Читать книгу From Apartheid to Democracy - Katherine Elizabeth Mack - Страница 12
ОглавлениеAMBIVALENT SPEECH, RESONANT SILENCES
Memories, like stories, can never be free.
—SARAH NUTTALL
I am not going back there. Pray to God that I am not asked to appear before the TRC again. Yes, going to the TRC was a victory. It was a victory in that I found the courage to confront my rape. It gave me a platform to share my grief. It made me talk. Hopefully, I will heal in time.
—THANDI SHEZI
The Commission’s work relied on giving words to experience. Yet, women’s “silence” can be recognised as meaningful. To do so requires carefully probing the cadences of silence, the gaps between fragile words, in order to hear what it is that women say.
—FIONA ROSS
Scholars and human rights activists agree that telling one’s story does not necessarily promote long-term psychic recovery or healing (Hamber). However, they have found that doing so fulfills a basic human desire to “break the silence.” As Priscilla Hayner explains, “truth commissions seem to satisfy—or at least begin to satisfy—a clear need of some victims to tell their stories and be listened to” (Unspeakable 135). Those commissions that hold hearings aim to create the conditions for “free speech” by providing victims with the opportunity to share their stories before a sympathetic audience. The validation that results from speaking (and from being heard) ostensibly contributes to the restoration of victims’ dignity and also promotes their inclusion in the national community from which they had been excluded, thus contributing to a truth commission’s nation-building project. These scenes of “free speech” intrigue rhetoricians, who share with truth commissions a faith in the transformative and dignifying power of speech. Speaking freely about the past, though, proved to be more difficult than the TRC had anticipated for both the perpetrators and victims of apartheid violence. In this chapter, I take up the topos of speech and silence in relation to women survivors of apartheid violence. Women survivors worked within and against the Commission’s assumptions about the significance of the violations they suffered, about the spaces wherein they would want to speak their memories, and about the meanings of their silences. Some did so within the space of the Commission’s Women’s Hearings, while others did so by refusing to speak—by remaining silent. Their participation in the TRC process traversed the spectrum of speech and silence, revealing the rhetorical resonance of each.
Reading across time, context, and genre, beginning with the texts generated by the TRC and then considering various nonfiction and imaginative receptions of its process, creates a nuanced portrait of the rhetorical situation generated by the Human Rights Violations Committee (HRVC) and women’s responses to it. In this chapter, I first provide the theoretical foundation of the TRC’s belief in the causal relationships among voice, dignity, and citizenship. I then demonstrate how these beliefs shaped its engagement with women participants who tended to speak about the violations suffered by the men in their lives, rather than their own direct experiences. Women’s silences about their direct experiences of human rights violations threatened to obstruct the TRC’s truth-gathering and nation-building project. Commissioner Mapule Ramashala observed, “If women do not talk then the story we produce will not be complete” (qtd. in Ross 22). The Commission thus made special efforts to get women to speak through the creation of Women’s Hearings. Thandi Shezi, a woman survivor, testified at these hearings in 1997. While Shezi was not a public figure prior to her appearance before the TRC, since testifying she has figured in scholarly articles, a documentary, and a play about women’s experiences in detention and the psychic effects of testimony.1 She thus became a public figure in the sense that her story has circulated widely and been appropriated to support a variety of arguments about the effects of public truth telling and the TRC process. Shezi engaged in a series of conversations with journalist Pamela Sethunya Dube in 2001 in which she reflected both on her experiences in detention and on her experience testifying before the TRC. These conversations took textual form in Dube’s “The Story of Thandi Shezi.” Despite the lapse in time and the intimate, unofficial nature of these conversations, I show how the TRC’s arguments about voice, agency, and identity influence both Dube’s framing of “Story” and Shezi’s contributions to it. My analysis demonstrates the persistence and continuing power of the TRC’s claims about voice and silence to shape practices of remembrance. At the same time, I demonstrate how in the Women’s Hearings and the conversation with Dube, Shezi complicates those claims by asserting her identity as a survivor, not a silenced or voiceless victim, and by challenging the Commission’s interpretation of the effects of her speech and of the meaning of her silences. While the Commission contoured what participants said within and beyond the hearings, it did not fully control their speech.
The remainder of this chapter offers insights into why some women would choose not to participate in the TRC process—that is, why they would choose to maintain silence. I argue that these women’s silences do not necessarily or always signify voicelessness or a lack of power. Silence poses a methodological challenge; by its very nature, it eludes analysis. One way to gauge the rhetorical power of silence is by attending to its effects—both institutional, as in the TRC’s Women’s Hearings, and literary, as in Achmat Dangor’s Bitter Fruit, a novel that explores the complicated origins, evolution, and effects of the silences that the TRC sought to break. Lydia, the main female character in Bitter Fruit, refuses the TRC’s invitation to speak about her apartheid-era rape, and, in so doing, challenges its assumptions about the relationship between speech and selfhood while simultaneously resisting inscription into its nation-building project. This chapter on the topos of speech and silence aims to complicate both the TRC’s idealized notions of “free speech,” as well as its critics’ claims of total foreclosure, in addition to demonstrating the resonance of silence as a “specific rhetorical art” (Glenn 2).
I Speak, Therefore I Am: The TRC’s Theoretical Assumptions About Voice and Agency
The TRC’s heady rhetoric about the transformative potential of victims’ stories weaves together diverse discourses that nevertheless all hinge on the assumed relationship between speech and selfhood. From ancient times to the present, Western political theorists have linked speech to action and civilization. The rhetorical philosopher Isocrates (ca. fourth century B.C.E.) boldly asserted, “Of all human capabilities [speech] is responsible for the greatest goods. . . . If one must summarize the power of discourse, we will discover that nothing done prudently occurs without speech (logos), that speech is the leader of all thoughts and actions, and that the most intelligent people use it most of all” (Antidosis, §§ 251–57). Roughly two thousand years later, philosopher Hannah Arendt echoed Isocrates with her claim that speech enables human existence: “With word and deed we insert ourselves into the human world” (156–57). In the Western tradition, speaking confirms one’s humanity, intelligence, and agency. Civilization itself, it would seem, requires humans who speak.
