Last night we watched a documentary called
Where Truth Lies. It follows the story of Gideon Niewout, one of the most feared security police in apartheid South Africa, and 22-year old student activist Siphiwo Mtimkulo, whom Niewout tortured and killed.
In 1995, South Africa tried to begin the process of healing through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) hearings. There were so many crimes committed under apartheid, and it was decided that the country could never move forward if so many crimes remained unknown and the perpetrators were left to go through the regular criminal justice system. Through the TRC hearings, apartheid-era perpetrators of crimes against humanity could receive amnesty if they confessed to the full details of the crimes and showed "genuine remorse." So many families of victims thought that knowing the truth of what happened to their family members was more important that retribution. People wanted to find it in themselves to forgive (but not forget) so that the new nation of South Africa could come together and move on.
Where Truth Lies followed just one TRC story. There were hundreds. People who were here at the time remember that the hearings were on TV twenty-four hours a day, for weeks and weeks. It was all you heard when you turned on the radio. So this was just one story. In the movie, Niewout talks about the completely inhumane torture of Mtimkulo. They beat him, poisoned him, interrogated him, humiliated him, and ultimately killed him, just for the peaceful protest of the apartheid regime. The movie also showed his mother, who through some incredible power has found it in her heart to forgive.
Niewout shows up at Mtimkulo's mother's house to apologize and beg forgiveness. Mtimkulo's mother calmly listens to his completely half-assed apology, in which he insincerely talks about serving his government loyally and later finding Jesus. He sounds way too defensive and unremorseful in general. She then tells him that it brings her so much joy that he has come finally to apologize, that she has waited so many years for this day. You want to shake her for letting him off so easy, after all the pain you can see her fighting, as she and her silent husband beside her both wring their hands in their laps. Then, Mtimkulo's son enters the picture.
His son was born after his death, and never knew his father. Because he blames Niewout for robbing him of a father for his whole life (understandably), he has more trouble "forgiving" than anyone else in the family, and fainted at the actual TRC hearing when the details of his father's torture were being described. So, just as Mtimkulo's mother is ready to shake Niewout's hand, Mtimkulo's son rushes onscreen and smashes a vase over Niewout's head, causing blood to pour down the side of his face. Niewout is fine, just a bit bruised. I'm not usually a proponent of violence, but I felt he only had begun to get what he deserved. After all, Mtimkulo was only one of his many, many victims. But ultimately, the TRC granted Niewout full amnesty for full disclosure.
After the movie, we all sat around and discussed it. I knew the conversation was going to be intense when one of the guys on my program tried to start off the dialogue. He's usually extremely composed and articulate, but as he began to speak, he started to cry, and apologized with: "I'm sorry. That man killed my uncle." The discussion pretty much went further down that road, with all of the South Africans having some unbelievable story to share. The people who are my age lived half their lives under apartheid, and no one forgets. No one can talk about it without being extremely emotional. By the end of the discussion, everyone was in tears, including the facilator, one of our program directors. It was intense -- the South Africans would say "hectic" -- but necessary.
Talking about it and relating experiences opens old wounds that have just begun to heal. Life under apartheid is one of the most difficult discussions to have with students here, because everyone needs to put it behind them to be able to live their daily lives, even if -- in some cases -- their daily lives are a constant reminder of past wrongs.