A New Language of Human Rights: The Four Rs
Robert Seiple Monday, 13 July 2009
Periodically, even legal nomenclature has to be updated. In the case of human rights, the language we use needs to be elevated. Insanity has been defined as doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. For the human rights movement to achieve better results, a new language has to be introduced. I humbly suggest a conscious movement from "toleration" to "respect," from "oaths" to "reverence," from "pardon" to "redemption," and from "conflict resolution" to "reconciliation."[1]
Words have meaning, and therefore, consequence. If words are to be translated into practical actions and sustainable progress, then the language of human rights has to be "incarnational." That is to say, it needs to be capable not just of accurately conveying abstract moral propositions and legal precedents, but of helping transform hearts and minds of real people—victims and perpetrators alike.
To begin, "tolerance" needs to be retired! Stephen Carter, writing in 1994, launches the first shot across the bow of tolerance:
Tolerance without respect means little; if I tolerate you but do not respect you, the message of my tolerance, day after day, is that it is my forbearance, not your right, and certainly not the nation's commitment to equality, which frees you to practice your allegiance. You do it by my sufferance, but not with my approval. And since I merely tolerate, but neither respect nor approve, I might at any time kick away the props, and bring the puny structure of your freedom down around your ears."[2]
Carter is right to pan mere "forbearance," something very different than equality. Tolerance will take us to a lower common denominator. It is the cheapest form of grace, suggesting its application be reserved for people we don't like very much. "I don't like your person, but I will tolerate your presence."
Respect, on the other hand, is a positive byproduct of knowledge and understanding. It suggests a changed behavior, humility, and listening skills. Tolerance is an act of the intellect; respect is a movement of the heart. Tolerance commemorates but respect celebrates and elevates a common humanity. Respect recognizes that all human beings are creatures of a loving God and therefore have inherent human dignity. Tolerance freely uses the language of political correctness, shallow superficiality, and easy ecumenism. Respect has a much better footing, a deeper commitment, and a challenge that appeals to our best instincts and highest values. Respect is one of the most important, if not the most important, components in religious freedom.
Second, our legal human rights nomenclature needs to incorporate "reverence." This is different than simply taking an oath. An oath expresses a commitment to an office, an institution, or a flag. Of the four words discussed here, reverence may be the most difficult to codify. We can start by capturing the tone. Additionally, it is true that the more we embrace respect, the easier it will be to hear that reverential tone so necessary in elevating human relationships.
Reverence is more appropriate than taking an oath because it addresses what it means to be uniquely and distinctively human. Human choice, in the context of Sovereignty, is a gift that should be accepted with profound reverence. It sets humanity apart. Reverence elevates the human condition, demanding its inalienable rights but also celebrating the occasions when those rights become reality. Reverence suggests something sacred, a spiritual encapsulation, a protection invoked from a higher power, an exercise that rises above human cognition. It can only take place when legality and morality become one and the same.
"Redemption" is the third "R" under consideration for new legal language. The relationship of pardon and redemption is not unlike the relationship between pity and mercy. Pity suggests one feels sorry for another. Mercy takes that sorrow as a given and proceeds to do something about it. Similarly, redemption is the action word for the spoken "pardon." If human behavior towards human rights is going to change exponentially in the future, more emphasis needs to be placed on the activity of pardon, for this is the redeeming moment.
I know two helpful examples of redemption. The first took place in an Amish community in central Pennsylvania. A depressed and deranged young man walked into an Amish school building, dismissed the boys, and tied up 10 young girls. He then began to execute the girls by shooting them in the head. Five of the girls were killed in this fashion before his horrific activity was interrupted by the arrival of the local police. At that point, the young man turned the gun on himself and took his own life.
One cannot imagine a more difficult situation to absorb. For the families of the dead and for a community in shock, the events of that day should have prompted numbness and scarring that would have been impossible to escape. But at the end of that day, the women from the Amish community went and sat with the widow of the perpetrator. They understood that she, too, was grieving, and the grief needed to be shared. At the funeral for the perpetrator, over 70 members of the Amish community attended, and since that time over three million dollars has been collected and set aside for the children of the man who pulled the trigger.
