A Journey for Peace and Justice: Or, Steps towards Better Questions

[청라]

A Journey for Peace and Justice:

or, Steps towards Better Questions

Report on Empowering Program for Women-Headed Families in War-Affected Areas

& on Human Rights Workshop for Religious and Priests

Ilshin Jung

Dispatched Intern from the May18 Memorial Foundation in Gwangju, South Korea

To the Human Rights Office Kandy, Sri Lanka

How many roads must a man walk down before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, how many times must the cannon balls fly before they're forever banned?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

Yes, how many years can a mountain exist before it’s washed to the sea?
Yes, how many years can some people exist before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes, how many times can a man turn his head pretending he just doesn’t see?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

Yes, how many times must a man look up before he can see the sky?
Yes, how many ears must one man have before he can hear people cry?
Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows that too many people have died?
The answer my friend is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

_ Bob Dylan, <Blowin’ in the Wind>

Prelude: A journey to the answer

So, here is the big question. Where is the answer that will eventually save us from violence? What does it mean when ‘Bobby’ says the answer is “blowin’ in the wind”? Does it mean the answer is too ethereal to be grabbed; or, is the answer too obvious to be even conscious of? I am from South Korea, the country of violent modern history, especially marked by 35 years of Japanese colonial exploitation (1910~1945), Korean war between the North and the South (1950~1953) with world-wide casualty of 5 million[1], and the May 18 Democratic Uprising in Gwangju(1980) during which a military regime mercilessly suppressed people’s yearning for a democratic government[2]. The national history filled with countless violent incidents had its trace on my life history, too.

Two people in my family, my mother’s father, and my father’s eldest brother, were shot dead during Korean War. As a post-Korean war and post-May 18 Uprising generation, I have witnessed war-traumas that severely infected my family. My father’s side was being left as an ‘elder-less family’, which was the worst disaster in such an eldest son-centered Confucius society like South Korea; and my mother’s as a ‘head-less family’, which put the left-behind women’s financial and psychological survivals in jeopardy. In short, my family’s whole life was bitterly shattered by the blast of war. And unfortunately, I happened to know too much about what it meant to live surrounded by war-survivors. I remember those war-time stories always ending like this: “Physically, we are not dead. But we are half-dead with broken souls. We had to live something worse than death. I don’t know if you can call that ‘life’ or not.” They were the people to whom crying out loud was a mere luxury; for them, only legitimate way of mourning was to sob alone in the darkness. I guess that is why the question, the big question about peace and justice, haunted me all the time. I am descendent of victims and survivors of violence. I had the duty to find the answer on behalf of those who ardently dreamed of peace and justice but remained unanswered until now.  

Reunion with Grannies and Mommies in War-Affected Areas

I was fed up with all the questions. I wanted to know the answer. Otherwise, I had to find the place where the answer might be hidden, at least. Since I arrived in Sri Lanka for an internship at Human Rights Office Kandy, I thought this country might be the “Place” for me: The place impregnated with the answer of peace and justice. As a starting point of the journey to the answer, I had a precious opportunity to visit women-headed groups in war affected areas in Mannar and Jaffa during 25th ~27th, 2016. This short journey to the North was organized by Fr. Nandana Manatunga, the director of Human Rights Office Kandy, and Mr. Philip Setunga and Mrs. Irene Setunga who committed themselves to the empowering process of women-headed families in war-affected areas in Sri Lanka.

Preparing the internship in Sri Lanka, I had read some articles about the complicate post-war situation and several urgent appeals regarding PTA cases. Yes. I had my homework done. Furthermore, I actually met the families of disappeared and those of PTA suspects in Human Right Office Kandy and Kandy High Court. I saw their tears and heard their desperate petitions. Yet, for some reasons, I could not empathize with the abysmal fear and depression that Asian longest 26-year-civil war had brought to everyday lives of Si Lankan people. It seemed that war was a bygone history. Everything looked so normal, except when I read the urgent appeals and met the families of the survivors/victims of state violence. It was right time for me to face unheard voices from the ‘field’. It was time to meet the invisible reality of Sri Lanka.

On the way to North, I saw several army camps and army-run facilities. And where there were ‘civilian’ territories, there still was unhealed landscape: Empty houses and farms, shell penetrated palm trees, and ripped off walls by bullets, etc. Whenever a finger pointed a certain place, I heard the stories of killing, enforced disappearance, confiscation, and displacement. ‘This is the saddest trip ever!’ I spoke to myself all the way up to Mannar. However, once I met the empowering communities of war widows in Uyilankulam and Manipay, it was my sagging spirit that was empowered. I met the women of incredible courage who finally stepped outside by breaking victims silence to meet other women who shared the agony of losing their beloved during the war. They were there sitting together, chanting their survivor stories with laughter and tears. Even though I barely understood their language, Tamil, with English translation, I absorbed their messages perfectly thanks to the third language between us, the language of survivors and witnesses of which validity reaches all war-affected souls beyond the border of nations.

