(Excerpt)
by Rev. Marie M. Fortune
New Orleans
December 2001
(Attribution to FaithTrust Institute)
Judith Herman in TRAUMA AND RECOVERY begins by pointing out that there are two kinds of trauma: first there is trauma brought about by natural forces or accident. This is the "shit happens" trauma. And it does -- a lot. Floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquake, fire, auto accident, blizzard, volcano. The thing about this trauma, according to Herman, is that humans know how to respond to it. Amazing though it may seem even in our postmodern world, empathy and sympathy abound in the face of these disasters. Neighbors help one another. Outsiders show up with food and supplies. For us here in the U.S. , FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) kicks into gear. Low cost loans are available. The community pulls together pulls to help us to cope with these circumstances.
This is an example of what is described in Hebrew scripture as the hospitality code. These community norms were very strong and the expectation was very clear. If you, a Jew, encountered a widow, an orphan or a sojourner/stranger in your midst, you were expected to care for that person and provide for their safety and their economic well-being. The text is very clear that the reason for this was not altruistic; the reason was that Jews were to remember that they were once strangers in the land of Egypt. In other words, this isn't about being a nice person; this is about remembering that you have been in a vulnerable position and will be there again. So when you are able, help out your neighbor and your neighbor will be there for you when you need it. And this is what most people do in the face of natural disasters or accidents.
But, as Herman points out, there is another kind of trauma. There is trauma clearly caused by the actions of another human being, an agent of trauma. But when the traumatic events are of human design, those who bear witness are caught in the conflict between victims and perpetrator. It is morally impossible to remain neutral in this conflict. The bystander is forced to take sides. It is very tempting to take the side of the perpetrator. All the perpetrator asks is that the bystander do nothing..... The victim, on the contrary, asks the bystander to share the burden of pain. The victim demands action, engagement and remembering. (Judith Herman, TRAUMA AND RECOVERY, pp.7-8)
But unfortunately the likely human response to this trauma is to do nothing, except to blame the victim; what was she wearing; what was she doing there; why did she marry him; why was he walking there. There is little empathy or sympathy, a deflection of attention away from the agent of the trauma and a tendency to silence or ostracize the victim altogether. The moral substance of this trauma is murky And since the perpetrator most likely is someone know to both the victim and her community, bystanders prefer not to get involved.
Now interestingly, in some ways we see the 9/11 tragedies as somewhere in between. Not a natural disaster; not an accident; but a result of the action of an enemy, an outsider, now dubbed "the evil one". So it becomes surrounded with the moral quality of a natural disaster. It is, supposedly, neat and tidy in terms of morality. We are good guys and they are bad guys; not just bad but "other", foreigners, alien to us.
Hence the outpouring of sympathy and support for the families of the 3,000+ people now believed to have been killed has been unprecedented. Millions of dollars; tons of food for the rescuers; in the beginning, hundreds of blood donors; search and rescue dogs and workers from all over the country.
Now let me be clear that I have no quarrel with this response. It is the wider community within and beyond our national borders -- responding to an unprecedented violent attack on the U.S. And it has been the response of community that has sustained us through these recent days. People have reached out to each other, to be connected -- by phone, email, letter or in person. And it is the community around the family members of the victims who sustain them in their grief and loss.
Ultimately a political analysis must go deeper than this and an ethical analysis must be willing to wade into the murky waters of the history of U.S. foreign policy and let go of the simplicity of "good guys" v. "bad guys". But that is another lecture.
I want however this evening to consider why the response to battered women or rape victims or abused children is often so different than what we have seen in recent weeks. After all, the number of women murdered by their partners and children murdered by their parents or caretakers in the U.S. is about the same each year as the number of people killed in the 9/11 attacks. Yet programs that seek to prevent these incidents are address the aftermath struggle constantly for funding to keep the doors open.
I want however this evening to consider why the response to battered women or rape victims or abused children is often different that what we have seen in recent weeks. After all, the number of women murdered by their partners and children murdered by their parents or caretakers in the U.S. is about the same each year as the number of people killed in the 9/11 attacks. Yet programs that seek to prevent these incidents or address the aftermath struggle constantly for funding to keep the doors open.
