Sangster, Kirsty --- "Truth Commissions: The Usefulness of Truth-telling" [1999] AUJlHRights 5; (1999) 5(1) Australian Journal of Human Rights 136
Truth Commissions: The Usefulness of Truth-telling
Kirsty Sangster[*]
... if you do not deal with a dark past such as ours, effectively look the beast in the eye, that beast is not going to lie down quietly; it is going, as sure as anything, to come back and haunt you horrendously.1
The concept of truth commissions as mechanisms by which newly democratised nations can investigate the human rights violations of past regimes is gaining increasing currency within international human rights discourse. Since 1971 and the Commission of Inquiry in Uganda there has been more than fifteen truth commissions in various regions around the world, notably Latin America.[2] Such commissions are seen as legitimate means by which the full human cost of both state and opposition abuses can be examined and recorded, although as will be discussed, this legitimacy is problematised within the discourse by debate as to the nature of the truth being recorded and the exact justice function such mechanisms should play.[3] To date there has been comparatively little research done either on the procedures and outcomes of specific commissions or on the broader conceptual issues which surround such bodies.
Perhaps the key conceptual issue raised by truth commissions is the concept of `truth' itself. This paper explores the notion that truth is positioned within the commissions very much as a methodology by which to obtain social justice. Although I am aware that I have taken a rather broad interpretation of what methodological form consists of, it is helpful to examine the way in which truth is used within the commissions and whether it actually fulfils this social justice function. Such an examination fits well within current debates about truth commissions, and the fact that there has been little analysis into whether `truth' actually performs the myriad (sometimes magical) functions that it is intended to perform within the commissions. The application of truth to achieve justice is indeed what international and domestic legal systems are based around, yet in the context of truth commissions this norm has further, often profoundly emotive, dimensions. The most complex of these being the investment of truth with the power to achieve this justice and, simultaneously, to heal both the nation and the individuals who have suffered. The use of truth to achieve `justice' and `healing' raises questions that traverse legal, socio-political, psychological and moral boundaries.
The literature available on truth commissions bears witness to the complexity of the issues and the need for a research approach that is open to contributions from several disciplines in order to engage fully with the subject. In this paper I want to explore two major critical perspectives on the use of truth within the commissions, and the ways in which the emphasis on justice and/or healing shifts depending on the perspective. Broadly speaking, the first perspective could be characterised as utilitarian in outlook. It positions truth as the first step towards achieving positive legal justice; the civil or criminal prosecution of proven human rights violators. The second perspective moves more into the domain of psychology and metaphysics, seeing truth and the act of giving voice to truth as useful in itself (`truth for truth's sake'). Indeed this perspective goes so far as to position truth as a form of, rather than as an adjunct to, justice. It is with the second perspective that the notion of social justice needs to be brought into the debate as, at this point, `justice' -- that is, `the administration of law according to prescribed and accepted principles' according to the Oxford English Dictionary -- is not part of the equation. Rather, justice is taken to encompass social and institutional reform; a dissolving of abusive power structures and their replacement with more humane and equal ones. It includes also, and perhaps most problematically, a justice which is achieved simply through the acknowledgment of the truth about the former regime's abuses.
To summarise, the first perspective positions truth as the tool to achieve positive legal justice; the second perspective positions truth as in itself a form of social justice. Through an examination of these two perspectives on truth and its relationship to justice the usefulness of the truth-telling exercise will be explored. It is intended that such an analysis will illustrate the complex role that truth commissions play as institutional mechanisms designed to both `deal with the past' and achieve some measure of justice.
Truth into Justice
Only upon a foundation of truth is it possible to meet the basic demands of justice.[4]
Within the context of a nation moving out of the shadows of an oppressive regime and struggling to replace the structures and institutions of this regime with more democratic ones, the setting up of a truth commission may be conceived as a crucial gesture on the part of the new government, demonstrating that they are prepared to deal with the past and bring the oppressors to justice. Yet the connection between truth and justice within such a context is extremely problematic and tenuous. Although to seek out the truth is difficult, truth-seeking is a simple task compared with employing this truth in order to instigate formal legal proceedings against those found to be guilty. This section is largely an examination of the human rights community's position on justice and truth in relation to human rights abuse.
The human rights movement takes a certain position on truth commissions which must be understood in terms of the broader question of accountability; that is, those institutions and individuals that have committed human rights abuses must be held responsible for their acts. Within the human rights movement accountability is defined usually in terms of the perpetrators of abuse being made to account for their crimes in a formal court of law, and being prosecuted for criminal and/or civil offences. Within this context, truth commissions are seen as the first stage or phase in a joint truth/justice package. The commission serves to provide the foundation -- the factual truth -- on which justice can be based. Human rights organisations, while recognising the importance of truth commissions, are wary of advocating their sole use. As a general rule, they view commissions as a soft option compared to the seeking of `hard' justice in a formal court of law: the proposed therapeutic value of truth -- truth as a miraculous kind of salve that heals individual and collective pain -- is viewed as negligible compared with the instigation of formal legal proceedings against the former regime.
The stance of human rights organisations such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch tends to be that while it is important not to risk the fragile peace, justice (prosecution) is to be sought and should be insisted upon. They believe that the international community is remiss in not pressuring newly formed democracies to prosecute former regimes. This stance is in alignment with `traditional' or standard customary international law in which punishment of those responsible for human rights violations is mandated.
The Nuremberg trials of Nazi war criminals set the historical precedent for such trials and subsequent prosecutions. Many analysts, though, see the value of these much prized trials as problematic and would question the way in which the human rights community holds Nuremberg up as the paragon, the ideal, the right and only way of achieving justice. One such analyst is Jose Zalaquett, a former member of the Chilean Truth and Reconciliation Commission (1990-91)[5] who consistently emphasises the value of truth commissions over and above their possible use as prosecutory tools 1428. Zalaquett[6] argues that the Nuremberg trials should be placed in their historical and political context -- the Nazi regime had been completely and utterly vanquished. This stands in contrast to the majority of transitional (shaky) post-conflict situations at this end of the twentieth century in which there has often been no clear break with the past regime.[7] To apply Nuremberg as a model in such situations where the former leaders may still hold positions of considerable power is, he argues, completely inappropriate. In broad outline, his position is that peace should not be sacrificed at the expense of prosecution. Rather, governments should seek the truth and apply measures of justice appropriate to their situation which will not unduly jeopardise the peace process-- `truth and as much justice as possible'. In this he applies the sociologist Weber's `ethic of responsibility'; an ethic which in no way implies a lack of morality but rather asks us to think of the outcome of our actions rather than be guided blindly by our moral convictions. If governments were to apply Nuremberg as the blueprint for their own justice program, they may perhaps be doing the right thing (standing by their convictions) but they may also cause the country to collapse yet again into chaos and bloodshed.[8] Any such dogmatic pursuit of justice -- no matter how `noble' on the part of political leaders -- is completely reprehensible in terms of the welfare of the people these leaders have been given the responsibility of caring for.
