room of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission burst open. The
parents of Amy Biehl walk in, surrounded by reporters,
microphones, and cameras. From the other side, parents of
Amy's young killers file in. The large crowd is riveted on
the exchange of handshakes, embraces, and apologies flowing at
the front of the room amid a sea of flashing cameras.
This is history in the making, and I am both moved and
appalled at the spectacle unfolding before me. Has it been too
neatly choreographed for public consumption? Why is it that the
world pays so much attention to the murder of an American, while
the deaths of thousands of South Africans remain tucked away on
the back pages of history?
Amy Biehl was an exchange student, stabbed and stoned to death
in August 1993 by a mob in the township of Guguletu, just two
days before she was to return home to the United States. Four
young men, members of the youth organization of the Pan
Africanist Congress (PAC), were convicted of the murder. This is
the day of their amnesty hearing.
The young men appear frightened as they are led into the
hearing room. The Biehls have publicly offered them forgiveness
and stated that they will support the Truth and Reconciliation
Commission if it decides to grant them amnesty.
THE AMNESTY HEARINGS are perhaps the most controversial aspect
of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC). The vast number
of the more than 7,000 applicants for amnesty are white police
officers and others who have been convicted of the brutal crimes
of apartheid. During the negotiations that led to the transfer of
power from F.W. de Klerk's NP (National Party) to Nelson
Mandela's ANC (African National Congress), NP leaders pushed
for blanket amnesty; in other words, those who tortured and
murdered were not to be held accountable for their crimes.
The ANC agreed to an amnesty provision, but it insisted on a
reckoning: Amnesty applicants must make a full disclosure of
their crimes before the TRC. It is widely believed that the
amnesty compromise averted a bloodbath and made a peaceful
transition possible. Still, it is understandably hard for many
South Africans to swallow. "They don't even have to say
they're sorry," one woman lamented to me about the
applicants.
The controversy hits at the highest and deepest levels. Some
South Africans wonder if they should be expected to forgive the
likes of the police officers and doctors who collaborated in the
brutal murder of black consciousness leader Steve Biko, or those
who gunned down activist Chris Hani. To its credit (and to the
chagrin of some South Africans), the TRC has refused to exempt
ANC or PAC leaders, as evidenced by intensive hearings related to
the activities of Winnie Madikizela-Mandela. In a courageous
move, the TRC has just subpoenaed former state president P.W.
Botha to a court of law for his failure to appear before the
Commission.
But of course for many people, the issue is more personal: Can
I forgive the person who tortured my daughter, the one who
murdered my father? Surprisingly, the answer for many South
Africans is yes. Yet this graciousness is not being met with a
widespread pang of conscience on the part of the perpetrators.
"What we have now is the truth, but it's not
reconciliation," was a common refrain I heard as I traveled
throughout South Africa. Reconciliation requires the
participation of two sides.
Brian Mitchell is talked about in some circles like a national
hero of sorts. As a young police officer, he threw a grenade into
a home in the village of Trust Feeds, intended for an ANC
activist. But a wake was going on inside that home, and 13 women
and children were killed. After being granted amnesty and
released from jail, Mitchell went back to Trust Feeds and
apologized before the whole community. He has committed himself
to working for reconciliation and trying to bring resources into
Trust Feeds.
It seems that that's the way it should work. And yet,
with few exceptions, the white collaborators with apartheid have
remained intransigent in their belief that they did nothing wrong
and have nothing to confess. In one well-known case, a security
police officer who several years ago murdered the parents of a
5-year-old boy (who was found sleeping on his mother's dead
body) recently met with him. The officer's approach to the
now 14-year-old was, "I don't know you; I owe you
nothing."
Still more difficult days are ahead for South Africa, as a
nation attempts to balance the demands of justice and
forgiveness. I pray that hearts of stone might be turned to
hearts of flesh—and that the world will pay close attention
to this marvelous experiment in truth and courage.
JOYCE HOLLYDAY is a Sojourners contributing editor
and the author, most recently, of Then Shall Your Light Rise:
Spiritual Formation and Social Witness (Upper Room Books,
1997). Thanks to the Permanent Endowment Trust of First United
Methodist Church, Forest City, North Carolina, and Mary Jane
Evans of Brevard, North Carolina, for generous donations that
made her trip to South Africa possible.
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