Fundamentally, I believe that the difference is that with rape, battering and abuse, we have a perpetrator who is usually a friend, neighbor, coworker or family member, not an enemy. And as Herman says, we bystanders are forced to take sides. It's not hard to take sides against Al Quaeda; it is harder to take sides against Uncle George or the coach or pastor who has molested a kid -- which means that a great deal of trauma resulting from the abuse remains privatized and thus tacitly accepted as "just the way things are". So we don't experience the kind of urgency and outrage that followed 9/11 in response to yet another abused child or battered woman. And those of us who worry about trauma live with this contradiction.
Tonight I want to focus on this trauma at the hands of another person, not an enemy: to deconstruct it, engage it and address our responses to it. In my experience working with vicitms and survivors of sexual and domestic violence, I have seen that people suffer not only the abuse they experience but also from the threat of meaninglessness that comes with it. The only thing worse than suffering is meaningless suffering. So people who experience the trauma of violence at the hand of another person, usually not a stranger or enemy, struggle to make meaning - and usually in a context of isolation, ostracism and moral ambiguity - if not moral condemnation and victim blaming.
The first question victims and survivors ask is some version of "why did this happen to me?" For many the question is theological: "why did God let this happen to me?" This question of why suffering happens at all and, specifically, why does it happen to me is the classic theological conundrum faced by all the world's religions. And there is no unambiguous answer. The fact is that suffering does happen to every human being and it is not God's doing; it is most likely the result of human incompetence, inadequacy or cruelty. Some of us still refer to this as "sin". But whatever we call it, and wherever it originates, the consequence for many people is traumatic.
I was on vacation several years ago at the beach. On my early morning walk, I noticed all along the edge of the tide on the sand that there were pieces of broken glass, small pieces whose sharp edges had been softened by the action of the water and sand. All colors, I reached down and picked up these pieces as I walked along so that when I returned form my walk, I had two handfuls of glass. I tossed them into the trash. The next morning, once again broken glass all along the beach. Once again, I picked up the pieces not wanting to cut myself or to leave them for the next beach walker. On the third day, again glass all over the beach. At this point, I began to consider: where was the glass coming from and who broke it to begin with?
It is not enough to pick up the pieces, though this is critically important. Our efforts to put the pieces back together, to provide the glue that restores the bottle or vase or glass to its original shape are critical resources. But we must be willing to ask, "who broke the glass?" and "how can they be held accountable so as not to do it again?" This is where our response to traumatic violence must include a response to the perpetrator. And we must be willing to engage the whole community in being the glue that puts the pieces back together and prevents the breaking in the future.
As I have walked with survivors and victims of violence, they have taught me much about what they need in their healing process. Generally, I find that they know what they need but that rarely does anyone take the time to ask them what they need. They are often clear and concrete and their expectations are usually pretty reasonable. So if we categorize the things that people often need in their healing process, we might come up with a list that fits under the rubric of "justice-making", because these things are really about justice.
Now I am not here limiting the possibilities to the actions of a judicial system. All too often the judicial process is not about justice for victims or accountability for perpetrators, but about fairness of procedures. I am using the term "justice" in a broader, moral and philosophical context. In other words, what does the human spirit need in order to heal and move on?
Truth-telling: a chance to speak the truth about what the person has experienced; to tell the story.
Acknowledgement: to be heard and understood by someone who matters; and to have the moral quality of the experience acknowledged.
Compassion: literally "to suffer with"; for the bystander to be able to listen and be present to the suffering without "fixing" or turning away.
Protect the Vulnerable: to protect anyone else who might be vulnerable to harm from this perpetrator.
Accountability: to hold the perpetrator accountable; "confession" and apology are consequences, to prevent further harm; the theological term is repentance.
Restitution: material compensation for the losses incurred by the victim; ideally provided by the perpetrator as an act of repentance; if not, then by the community.
Vindication: not revenge; to be vindicated is to be set free; scars remain but healing is sufficient so as not to continue to be held in bondage to the trauma.
I was working with an incest survivor in her 30's a few years ago. She was ready to "confront" her abuser but was stymied because he was deceased. Still she wanted to tell someone in her family and chose her father whose brother, her uncle, had abused her. She wrote him a long letter. We discussed her expectations about his response to the letter. She didn't know what he would do. They had a good long-distance relationship. But she decided it didn't matter how he responded, she just needed to tell him what happened. He received her letter and got on a plane immediately to come to her. He said, "I am sorry I didn't protect you from my brother. I didn't know he was abusing you but I knew you were struggling during those years. I should have been there for your; it's my job; I'm your father. I know you've been in therapy. How much have you spent?" She told him. 'There will be a check in the mail when I get home."
