The politics of forgiveness

The politics of forgiveness
Renuka Narayanan

Pity Mr Mufflemouth, whose passport is stamped with a bunch of stone lions. He can't ever speak freely without someone feeling hurt. But hark at the rest of the world, they're letting it all hang out, like we never can.

Examples: The Waldorf Bhakti Mela pamphleteers that "All religions are equal" (won't you please come out and say so in crescent countries?). Barely days after, the Pope stamps his sanctified slipper and bleats that only a Catholic ticket will buy you a stairway to heaven, for he alone is CEO of Agnus Dei (Lamb of God) Inc. Next door, Sheikh Hasina, very understandably, finally comes out and tells Parvez Musharraf that Bangladesh cannot forget '71, he has to say sorry for Yahya and Tikka. Half a world away, a film on the Black September murder of 11 Israeli athletes at the Munich Games is timed to cast a shadow on Sydney. The Israelis have not forgiven the Germans, 28 years later, for continuing with the Games after the murder.

Makes you think, doesn't it? Of apologies you're never going to hear? Will the Boers apologise to the Inkatha? Will WASPs apologise to Native Americans? Will Timurids and Ghaznavids apologise to Rajputs? Will the Congress apologise to Sikhs? Will the Sena apologise to Mohammed Ali Road? The Brits, to half the world? How far back should we go? Living memory or beyond?

So what is the definition of forgiveness? Is it betrayal of those who suffered death if we mend fences with their destroyers for the sake of the future? Do we break faith with those who gave their tomorrows for our today? Should we sustain the credo "never forgive, never forget"? Or swallow the past only when nothing can be gained from re-activating nasty memories?

At the end of the day, it seems to have to do entirely with convenience and self-interest, doesn't it? A wife whose husband is unfaithful may forgive him because he is a provider. A parent may forgive an unpleasant son because he represents old age insurance. A country may make peace with a hostile neighbour or a superpower because it makes good economic sense. If we really sit down and think about it, there are no absolute answers. It is all in the attitude or mental standpoint we embrace as received `wisdom'.

But the truth liberates us, though not perhaps as most Good Books intend it shall. If we realise it's one big scam anyway, we are actually set free to be idealistic, romantic, chivalrous, honourable, sentimental and affectionate. Because the living seems to be in the feeling, in the trying and in the doing, in showing up for our lives, because otherwise -- can we deal with meaningless chaos? Can we look unflinchingly at the `darkness upon the face of the deep'? And so we believe in God. Only by this act of will can we forgive the horror and cruelty of life.

So let's not romanticise history. It was smelly, bloody and it hurt like hell. Just see movies like òf40óGladiator if you want a brutal, surround-sound experience of the `glory' of imperial Rome. You'll understand vividly why Marcus Aurelius was such a stoic. Redemption, revenge, forgiveness, the world will rattle on regardless, doing exactly what it's done before, times without end.

But there is a stairway to `heaven' in our own head: our mind. As Bhrigu discovered, after profound tapas: òf40ómanaso hy eva khalv imani bhutani jayante, manasa jatani jivanti, manah prayanty abhisamvishanti. For truly, beings are born from the mind; when born, they live by the mind; and into the mind, departing, they enter (Taittiriyo Upanishad, 4;1).

Godless? Ah, no. Rather, a valiant pardon to God, that we could interpret as "Right, so let's deal with it". As the gloriously drunk jangama says in òf40óMattavilasaprahasana (a Sanskrit satire by Mahendravarman, the Pallava king of Kanchi): òf40óDhirgayurastu bhagawan sapinakapani! Live long, O God, O Trident-bearer!