Similarly, Popkin and Roht-Arriaza[9] in an article which examines the role of truth commissions in Latin America, discuss the importance of political background in the formation of the commissions. In Latin America, Chile, Argentina, Bolivia, Uruguay and El Salvador (there is a proposed commission for Guatemala), have had truth commissions with varying degree of success. In all these countries the political context has placed severe limitations on the structures, powers and mandate of the commissions and on the degree (and type) of justice that can be achieved. Popkin and Roht-Arriaza characterise the post-conflict climate in terms of two major categories: pacted transitions; and negotiations to end a civil conflict.[10] The first category defines situations in which a military dictatorship that imposed its rule through the summary execution, torture and jailing of opponents is replaced by a civilian government in a structured transition. The second category is civil war situations in which the military, as part of its counterinsurgency tactics, tortured and killed large numbers of the civilian -- largely peasant -- population. In this situation the peace is based on a joint agreement between two undefeated powers; the military and the insurgency.
Even a quick glance at the current and immediate post-conflict situations that arise out of these backgrounds is enough to see that peace is a compromised and patched-together affair. In Chile, for example, peace came about through a long process of negotiation with the military. The free elections, which resulted in the appointment of a civilian government, were agreed upon only on condition that the constitutional structure put in place by the military was not changed. Also, and most significantly, the head of the former regime remained in control of the military. In El Salvador, an example of a pacted agreement, the Salvadorean government and the Farabundo Marti National Liberation Front (FLMN) agreed to make peace. The result was a `transitional' government in the peace phase that was essentially the same one that had fought the war in the first place. In both these situations to force the issue of prosecution would have been to risk the rapid termination of the peace process.
Aside from the very real threat of coups and renewed conflict is the issue of amnesty. Often, as part of the whole peace settlement, there may be blanket amnesty laws covering the military and the opposition rebel forces. Indeed, in many instances these amnesty laws may even be a pre-condition for peace negotiations or form the central corpus around which a fragile peace is built. The former regime may not even agree to sit down at the negotiating tables unless these laws are instituted. As in Chile, the defeated power may still maintain control over a key social institution -- the military -- and will refuse to begin negotiations unless they are guaranteed immunity. As Pinochet is reported to have said on handing over power in October 1989: `No one touches anyone. The day they touch one of my men, the rule of law ends. This I say once and will not say again'.[11] Such threats come on top of the fact that the Pinochet government (1973-90) had instituted as long ago as 1978 an amnesty law which covered all their crimes anyway. In South Africa, the question of amnesty was a key issue in discussions between De Klerk's government and the African National Congress. Amidst much debate and anger, amnesty was agreed upon provided that those who committed crimes under the name of apartheid came forward and admitted to those crimes in a public forum. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was set up for this purpose and to hear the testimony of the victims and their families. Based on the Chilean model, which will be discussed in more detail later, its underlying aim could be summed up in Mandela's inaugural address in which he stated: `the time for the healing of wounds has come'. Yet many feel that the South African Commission with its emphasis on truth-telling as a vehicle for national reconciliation is meaningless unless followed up by the prosecution of those responsible and that behind the noble rhetoric lies the pragmatic trade-in of `justice' for `truth'. As Berat and Shain write in relation to South Africa:
When truth-telling is chosen without any effort to prosecute the guilty, it is usually due to the tutelage of the incumbent and the fear of the opposition that retribution will jeopardise the democratisation process.[12]
Human rights organisations are opposed to amnesty laws in all instances, and view the immunity from prosecution which amnesties guarantee as totally unacceptable: `We oppose laws and practices that purport to immunise those who have committed gross abuses from the exposure of their crimes, from civil suits for damages for those crimes, or from criminal investigation, prosecution and punishment.'[13] They argue that to the extent to which anyone has the right to give out amnesties or pardons it is the victims of the abuses themselves and most certainly not the state or those who committed the abuses in the first place.[14] In current campaigns against the Amnesty Law in Chile and the (proposed) amnesty for human rights violators in Guatemala, Amnesty International [15] argues, on the basis of international law, that it is the actual duty of governments to abolish amnesty and to pursue prosecution. In support of its position, Amnesty International uses two key legal instruments relevant to the question of amnesty: Principles on the Effective Prevention and Investigation of Extra-Legal, Arbitrary and Summary Executions (the Principles) and Declaration on the Protection of all Persons from Enforced Disappearance (the Declaration). Article 19 of the Principles, for example, states: `In no circumstances, including a state of war, siege or other public emergency, shall blanket immunity from prosecution be granted to any person allegedly involved in extra-legal, arbitrary or summary executions.' Similarly Article 18 (1) of the Declaration states: `Persons who have, or are alleged to have, committed offences referred to in Article 4, paragraph 1, shall not benefit from any special amnesty law or similar measures that might have the effect of exempting them from any criminal proceedings or sanction.'[16]
Yet, however much such a clear `anti-amnesty' position seems at once admirable and desirable it is also extraordinarily problematic, not only because it may bring down the government, but because often the truth is conditional upon amnesty being granted: in a very real sense truth is only `allowed' to be discovered if there is an amnesty. South Africa is perhaps the best example of this in that amnesty was granted to individuals provided that they first disclose the crimes they had committed.[17] This statement could be reversed: the truth was disclosed on the condition that individuals be granted amnesty. If there had been no amnesty, there may not have been any disclosure of truth either.