When I saw this woman several weeks later, she was a different person. She still had issues to work on in therapy and in her support group. But this short conversation with her father had given her more than most people get. He heard her, believed her, apologized for not protecting her, and made restitution to her. She experienced justice.
Several years ago I was training in southeast Alaska with members of the Linguist tribe. As we discussed domestic violence, they began to share a memory they have of a time a hundred years earlier when wife abuse was not tolerated among them and was quite rare. The custom was that if a husband abused his wife, the whole community gathered for a potlatch and his clan would have to make a material payment to her clan. Everyone knew why they were there and abuse was unusual because it was shameful and expensive.
When while settlers brought alcohol to the area, many of the social customs and values were destroyed. Now wife abuse is as common among the Tlingits as elsewhere in the U.S. but these people have a memory of a time when it wasn't so, a memory they can return to as a response. They can begin to find ways to replicate these customs which insured justice and accountability in the community.
In these illustrations we are looking at the actions of the community, our responsibilities as 'by-standers'. How do we make justice in order to contribute to an individual's healing process? And to a perpetrator's accountabilitiy and change?
Of course the irony in all this is that as bystanders, we too are served by our engagement. It allows us to do something in the face of the potential of powerlessness, to stand in solidarity, to not give in to the violence that surrounds us.
As we walk the beach each day, it matters that we notice the broken glass; that we stop and pick up the pieces; that we try to glue them back together when we can; that we try to find the source and stop the breaking.
Which brings us finally to forgiveness. Now let me be clear: I am very hard nosed about forgiveness. It's the last thing I bring up with a victim or survivor of trauma. Forgiveness is the last step at best. But it can hold a key to healing. Unfortunately it is usually the community (family, friends, the perpetrator or religious group) who press the issue of forgiveness with survivors -- usually with good intentions and often as a cure-all. But it is not a helpful place to begin for either survivor or perpetrator.
I got a call from a therapist who worked with incest offenders in a court mandated program. He wanted me to come and meet with the group which was made up of mostly Christian man. They wanted do discuss religion and the therapist knew he was not qualified to help them. So I went and met with them for three hours, at the end of which they said, "Whenever you talk with people about forgiveness, tell them not to forgive us so quickly". Each Christian offender had gone straight to his pastor when he was first arrested. Each one had been prayed over and sent home "forgiven". They said, "it was the worst thing anyone could have done to us. It meant that we could continue to try to avoid responsibility for the harm we did to our children".
I take their plea very seriously: "don't forgive us so quickly". Quick forgiveness or cheap grace is not helpful to perpetrators -- and it can be devastating to survivors whose process is cut short. Some experience of justice is the prerequisite for forgiveness and eventually for healing. It may be a 10 minute conversation with a significant person or a 2 year civil or criminal trial. It may be an apology from a Bishop. It may be compensation for medical expenses.
Whatever it is can free the survivor to "let go" -- never to accept justification for the trauma inflicted on her or him. But to let go and move on. Never to "forgive and forget", but to let go and put aside the immediacy of the memories in order to get on with one's life. Forgiveness, healing, recovery -- these become real possibilities when the community surrounding the survivor create the conditions for an experience of justice. For the perpetrator -- the goal is the possibility of change, or, as we theologians say, repentance: "to get a new heart and a new mind", to be restored to community. This also become a possibility in the context of justice.
Real possibilities? In these days of postmodern cynicism, grief and terror? When the fear of trauma and the memory of trauma shape our lives? When uncertainty and confusion meet us at every turn? When political and moral ambiguity are the substance of our everyday lives? This IS the new millennium. Now more than ever our efforts are needed. To work for justice that makes for healing -- and justice that makes for peace. To be vigilant in protecting democracy. To bring wisdom and courage to our scholarship and advocacy. To believe that the world will turn again toward the sun.
We are a community of scholars, activists and advocates. We bring the resources that our world need in the darkness of these days. Now more than ever. So I leave you with these words from Adrienne Rich:
"My heart is moved by all I cannot save: so much has been destroyed. I have to cast my lot with those who age after age, perversely, with no extraordinary power, reconstitute the world.
And I urge you to continue to cast your lot with those who work to reconstitute the world.
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