If a beneficiary should be defined as a person or a party who are being offered with one-sided charity, I would not dare to call these women ‘beneficiaries’ anymore. Through the rolling pay system in which they were asked to pay back to themselves and others in the empowering group to make their own ‘pie’ bigger, they seemed to be regaining the autonomous way of living. The empowering process was not limited to the financial issues. It was the self-dignity and integrity of life that they were slowly and carefully approaching. Next to these courageous women, I also saw the priests and nuns who willingly embraced the pain of war and devoted their lives to the people of war-affected areas. I felt so honored to be close to those people who were following their noble callings. It reminded me of the miracle of loaves and fishes: “They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.”(Matt 14, 16).  

Meeting the female heads of household in the war-affected area brought me back into the old snapshots of my personal history. There are two women in this faded black-and-white photograph: One is my grandmother, a young war-widow in despair, and the other is my mother, an innocent fatherless newborn. They are shivering and hugging each other. In this whole wide world, there seems to be no help for them. What they fear now is not death anymore. It is the life that threatens them the most. They have to fight to death to survive.

I met my grandmother and mother among those war widow groups in northern Sri Lanka. I could hear their whispering voices: “Don’t worry, my dear. We are trying our best to make it. And thank you for coming all the way here to see us again.” There was nothing much that I could do for these reunited ‘grandmother(s)’ and ‘mother(s)’. The only thing I could do was sharing cheek to cheek saying good bye and sending my best wishes: “Granny, Mommy, hang in there, please.”

The experience definitely rearticulated the big question. But I did not get any closer to the answer. Maybe there was no such thing as an answer from the beginning. I almost gave up my journey to find the answer. And it took less than a week that the second opportunity came to me: Human Rights Workshop for Religious and Priests. I didn’t even have to move afar. It was happening in my residing area, Kandy, and by my office, Human Right Office Kandy under the title of “Let Us Promote Pluralism.” During July 25^th~ 28^th, 2016, more than 30 people from Catholic Church and from other religious traditions gathered together to share and discuss their concerns and hopes for the past, present and future of human rights in Sri Lanka. Even though I was not entitled to be part of this intimate union, I was welcomed to observe every discussion and to meet every participant.

The Answer, Finally!

The harmonious process of the workshop through which a variety of perspectives among participants with different, sometimes conflicting, views and opinions were weaved together amazed me. There were voices from North and East, from Central Provinces, and from the South. Naturally, there was some tension between the interpretations over the socio-political situation of post-war Sri Lanka. Through a serious of discussions, the calls for ‘move on’ were counterpoised by the urgent voices of the priests such as Fr. Jeyabalan, Fr. Mariathas, Fr. Augustine and Fr. Nehru who have been witnessing the ongoing war-like situations in the North. Moreover, Christian’s long-cherished hope for new Sri Lanka where “righteousness and peace kiss each other (Psalms 85,10)” was enriched by Dr. Sunil Wijesiriwardana’s introduction of early Buddhist philosophy that accentuated the attitude of interdependence and interconnectedness. Everybody in the discussions seemed to agree, or tried to understand at least, that difference should not be petrified as division; instead, it should be shared like the pollens to bloom its flower, diversity.  

While being introduced to the proposals to the new constitution by Mr. Lal Wijenayake, the Chairman of Public Representations Committee, to the theory of ‘State Nations’ by Suren Perera, a promising lawyer with multi-national training background, and to the concept of ‘Transitional Justice Mechanism’ by world-renowned human rights defender, Ruki Fernando, there seemed to be some undeniable questions that prevailed the whole process of discussions and lectures:“Why are we moving from bad to worse?” “Is this ‘negative peace’ the best we can get?”

And this atmosphere of question suddenly summoned me to appear again before the women that I met in the North: my war-time Grannies and Mommies. Imagining their on-going struggles, I could not help but asking myself numerous questions: How are they doing now? Are they ever going to be fine? Are they truly strong enough to empower themselves? Who can heal their deepest traumatic experiences? What about their grabbed lands? How will they recover their accumulated losses? And who will take care of the priests and nuns, the wounded healers, who dedicated themselves to the war-affected areas?

I found myself recalling people in the North and caring their holistic wellness by asking questions. That was the moment that I realized the answer to my big questions: “What is the solution for violence? “Do peace and justice really exist at all?” The answer was simple: To have a better question while remaining open to all possibilities. That was the answer. The numerous questions from the workshop as below finally taught me that the better question itself, no, the better question only can function as an best answer.