Indeed, the whole discourse around justice and truth in relation to human rights abuses begins to take on a Faustian-like quality; there are various pacts to be made with the devil. The reality is that newly formed governments have little, if any, bargaining power. In this sense, the arguments in support of formal legal prosecution would appear divorced from reality, and their basis in international law fairly limited. Similar to Amnesty International, Diane Orentlicher in her paper, `Punish or pardon: the international legal obligations',[18] argues that it is the duty of states to prosecute those who have committed human rights abuses. Yet the key instruments she uses to support her argument are the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of Genocide (Genocide Convention) and the Convention against Torture and other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment (Convention against Torture). Article 1 of the Genocide Convention, for instance, states: `[Contracting States] undertake to prevent and punish the crimes of genocide', and Article 7 of the Convention against Torture requires State Parties to either extradite an alleged torturer or institute criminal proceedings against them. Yet, as Orentlicher herself points out, the implications for real-life situations are negligible: `the definition of "genocide" in the Genocide Convention excludes most situations of systematic human right violations characteristic of abuses committed in recent years while the Convention Against Torture entered into force in 1987, after the worst excesses in many Latin American countries had abated'.[19] The basis for prosecution in other international legal instruments would appear to be similarly weak. Article 2 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, for example, requires State Parties to `ensure' the rights recognised in the Covenant. Although `to ensure' is clearly not a directive for a particularly strong course of action it has been suggested that it implies that the State has an obligation to punish violators.[20] Yet in spite of this lack of support within the instruments of international law, those in favour of the punishment of human rights violators through the legal justice system continue to argue for it.
Apart from the very powerful moral imperative that exists to punish those who have committed such crimes there are two major arguments used to support the need for prosecutory forms of justice. The first argument centres around the whole institution that is the `law'; it is argued that the punishment of human rights crimes must be through traditional legal processes in order to uphold the rule of law and to ensure that the law is given the proper respect accorded to it.[21] This would seem a rather inappropriate argument to make considering that often the domestic legal system is so weakened by, or has been directly involved in, the abuses of the past that there can be no assurances that `justice' will be done anyway.[22]
The second argument is, to my mind, even weaker. Using traditional criminology, analysts refer to `deterrence theory' as one of the central reasons why there should be punishment of human rights abuse. This theory states that punishment of those who have committed crimes will deter others from committing those same crimes in the future. In the face of human rights violations, it would seem almost nonsensical to apply the deterrence model as a reason for punishment. Inherent to the very nature of human rights abuse is the sense in which those who perpetrate such crimes have no concept of an end to their power. The fact that past regimes have been punished will in no way deter those who feel that their own power and strength is indefeasible (immortal). As Cohen writes: `in well-known historical episodes, the authorities never anticipated that there would be an "afterwards" when their actions might be judged from a vantage point different from their own.'[23] From studies on the use of torture,[24] it would also appear that if such regimes do have a sense that their power is diminishing, then the means of repression will become even more violent and desperate. As part of this the use of torture becomes more frequent; the body of the opponent is used as a direct political tool with `real human pain converted into a regime's fiction of power.'[25] Even a summary glance at political psychology should therefore be enough to indicate that `deterrence theory' is hardly applicable in cases of human rights abuse.
Thus, truth commissions are confined to what is known as the `truth phase'; the revealing of the truth about the former regimes' rule. As part of the truth process various methodological tools are employed -- the uncovering of mass graves, the examination of military files, the oral and written testimonies of survivors. It is the truth phase within the commissions which replaces the version of history given by the regime with the alternative history of those who suffered at the hands of this regime. Yet there is often very little chance of moving from this phase into the `justice phase'. In situations in which the commissions are given the power to pursue justice, it is only to the degree that they are able to recommend that the relevant international guidelines regarding prosecution for human rights abuse be followed and implemented as part of legal proceedings within a court of law. They may also hand over the names and cases to the court of law although -- as happened in Chile -- this is a somewhat symbolic gesture as the amnesty law prohibits the courts from following up on any of these cases anyway. The institution of formal criminal or civil law proceedings is further problematised by the weak nature of the legal system which may itself have been implicated in, or at the very least severely compromised by, the abuses of the former state.
Argentina is one of the only situations in which truth and justice have been tied together. The Truth Commission[26] (1983-84), after extensive investigation into the past handed their report over to the courts, and nine members of the former junta were prosecuted in trials which were seen as `models of due process'.[27] Due to the successful recovery of the truth and the prosecution that resulted, Human Rights Watch regards the Argentinean situation as: `the most successful effort of the decade anywhere in Latin America, and perhaps world-wide, to hold accountable those who committed gross abuses of human rights'.[28] Five main leaders of the junta were convicted and sentenced to terms ranging from four and a half years to life. Yet, in the end, this whole pursuit of formal legal justice failed due to the political pressure brought to bear on the government. This pressure resulted in the Punto Final (`full stop') law of 1986, which placed a time limit beyond which no more prosecutions could be initiated. The `Due Obedience Law' of 1987 was even more significant in causing the collapse of justice. This law meant that junta members could legitimately (legally) use the `chain of command' argument to claim that they, as individuals, should not be held responsible for the crimes; they were `just following orders'.[29] In the end, even the five who had been sentenced had their sentences repealed.[30] It is interesting, therefore, that the human rights community regards Argentina as being so successful. The opposite could be argued -- it somehow seems a far greater travesty to initiate justice procedures and then to place a literal `full stop' on them than if no justice had been sought at all. As Zalaquett states in relation to this back down on justice: `this undermined [the government's] initial stand, strongly grounded on ethical convictions, and diminished the authority of its administration.'[31] Both Argentina's initial success and subsequent failure in pursuing justice should be placed firmly within the particular political context. The prosecutions emanating from the Truth Commission should perhaps be interpreted as due more to the military defeat of Argentina and the expectations of a Peronist victory than to any particular effectiveness on the part of the Truth Commission. In general, human rights organisations when holding up particular truth commissions as `successful' examples, should take more fully into account the uniqueness of the political context and the impact this context has on the structures, findings and justice function of the commissions.
The failure of the justice process in Argentina at such a crucial point is particularly shameful in that it stands in such direct contrast with the success of the `truth phase'. The National Commission on Disappeared People investigated the seven years of military rule from 1976-1983, and was headed by the Argentinean writer Ernesto Sabato. It investigated detention centres, cemeteries, uncovered mass grave sites, and heard the testimonies of thousands of people who had had friends and family members `disappear'. A two hour program was broadcast on national television outlining the commission's findings, and the published report Nunca Mas (Never Again) became a national best-seller.[32] In the summary of its report the Commission states:
... from the enormous amount of documentary evidence we have gathered, it can be concluded that human rights were violated in an organised and structured way using the machinery of the state by the Armed Forces' repression. Such violations were not sporadic but were systematic and methodical, making use of the same techniques of abduction and torture throughout the entire country.[33]
As will be discussed in a further section, such statements of fact hold a tremendous validatory power for those who have suffered at the hands of regimes whose crimes (although known) were consistently denied and hidden, and whose actions were masked by a language in which `torture' translates as `routine questioning'. To then use the truth that is found as a central mechanism for seeking justice is also a powerful act. The Argentinean case is an example of an attempt at justice that failed, and in the process could be seen to have undermined the truth phase -- a phase which is seen as a complete and vital form of redress for past wrongs.
