the jaded and harmed. These conditions limit the kinds of expectations we should hold. Charles Villa-Vicencio and Wilhelm Verwoerd (2001: 290) turn to the poet William Merwin to capture the difficulty of rebuilding what has been irreparably broken. Merwin's short piece, “Unchopping a Tree,” begins:
Start with the leaves, the small twigs, and the nests that have been shaken, ripped, or broken off by the fall; these must be gathered and attached once again to their respective places…
…the time comes for the erecting of the trunk. By now it will scarcely be necessary to remind you of the delicacy of this huge skeleton. Every motion of the tackle, every slight upward heave of the trunk, the branches, their elaborately re-assembled panoply of leaves (now dead) will draw from you an involuntary gasp.
Finally, there comes the moment when one must step back and see whether the tree will stand on its own.
The first breeze that touches its dead leaves…. You are afraid the motion of the clouds will be enough to push it over. What more can you do? What more can you do? But there is nothing more you can do. Others are waiting. Everything is going to have to be put back. (1970, 85)
How does one unchop a tree? Which pieces go where? Will they grow together in strength or collapse with the first soft wind? And how does one rebuild a shattered society? The delicacy required of the endeavor, so perfectly captured in Merwin's piece, reminds us of the fragility of remaking what has been destroyed. Like Merwin, citizens are enjoined to rebuild something that has suffered devastating harm, and do so while carrying their own burdens of trauma, pain, and fear. It may be impossible to return the tree to its prior self, just as it may be impossible to reconcile fully following terrible events, but the belief in a healthy tree, strong in its foundations and confident in its branches, gives hope to the possibility of a better future.