What makes ‘difference’ different from ‘division’? Is it possible to have a single origin? Or, are there only origins there? Can we be who we are when there are no ‘others’? What makes us ‘we’? What happens when two traditions meet each other? Is history air-tightly solid? Or is it just story? Why is there no social movement from Buddhist community in Sri Lanka? Where has the early Buddhism spirit gone? What influences has religion left to language? Is there such a thing as ‘lasting solution/peace’? Or is there only the transitional? How can we bring our ‘good things’ to the next generation? Why is reconciliation not happening? Why is there still the feeling of occupation in the North? Why does it seem to be no ‘division’ within the top? Why does Sri Lanka resist federalism? Is there way out for us? What do we need prior to the new constitution? What is ‘Transitional Justice’? Who are ‘War Heroes’? What do survivors and victims’ families really want? Is unconditional love and forgiveness possible? Is Sri Lanka secular country? What should we, the religious, do for better Sri Lanka?

I never met such a place where so many questions were raised, discussed, and shared as were in Sri Lanka. I got used to choosing the best answer among a set of ready-made, fixed-choice questionnaire. The answers were there for me all the time chosen by traditions, customs, and predecessors. I did not even dare to imagine whether I could be the first to answer to a new question. I did not know that every question was born to be answered differently by each individual. I did not realize that I had been reluctant to find my, your and our uniqueness by questioning absurd prejudices and uncritical conventions. In this paradise of questions, Sri Lanka, I witnessed the incredible moment of questions’ birth.

As all delivery process has its own cost, I saw the pain of physical and psychological exhaustion in Sri Lanka. It is not easy to wait in the silence just hoping something better than us and better than before will happen soon. The Sri Lankan people that I met in the journey for peace and justice, however, were more than ready to embrace all kinds of questions waiting for new possibility, new answer, and new future as if they were the fathers outside the delivery room fidgeting, praying, and happily waiting for the good. If Hanna Arendt was correct about the virtue of ‘Natality’ when she says that each birth represents a new beginning and the introduction of novelty in the world, the birth of a question will be the only one possibility that is left for us to open the gate toward the future.

After the workshop, Dr. Shirley, one of few moderators of the event, asked me a simple question: “Tell me one thing that you liked most about Sri Lanka” I did not give him an answer; instead I said, “There are so many. It is hard to pick one.” But if I were asked the same question again, and if I am allowed to give an so called ‘answer’ this one time, I would say that I loved Sri Lankan ‘fatigue’ of questions caused by respect and tolerance and/or Sri Lankan ‘motion sickness’ caused by restless journey for peace and justice. I was honored to be a part of the process navigating for the better questions and I will cherish the experience trying to be ‘on the move’ with the better question, not to be settled for the ‘cheap’(Dietrich Bonhoeffer) answers.

May God bless this country and its people with the best questions!  

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[1] Korean War (June 25th, 1950 ~ July 27th, 1953) arose from the division of Korean peninsula at the end of WWⅡ and from the global tensions of Cold War. The fighting ended on 27 July 1953, when an armistice was signed. The agreement created the Korean Demilitarized Zoneto separate North and South Korea, and allowed the return of prisoners. However, no peace treaty has been signed, and the two Koreas are technically still at war. Periodic clashes, many of which were deadly, have continued to the present.

[2] May 18 Democratic Uprising refers to a popular uprising in the city of Gwangju South Korea from May 18 to 27, 1980.

On May 18th, 1980 the people of Gwangju passionately protested against the nationwide imposition of martial law. The new military government responsible for the coup dispatched special force paratroopers to Gwangju in order to suppress a peaceful protest led by university students and citizens. The paratroopers brutally and randomly assaulted men and women, old and young. Such attacks aggravated the situation further, and more and more people joined the demonstrations.

On day five of the protest, May 21st, 1980, soldiers opened fire on citizens leaving hundreds of people injured or dead before being driven by massive resistance to a position outside the city. Gwangju was isolated from the rest of the country, surrounded by soldiers who allowed no vehicles or communication from outside until the troops re-entered the city on May 27th, 1980. Despite the blockade, people continued their ordinary lives, living as an autonomous community, cleaning the city, opening stores and shops, etc. Amazingly, not a single case of robbery or burglary was reported despite having no proper administration or security force. However, in the early morning of May 27th the community was brutally ransacked by paratroopers using tanks and helicopters.

During 10 days of resistance, 165 citizens died in and around Gwangju. 76 people went missing, 3,383 were injured, and 1,476 were arrested, affecting 5,100 in total. In addition, 102 people later died due to injuries incurred during the siege. Survivors were far from unscathed with many reporting mental health problems such as auditory hallucinations, somnambulism, obsessive-compulsive behaviors, etc. Incidences of divorce and suicide were uncommonly high among survivors, suggesting that the physical and emotional trauma left an indelible mark on those who experienced events first-hand. By 1997, a national cemetery and day of commemoration (May 18), along with acts to "compensate, and restore honor" to victims, were established. In 2011, 1980 Archives for the May 18th Democratic Uprising against Military Regime located in Gwangju city hall were inscribed on the UNESCO Memory of the World Register.