Thus, although within the public arena the truth phase is often presented as the first stage in a joint `truth/justice' package, the reality is that the truth phase is frequently the only phase. Even this phase may be limited by the socio-political pressure brought to bear on the commission. For example, the commission may be given the authority to investigate only certain kinds of truths to the exclusion of others: they may investigate `disappearances' and record the names of those who disappeared but they may not, under any circumstances, examine torture (Uruguay 1985). This is a real life situation in which the anthropologist James Clifford's conception of `partial truths' takes on a full and sinister meaning.[34]
Even if all these impediments to justice as described were not a reality, and truth commissions were able to investigate the truth and record the nature of the abuses and the names of those responsible, and then pass these cases onto a domestic or international court, the use of truth to achieve justice remains no less problematic. In the initial stages of this research, I talked to Richard Carver about prosecution as opposed to amnesty of those who had committed gross human rights abuses. Although arguing in favour of prosecution, he then showed me a government document from Malawi which appeared to be a top secret report to the president stating that four members of the opposition had been `disappeared' (via a pretend car accident). He was sure that this document was a fake. Even though it would have been for the benefit of human rights organisations and the opposition to use this document as evidence, and even though they were certain that these individuals had indeed been `disposed of' in this way by the government, the actual document was not in itself real.
This episode highlights the way in which `truth' changes according to who is telling it; as with the post-modernist conception of there being a multiplicity of truths, there are a thousand times a thousand realities. It shows also how closely tied up truth is to power (uncomfortably so) with, essentially, those in authority speaking their version of the truth. All other versions are excluded. For example, the document illustrated how the military government had the power to erase the truth (extrajudicial killings) and to replace it with its own manufactured truth (fatal car accidents). In a bizarre twist, the document itself is not a real truth but a fiction, created by the opposition.[35]
Beyond the moral issues, such instances pose structural and legal constraints on the implementation of the justice phase. It may be an extremely difficult and costly exercise to verify documents (and allegations in general) and to glean enough hard facts against those charged. Even more difficult is the verification of oral testimonies.[36] It may not be possible to prove -- in strictly legal terms -- that these crimes were, `beyond a reasonable doubt', committed by these people. It is in the nature of such regimes also that the brutality and oppression is often deeply embedded within the system and to identify the hand that signed that paper may be next to impossible. As the newly elected president of Guatemala, Cerezo Arevalo is quoted to have said: `we are not going to be able to investigate the past. We would have to put the entire army in jail'.[37] Which faceless bureaucrat was responsible for which death, and if they were identified, should they be held responsible for following orders, doing their job? Accountability is yet another issue shadowing justice. It raises questions as to the extent to which the society as a whole was corrupted and involved in the abuses that occurred. In the case of Eastern Europe, for example, where there was widespread involvement by people at all levels of society, truth commissions could, in effect, reveal too much (unbearable) truth. The result may be schism and further conflict.
This section has only touched upon some of the issues raised when, through a truth commission, a society attempts to use truth in order to gain justice. Although, as will be shown, there are strong arguments in favour of the notion that truth is in some a priori sense useful and necessary, such arguments hold little sway with those who seek justice in its full and unmitigated legal sense. For the widow of Steve Biko, for example, no healing or forgiveness is possible unless `true' justice is done:
To me it is an insult [to go before the commission] because all that is needed is for the perpetrators to be taken before a proper court of justice. Having gone through the trauma, through the suffering ... It has not been an easy thing. And the perpetrators are comfortable wherever they are. Some of them got top positions in their posts, and they were transferred to various places , and here we are, suffering right through for their deed.[38]
Truth as Justice
They may be dust but they are loved dust.[39]
As has been seen, a perspective on the truth commissions that seeks the truth as an instrument of (prosecutory) justice is a difficult and, many would argue, politically unrealistic one. For this reason, advocates of truth commissions often argue that the `truth phase' is a valid and essential phase in itself and that any human rights programme instigated by the new government should focus and curtail its activities and mandate to the actual seeking, hearing and the investigation of truth (truth commissions). The realism behind such arguments is supported by philosophical, psychological and theological concepts of truth, all of which position truth as having an innate teleological value separate from its use as a mechanism of legal justice.[40] In addition truth, as presented within the commissions, does in fact serve as a point out of which real social justice and change can flow.
Truth commissions, if well-structured with an adequate mandate and good resources, can achieve both a strong measure of truth and -- in setting the social justice agenda -- can pave the way for actual institutional reforms. It is because of the strength of their ability to find out the truth and to propose change that commissions should be recognised and kept separate from the justice phase.[41] The fact that they are rarely seen as separate from their potential usefulness in the cause of legal justice and punishment comes down to the definition of justice and, most importantly, which institutions have monopoly and control over this definition. Legal discourse, perhaps necessarily, controls our conceptions of justice, punishment and reparation; if it did not then `law and order' would cease to exist. Yet in the face of massive human rights abuse the criminal justice model appears almost wholly inadequate. For sheer practical reasons alone it does not work. Similarly, the arguments put forward as to why such a model should be applied -- as a deterrent, and because the `rule of law should be upheld' -- seem very weak.
Advocates of the `truth phase' work therefore on trying to reorient the institutional response to human rights abuse so that it includes alternative forms of reparation, accountability and punishment within a larger social justice framework. Such an approach seems at once more politically sustainable and may allow for the possibility of social reconciliation -- although it is recognised that reconciliation may take many, many years (or may never actually occur). Zalaquett, one of the most vocal of those in support of the truth phase, argues for forms of justice that focus on vindication of the victims and some form of compensation for the victims' families: `all things being equal, forgiveness and reconciliation are preferable to punishment'.42 He argues that revealing the truth about a regime's abuses should be seen as a form of vindication and that compensation -- both material and symbolic -- can be achieved under the auspices of the commissions. Reparation should also be conceived as possible in the form of the written word, visual and performance art, and memorials -- in other words, a refusal to be silenced about past abuse.
