Editorial: Prophetic Speaking & Listening
Alwyn Thomson

Comment: Time to Build
David Porter

Should Nations Apologise
Greg Forster

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SHOULD NATIONS APOLOGISE?
The Queen has given the Maoris an apology for the abuses that followed the 1840 Treaty of Waitangi. Some veterans of the Second World War object to even restrained language about 'reconciliation'. They, too, want an apology, for hurts suffered at Japanese hands.

But what do such apologies mean? Can only the victims forgive? Is it only the culprits who can apologise? Did any meaningful apology for his nation's war crimes die with the Emperor Hirohito? Can our present queen say anything valid about a treaty Victoria failed to uphold? Should George Carey have apologised for Cromwell's massacre of the Irish?

What can such transactions achieve? Does an apology really wipe out the past, or does it realign present relationships expressed through corporate memories? Can an apology work if those concerned remember different histories or have different moral codes? The Japanese Prime Minister has spoken of 'sincere repentance for our past aggression that caused unbearable suffering in China', but we were not listening with Japanese ears.

Will our veterans hear the apology the Japanese churches have offered, or will they insist that it must come from the country's rulers? May an apology not be an extension of the unconditional surrender the victor demands, perhaps from a desire to be exonerated from his own unjust acts? Did we need Germany's apology so that we could forget Dresden? Dare we consider whether in war's grim arithmetic Hiroshima and Pearl Harbor were on a par as bids for rapid victory, or do we long to be justified for unleashing the Bomb? How can we know that 'sincere apology' is not just a ploy to open up foreign markets?

Can we in any case, apply individual ethical categories to corporate entities such as states?

The Bible recognises corporate responsibility. Isaiah felt compromised by living among 'a people of unclean lips'. Nehemiah confessed national sins. Such reassessments of history formed the basis for reform. We cannot therefore refuse forgiveness on the grounds that each episode is discreet and only those involved can apologise or forgive. Our generation is caught up in the continua of each nation's ongoing identity. In each generation, those identities can be redefined. Such a reassessment of history begins quietly, though it may surface with a flourish of trumpets in some election victory. It may lead to public apologies, such as Japan's to China, or affirmations of strength such as Ronald Reagan's announcement that the United States would again 'walk tall in the world'.

Consider how apologies work on an individual level. The wrongdoer begins with self-justification and may proceed to criticise the other party: "Couldn't they see how I felt?" If one is to risk the vulnerability of admitting fault, it takes a strong sense of the other person's value and a confidence, too, in one 5 own. An apology may go unacknowledged and benefit only the conscience of the one who gives it - or it may elicit forgiveness.

Forgiveness itself is not a trite thing. The person who has been wronged is still hurt and indignant and may grow bitter if nothing changes. Only as we become willing to understand, or realise Cod's injunction to forgive, do we move from resentment to the reconstruction that comes from forgiveness. (The process may have to start with prayer for the willingness to forgive. Forgiveness, too, needs a sense of one's inherent worth before it blossoms. Even then, resentment often resurfaces, and hurts have to be rehealed.)

Forgiveness should not be conditional on an apology. For our own wellbeing, we should let resentment go, not allow ourselves still to be hurt. It is a bonus if forgiveness inspires repentance.

Apply this to international affairs, and the process becomes more complex. The wrongs we commit fade from our history more quickly than those we suffer. A leader may know the wrongs his nation has done, but he still has to look over his shoulder: a Japanese prime minister depends on his majority as much as a British one.

A nation must be confident enough to accept the loss of face that goes with confession or else the apology will be retracted later on grounds of duress. Those who demand apologies should recognise that and accept those murmurs of regret they have heard. This may produce the confidence from which further 'sincere repentance' may come. Strident demands will hardly woo such words, and may merely feed resentment. The forgiveness which preceded reconciliation in South Africa, fragile though that is, offers a model.

Is Britain great enough to confess its wrong to Ireland? Can the US 'walk tall' enough to bow its head to those it has hurt? Or is it too dangerous to redefine our identity so as to acknowledge that others see the same history differently and our hurt by it? This is what apology amounts to.

Greg Forster - This article first appeared in Third Way September 1995 (18.7) and is reprinted with permission.