The Chilean Commission, despite the severe political restraints placed upon it, was able to investigate 2920 cases of disappearances and to identify 2, 298 victims of military abuses during Pinochet's rule, mainly due to the high calibre of its staff and the large amount of resources at its disposal. President Aylwin formally apologised to the victims and their families and the report included recommendations for the reform of the legal and education systems. These reforms included: human rights education for the military and the judiciary, greater independence for the judiciary, and changes in laws on state of emergency and military control over the civilian population. In addition, the creation of a permanent human rights ombudsman was called for.[43] It was intended that these reforms would serve as preventative mechanisms for the occurrence of human rights abuse in the future. As part of its recommendations a National Corporation for Reparation and Reconciliation was set up to provide victims and their families with medical and educational benefits, specialised psycho-social services for victims of torture and financial reparations including a special pension.
Such alternative approaches that try and conceive and work towards forms of justice beyond the retributory are often, and perhaps surprisingly, more in accord with victims' own needs than formal prosecution is:
... the relatives of the victims showed great generosity .... most of them stressed that in the end, what really mattered to them was that the truth be revealed, that the memory of their loved ones not be denigrated or forgotten, and that such things never happen again.[44]
Such a perspective -- which places a value on truth beyond its justice functions -- is rarely given coverage, since the desire for vengeance and retribution (which is, of course, understandable) fits better within the strict legal accountability model. Interestingly, Human Rights Watch also points to `[the] popular disinclination to hold accountable those responsible for human rights abuses', yet insists `that governments must still hold those responsible up for prosecution'.[45] This would also seem to be at odds with this organisation's insistence that the victims of the crimes themselves should be allowed to voice their own feelings as to what forms accountability should take.
Perhaps the strongest argument put forward in support of the truth phase -- or at least the most favoured in the current debate about truth commissions -- is the psychological benefit that it is believed the process of truth-telling has for the victims and their families. It is at this point that `healing' becomes incorporated within the truth discourse: the act of re-telling one's story (truth) may heal, or at least be a step on the path towards healing. The testimony method is a fairly well established therapeutic tool used, in particular, with the survivors of torture or other forms of politically-motivated persecution. It has been widely used with holocaust survivors and their families, and it is in this particular context that much of the theoretical literature on testimony has been developed. From his work with survivors, the psychotherapist Laub has written extensively on testimony both in its oral and written forms and is convinced of its profound therapeutic benefits. He writes:
In my experience, repossessing one's life story through giving testimony is itself a form of action, of change, which has to be actually be passed through, in order to continue and complete the process of survival after liberation.[46]
Originally used in Chile to help the victims of the military dictatorship, it has a central advantage over other forms of therapy in that it articulates the direct link between personal trauma and its origins in political oppression.[47]
Within the truth commissions, this link is made public through the hearing of oral testimonies thus placing an individual's trauma within the realms of official history. The psychiatrist Summerfield argues that `bearing public witness' to the effects of political violence on individual lives is vital, `if survivors are to make sense of their losses and the social fabric is to mend'.[48] The truth commission would seem an ideal site for the public witnessing of truths which have been erased by the former regime. This should be conceived as important also for the country as a whole, in that one of the central characteristics of repressive regimes is their manipulation of history into a form best suited to their own propaganda needs; hence Pol Pot's turning of the clocks back to `year zero' and his extermination of all intellectuals (who may have ventured another history). If a people are not reminded after the event of the actual facts of a regimes' rule of terror then over a period these facts may be lost as `social amnesia' sets in. As Adolf Hitler is quoted as saying in 1939: `Who after all speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?'[49] Thus it is very important that the history of the victims is made known and recorded as soon after the event as possible; truth commissions are suitably authoritative bodies to record this history.
Truth commissions are believed to be particularly therapeutic for families and friends of the `disappeared', many of whom may have waited years without knowing what actually happened to those close to them. In these instances the truth commission may serve the dual purpose of at once revealing the facts about a particular case and allowing those who have experienced disappearances to tell their story. Generally, truth commissions have been extraordinarily successful in establishing the factual truth,[50] even to the extent of discovering the remains of the individual victims. To suspect (and at the very deepest level to know) that your friend, lover, son or daughter has been murdered by the regime, and yet not to have any evidence or certainty about this fact, has a devastating impact on individuals. Disappearances forbid grief; people cannot mourn if they have no knowledge of how and in what circumstances those close to them died. As one woman whose husband was killed during apartheid in South Africa describes, the most important thing for her was to know what happened to her husband and `to just find where my husband is buried, even if it's just his remains, even if it's just the ashes, or the bones.'[51] The grief process is, in effect, delayed over an unfixed period. The inability to mourn results in people living in a state of limbo -- frozen mourning -- from which there can be no release unless it is discovered for certain that those close to them are dead. Only then can mourning begin. Thus, in a very real and vital way, truth commissions serve as sites of mourning -- of the loudest, most public and ritualised form. This process restores people's right to `bury their dead', in both a literal and metaphorical sense.
It is this quality of `loudness' -- finding out and telling the truth so that the world will know -- that reverses another effect of disappearance and torture; the silencing of the victim. The director of Human Rights Watch, Aryeh Neier refers to disappearances as fitting into a particular form of crime that is designed for maximum `deniability': clandestine crime that is easy to hide and to deny.[52] He argues that for countries (particularly in Latin America) in which the state and its opponents committed crimes of this sort, a truth commission is vital in order to reverse this process of official denial through the uncovering of the truth within the official forum of the new government. This `deniability' lies in what is perhaps the most diabolic and powerful dimension of crimes such as disappearance and torture: the victim is rendered silent.
Go ahead, scream, scream all you like, scream your lungs out -- nobody can hear you, nobody would care to hear you, nobody cares about you, no one will ever know.'[53]
The psychology of torture and disappearance is simple. What better way to dismiss the loud (or even very quiet) voices of political dissent `... than to destroy these voices?'
As in the case of mourning, truth commissions serve to reverse the conditions created by disappearance by allowing the victims and their families' stories to be heard in an official forum. As Zalaquett writes of his experience as one of the members of the Chilean Truth Commission:
... the families had refused to allow the previous government authorities to see them cry as they searched for their loved ones. But now they were being received with respect and offered a seat and a cup of coffee. The Chilean flag was on the table as befits an official commission. They often broke down, because now they could allow themselves that measure of relief.[54]
In turn, this return of the individual's voice hopefully impacts on the collective life of a society in that it fosters a socio-political climate that allows for protest. That such a rest-oration is initiated and carried out by the new government should be regarded as a positive step towards giving people faith in, and an initial experience of, democratic processes.
Related to the discovery of the bodies of the `disappeared' and the hearing of their stories is the naming of the dead.[55] To those in favour of strict accountability and punishment to present a few lists with the names of those who died must seem an incredibly poor version of justice, but the effect of disappearances is such that the names of those killed are also cleansed out of existence; they are made nameless. To give their names is therefore a powerful act of reclamation and stands as written memorial. Such an act of retrieval and memorial is embodied in much of the visual and performance art to come out of Latin America in recent years. In an article published in the Guardian[56], the Chilean playwright and novelist Ariel Dorfman describes the creative processes behind his latest play Widows which is about the disappeared and their families. He writes of being haunted by an old woman who is searching for her dead by a river bank.[57] He views his work as an attempt to, in effect, give this woman back her voice and her right to speak. On an institutional level truth commissions should be seen as a similar attempt -- the provision of a space for the voices to speak, and the names to be named.
The process of naming can also be extended to include the names of those responsible for state crimes. This, it is argued, should be seen as a form of punishment, however mild.[58] To release and display publicly the actual names of military leaders and their cohorts in the police, judiciary and educational institutions is to humiliate such individuals at a national level. Such a strategy fits within criminology's `shaming theory' which states that if an individual is shamed in an official arena they will hopefully experience the humiliation so intensely that they will never rear their ugly heads again.
The Salvadoran Truth Commission (1992) was the first commission to name individuals -- up until this point only institutions had been named. It focused on investigating single and multiple abuses on the basis of finding and naming the specific individuals involved. The weakness of the judiciary in El Salvador at the time meant there was no possibility of achieving legal accountability for abuses and `naming' was seen as another way of holding the perpetrators accountable. The Commission felt that, `not to name names would reinforce the very impunity to which the parties instructed the Commission to put an end'. In relation to human rights violators, shaming theory would appear to have only slightly more credibility than `deterrence theory'. It has been fascinating to read and listen to the testimonies of torturers and others at the South African truth commission who, although named as responsible for the most heinous crimes, seem not to feel shame. It appears that their crimes have been so abstracted as to simply become part of the whole machinery of apartheid; as individuals they have dissociated themselves from the crimes.[59]
Finally, the key to the `healing' which has been so incorporated into the discourse around truth commissions, is seen to be in the `acknowledgment' of truth (regardless of the formal justice process). Within the literature available on the truth commissions, acknowledgment -- `to recognise, accept the validity of' as defined by the Oxford English Dictionary -- has taken on a kind of iconographic significance; there is something in the process by which truth is heard and accepted that has the mysterious potential to repair.[60] For example, in a recent interview on the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, Archbishop Desmond Tutu referred constantly to the acknowledgment of truth and its facilitative, perhaps redemptive, aspects: `to not acknowledge that something horrendous did happen to them is to victimise the victims yet again'. Yet it is uncertain as to how the acknowledgment of truth actually does work to heal, and as Cohen points out in relation to the often deeply theological colour of discussions around truth commissions: `religious vocabulary does not rest easily in the modern discourse of rights'. [61] This unease is particularly evident in instances where truth is attributed with not only the power to heal the individual but whole nations. At this point, thinkers in the human rights field tend towards extreme scepticism:
... look at the assumptions: that a nation has one psyche, not many; that the truth is one, not many; that the truth is certain, not contestable; and that when it is known by all, it has the capacity to heal and reconcile. These are not so much assumptions of epistemology as articles of faith about human nature: the truth is one and if we know it, it will make us free.[62]
Such scepticism is well-deserved. The acknowledgment of truth must have very powerful qualities indeed if it were to enable the healing of a single small village, let alone a huge and divided nation. Analysts are right to caution against the implicit acceptance of the `acknowledgment equals healing' axiom. Its quasi-religious overtones and its complete lack of relatedness to concepts of formal legal justice is perhaps dangerous in the sense that it is very open to manipulation. Parties whose motivations are less than noble are able to learn and mouth the language of shame and confession very easily in the clear knowledge that they will be allowed to walk from the commissions free (what punishment is this?). At the same time, there is something to be said for an approach which places emphasis on truth-seeking and the full and public acknowledgment of injustice. Perhaps most importantly, truth commissions orient us towards the victims (the survivors) and their suffering rather than -- as in the hard justice of the Nuremberg trials -- the perpetrator and their sins. This surely is a good thing.
Conclusions
... and yet in these matters accuracy is essential we must not be wrong even by a single one we are despite everything the guardians of our brothers ignorance about those who disappeared undermines the reality of the world. Zbigniew Herbert
It is well reflected in Ignatieff's comments that even the inherent value and usefulness of truth is put up for question in the discourse surrounding truth commissions. That this is so is not surprising if we consider the nature of the problems which these commissions concern themselves with. To seek the truth after often long and deeply abusive reigns of terror while attempting, in the process, to achieve a modicum of social justice is no small matter.
I would argue that truth-seeking is, in itself, an incredibly brave and valuable act. An effective truth commission is able to recover the facts about injustice, create a space in which victims can be heard, and propose and implement social reform mechanisms that promote human rights. That the commissions are able to fulfil these functions with a fair degree of success should illustrate their position as, at the very least, initial exploratory sites out of which social justice may flow. Clearly though, the acceptance of the commissions as having a gate-keeping or facilitative role in social change entails a vast conceptual shift in terms of what constitutes `justice'. The psychological and theological language of `healing' and `acknowledgment' is a far cry from the rationalist paradigm upon which the law is based.
For the human rights community who continue to struggle for internationally recognised and effective legal standards against which human rights abuse can be judged, such a shift is problematic. The fact that the whole `rights' discourse has been constructed so firmly within a legal framework means that any move away from this framework could be perceived as a political loss for the human rights movement (and for the people it hopes to represent). From the research undertaken it was clear that the human rights community's position in support of the strict accountability model -- with truth commissions seen as useful largely because of the uses to which the `truth' can be put in the cause of prosecutory justice -- is a vital position to be upheld. In a sense, the human rights community could almost be seen to be obliged to take a hard and unambiguous position towards what constitutes `justice'. In doing so they set the ideal standards against which a nation's attempts at seeking truth and justice can be measured.[63] If the human rights community were to abandon its insistence on prosecutory justice for human rights perpetrators then, in all likelihood, such justice would cease to be a possibility as legal justice would have no flagbearer. It is important that this does not occur; it should be the right of the victim and/or their family to seek hard justice if they feel this to be important. Their desire to do so, and their outrage and frustration when faced with the complete immunity of the generals, must be heard and fought for.
Clearly there is a need for the inclusion of concepts such as the acknowledgment of truth within human rights discourse. It is important to allow for the possibility that there is indeed something `mysterious' (non-rational) in the truth-telling process that makes it a vital part of the social justice program, particularly if followed up with the implementation of political and social reform measures that strengthen human rights. In this I would tend to agree with Cohen when he states:
... instead of a dubiously relevant deterrent theory or a rigid retributionism, the politics of reconstruction could be based on the survivors and the interests they represented. The damages inflicted by the old regime -- the loss of human dignity, the destruction of solidarity, the poison of mistrust -- surely cannot be repaired by legal means. The victims' demand for acknowledgment calls not simply for factual or legal recording but for replacing their physical pain and loss with political dignity.[64]
My sense is that social justice does have to be based upon the truth about a former regimes' human rights violations. Yet the acknowledgment of this truth does not mean automatic freedom or healing from this past. On a recent trip to Berlin I was struck by the amount of time it must take for a society to come to terms with its past; or indeed if it is a process that could be said to have an end or `completion' in the normal sense of the word. In Germany, the amount of museums, monuments, articles and books dedicated to this past -- plus simultaneously the opening of the Stasi files -- reflect the continuance of the acknowledgment process and the pain involved. Truth commissions therefore should never be taken as the sole mechanism for the acknowledgment of past human rights abuses.
In all there needs to be far more investigation and critique of the truth commission as a human rights mechanism. This is a fairly urgent need, as truth commissions have gained a certain popularity as a `quick-fix' way for a nation to deal with a dark past before it moves, unblemished, into a just future. It is early days for truth commissions and the consensus seems to be that it is too early to tell whether the truth-telling process is legitimate in and of itself as a form of social healing and justice or whether it should be followed by actual `hard' justice; the prosecution of the criminal.
By positioning truth as a methodology of social justice, my intention was to provide a theoretical window through which to examine what can be seen to be the complex and deeply emotive conceptual issues around truth commissions. In short, the verdict is still out as to whether truth can achieve justice. But perhaps the only real thing to do is `to look the beast in the eye', and hope.
[*] Visiting Study Fellow, Refugee Studies Program.
[1] Archbishop Desmond Tutu, interview with James Britain, `Healing a nation' (1995) Index on Censorship (5/96) 39.
[2] Hayner P `Fifteen Truth Commissions -- 1974 to 1994: A Comparative Study', (1994) 16 Human Rights Quarterly 597-655.
[3] For presentation of the key conceptual issues involved in this debate refer to Cohen S `State Crimes of Previous Regimes: Knowledge, Accountability, and the Policing of the Past', (1995) 20 Law and Social Inquiry 79-116.
[4] Zalaquett J `Balancing Ethical Imperatives and Political Constraints: The Dilemma of New Democracies Confronting Past Human Rights Violations', (1992) 43(6) Hastings Law Journal p?
[5] Comision Nacional para la Verdad y Reconciliation (`the Rettig Commission').
[6] Zalaquett J `Balancing Ethical Imperatives and Political Constraints: The Dilemma of New Democracies Confronting past Human Rights Violations' (1992) 43(6) Hastings Law Journal.
[7] In many ways the idea of `victory' could be conceived almost as an old-fashioned notion. Conflicts now are long, use and viciously abuse the civilian population, and use weapons and methods of warfare compared to which the first and second world wars are gentlemanly affairs. Can there, for example, be clear winners and losers in a country where, ten years after the end of a conflict, people cannot walk across their fields without stepping on land mines?
[8] Zalaquett J `Balancing Ethical Imperatives and Political Constraints: The Dilemma of New Democracies Confronting past Human Rights Violations', (1992) 43(6) HLJ 1428-30.
[9] Popkin M and Roht-Arriaza N `Truth as Justice: Investigatory Commissions in Latin America', (1995) 20(1) Law and Social Inquiry, 27-54.
[10] Ibid 83.
[11] As quoted in Rosenberg `Overcoming the legacies of dictatorship', (1995) 74(3) Foreign Affairs 134.
[12] Berat & Shain (1995), [omitted] 188.
[13] `South Africa: Accounting for the Past. The lessons for south Africa from Latin America', (1992) 4(11) Human Rights Watch/Africa.
[14] Ibid 3.
[15] Amnesty International, Guatemala: the right to truth and justice AI index: AMR 34/26/96.
[16] Ibid 6.
[17] As The Economist reported at the time: `it [the Commission] will offer amnesty to those who committed political crimes, provided they meet the (distinctly subjective) conditions: full disclosure, political motivation, and action which, however nasty, accorded with their side's policy at the time'. (February 1996 58)
[18] Orentlicher D `Punish or pardon: The international legal obligations', presented at the Conference on the Transition to Democracy in Argentina Yale Law School, (March 4-8 1990).
[19] Ibid 7.
[20] Aspen Institute State Crimes: Punishment or Pardon (1988). Papers and Report of the conference November 4-6 Wye Centre, Maryland.
[21] Ibid.
[22] It is because of such situations, which unfortunately tend not to be uncommon, that Amnesty International and other human rights organisation are calling for a Permanent International Criminal Court. Amnesty argues that an International Criminal Court will: `help safeguard human rights throughout the world. It will bring to justice those accused of the most heinous crimes' (Reference ACT/31/03/96).
[23] Cohen S `State Crimes of Previous Regimes: Knowledge, Accountability, and the Policing of the Past' (1995) 20(1) Law and Social Inquiry 5.
[24] Scarry The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of the World, Oxford University Press, New York (1985); Bustos `Dealing with the Unbearable: Reactions of Therapists and Therapeutic Institutions to Survivors of Torture' in Suedfeld P (ed) Psychology and Torture, Hemisphere Publishing Company, New York, pp 143-161.
[25] Scarry, as above p 27.
[26] Comision Nacional para la Desaparicion de Personas (National Commission on the Disappearance of Persons).
[27] As quoted in Rosenberg `Overcoming the legacies of dictatorship', (1995) 74(3) Foreign Affairs 151.
[28] `South Africa: Accounting for the Past. The lessons for South Africa from Latin America', (1992) 4(11) Human Rights Watch/Africa.
[29] Such an argument is common, as is the argument by superiors in the military or other institutions perpetrating human rights abuse that they had not authorised their underlings to murder, `disappear', or torture opponents.
[30] Cohen S `State Crimes of Previous Regimes: Knowledge, Accountability, and the Policing of the Past' (1995) 20(1) Law and Social Inquiry 24.
[31] Zalaquett J `Balancing Ethical Imperatives and Political Constraints: The Dilemma of New Democracies Confronting Past Human Rights Violations', (1992) 43(6) Hastings Law Journal 1427.
[32] Hayner P `Fifteen Truth Commissions -- 1974 to 1994: A Comparative Study', (1994) 16 Human Rights Quarterly 597-655.
[33] Quoted in (1992) 4(11) `South Africa: accounting for the past. the lessons for South Africa from Latin America' Human Rights Watch/Africa.
[34] As Clifford writes: `How are the truths of cultural accounts evaluated? Who has the authority to separate science from art? Realism from fantasy? Knowledge from ideology?' in Clifford J and Marcus (eds) Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography 1986 12.
[35] At the same time that it is important to point out the relativity of truth, in the context of human rights abuse -- it is not necessarily a responsible position to hold. As Cohen writes: `We can understand how the nature of the present determines how the past is viewed, but without colluding in the post-modernist denial of the status of truth claims independent of time and place'. Cohen S `State Crimes of Previous Regimes: Knowledge, Accountability, and the Policing of the Past' (1995) 20(1) Law and Social Inquiry, 49.
[36] As Burgess points out in his discussion of oral history as a method in field-work: `How reliable is the evidence of oral history? How do you check the reliability of oral sources?' Burgess R Field Research: A Sourcebook and Field Manual (1982) 189.
[37] Cohen S `State Crimes of Previous Regimes: Knowledge, Accountability, and the Policing of the Past' (1995) 20(1) Law and Social Inquiry, 1.
[38] Ntsiki Biko, interviewed by James Britain for Index on Censorship vol. 5 1996.
[39] Chilean Women quoted in Summerfield `Raising the Dead: war, repatriation and the politics of memory' (1995) 311 British Medical Journal, 495 - 497.
[40] Human Rights organisations also conceive of the right to truth as a human right. The human rights organisation Article 19, for example, argues that the `right to truth' is contained within Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights which contains the right to `seek, receive and impart information.' Hayner P `Fifteen Truth Commissions -- 1974 to 1994: A Comparative Study', (1994) 16 Human Rights Quarterly 597-655.
[41] Hayner, ibid.
[42] Zalaquett J `Balancing Ethical Imperatives and Political Constraints: The Dilemma of New Democracies Confronting Past Human Rights Violations', (1992) 43(6) Hastings Law Journal 1433.
[43] Popkin M and Roht-Arriaza N `Truth as Justice: Investigatory Commissions in Latin America', (1995) 20 Law and Social Inquiry 27-54.
[44] Zalaquett J `Balancing Ethical Imperatives and Political Constraints: The Dilemma of New
Democracies Confronting Past Human Rights Violations', (1992) 43(6) Hastings Law Journal 1437.
[45] Punishment for Past Abuses of Human Rights; (memo) Human Rights Watch, discussion at joint meeting on March 29.
[46] Felman & Laub Testimony: Crises of Witnessing in Literature, Psychoanalysis and History, Routledge, New York (1992) p 85.
[47] Buss and Agger A `Trauma, testimony and Social memory' (1989) RPN 5.
[48] Summerfield (1995), `Raising the Dead: War, Repatriation and the Politics of Memory' British Medical Journal vol. 311 495.
[49] Cohen S `State Crimes of Previous Regimes: Knowledge, Accountability, and the Policing of the Past' (1995) 20(1) Law and Social Inquiry 20.
[50] Ignatieff M `Articles of Faith' (1996) 5 Index on Censorship 597-655.
[51] Truth and Reconciliation Commission Report April 20, 1996 p 60.
[52] Aryeh Neier, lecture given at Oxford University (All Souls College) February, 1997.
[53] Dorfman A `Widows' The Guardian, February 22, 1997.
[54] Zalaquett J `Balancing Ethical Imperatives and Political Constraints: The Dilemma of New Democracies Confronting Past Human Rights Violations', (1992) 43(6) Hastings Law Journal 1437.
[55] Just how powerful this naming process can be is well illustrated within Aboriginal culture in Australia. To name the dead is seen to be a very dangerous act, and sometimes for as long as five years after a person's death they are referred to by another name altogether.
[56] Dorfman A `Widows' The Guardian February 22, 1997.
[57] `One night I was visited by an image almost a hallucination: an old woman by a river; holding the hand of a body that had just been washed up on the bank. And the certainty that this scene had happened before, that this was not the first time the river had yielded a dead man to the arms of that old and twisted woman.' Ibid.
[58] Zalaquett J `Balancing Ethical Imperatives and Political Constraints: The Dilemma of New Democracies Confronting Past Human Rights Violations', (1992) 43(6) Hastings Law Journal Cohen S `State Crimes of Previous Regimes: Knowledge, Accountability, and the Policing of the Past' (1995) 20(1) Law and Social Inquiry 5, 27-54; Popkin M and Roht-Arriaza N `Truth as Justice: Investigatory Commissions in Latin America', (1995) 20 Law and Social Inquiry 27-54, 79-116.
[59] As Timothy Garton-Ash in an article in The New York Review (July 17, 1997, p 36) writes: `De Klerk argues that the country faced "a revolutionary onslaught." The ANC aimed to make the country ungovernable: `You cannot fight that kind of thing in the normal way'.
[60] As Scheper-Hughes writes in relation to the work of anthropologists in the field: `It is the act of witnessing that lends our work its moral, at times almost theological character.' Scheper-Hughes N `The Primacy of the Ethical: Propositions for a Militant Anthropology' (1995) 15 Current Anthropology 227-282.
[61] Cohen S `State Crimes of Previous Regimes: Knowledge, Accountability, and the Policing of the Past' (1995) 20(1) Law and Social Inquiry 5, 32. Ross K R, for example, in an article entitled `The Truth Commission as Religious Imperative', writes: `central to Christian belief is the conviction that the guilt of our past must be dealt with before we can enter a new life.'
[62] Ignatieff M `Articles of Faith' (1996) 5 Index on Censorship 597-655, 111.
[63] I use the word `ideal' with reservations - it would take a whole thesis to examine the degree to which western (post-enlightenment) concepts of legal justice actually fit or are relevant to non-western societies.
[64] Cohen S `State Crimes of Previous Regimes: Knowledge, Accountability, and the Policing of the Past' (1995) 20(1) Law and Social Inquiry 5, 42.