This was a redemptive moment, in a day that certainly needed one. It was an act of great moral courage, demonstrating clearly a conviction and a commitment to the sacredness of all life. This community chose to not be another victim and incarnated its faith into unforgettable action. With that action, the concept of pardon took on new meaning, demanding new language be used to express it. This is the language of redemption.
Similarly, the mass killing at Virginia Tech in the spring of 2007 surely needed a redeeming moment. Another young man, who also struggled with depression, went on a killing spree that took the lives of 32 people. He then proceeded to take his own life. In the commentary that filled the airways over the next several days, the 32 victims were lifted up as a group and defined by their innocence, recipients of the terrible demons perverting the mind of their executioner. In one of the ceremonies held on the campus of Virginia Tech, 32 stones were placed on the ground, brought forth by students as a remembrance of those who had been killed. And then something strange happened. A young girl brought a 33rd stone, and quietly placed it at the site of the first 32. For the first time in that awful week, a point of commonality was established among all who had died that terrible day. A statement was made that all 33 were victims—that as humans, each of us is capable of the very best and the very worst of human behavior. A pardon would never be sufficient to right this situation. The events at Virginia Tech needed a redeeming moment.
The final "R" is a big one: "reconciliation." The word has been around for over 2,000 years, and the need ever since Adam and Eve opted for the apple. Reconciliation differs from mediation or conflict resolution. Mediation is a cognitive experience; conflict resolution tends to be logistic in nature. Reconciliation, while dependent on good mediation and conflict resolution, is ultimately a sustainable change of heart. This kind of behavioral change is never easy, and is always a challenge to the authenticity of faith.
Reconciliation principles emerge to some extent from all the major religions. In Christianity, reconciliation forms the absolute heart of the Christian gospel. The international community has learned much in terms of practical implementation, and the experiences of several countries illustrate the difficulty of the exercise. The Sunni/Shi'a schism in Iraq, the ethnic cleansings in the Balkans, the ongoing Arab/Israeli conflict—each is a testament to the difficult challenge ahead of us. But if we are ever going to get the best from faith and preclude the worst that religion has been known to provide, we must learn, understand, and apply the principles of reconciliation.
The last decade has produced some superb writing on reconciliation. Only the briefest of summaries is possible here, but the reconciliation exercise always involves at least four essentials: truth-telling, mercy, justice, and peace.
First, there needs to be a foundation of truth-telling. This is not necessarily truth in an absolute sense, but rather confessional truth that speaks to a common reality of the past. It is usually accompanied by an apology and, if properly done, can pave the way to a more promising future. While truth-telling does not always happen first, unless this step takes place somewhere in the process of reconciliation, the best one can hope for is a papered-over past.
Mercy, like truth-telling, speaks to the past. Something hurtful has been done ("This is what I did to you. This is what you did to me.") that has to be forgiven. Often, forgiveness comes before truth-telling (like Christ's prayer from the cross that God would forgive those who had just put him there) and is the heart of reconciliation. Forgiving the past is never easy but, if done right, precludes the past from claiming another victim. Mercy is the hallmark of authentic faith. Mercy guarantees that the past can be forgiven, and the preferred future is more than just a hope.
Justice, the third element in reconciliation, looks to the future. Indeed, if done right, justice makes sure that the past does not repeat itself. In a sense, justice always exists in a zero sum game with mercy. Bishop Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela incarnated mercy in South Africa because they promoted an amnesty approach to reconciliation whereby mercy smothered the need for justice. Only the personal testimonies of these two moral giants could accomplish this. Most often, justice creates accountability and reminds us there are consequences to harmful activity.
Truth, mercy, and justice collectively form the basis for peace—the fourth component of reconciliation. Peace is security for all. This is genuine peace, not simply security for those living on the "right" side of a fence or of a missile shield. It is felt by all parties involved. It is the ultimate preferred end of a reconciliation process.
Again, reconciliation is always difficult. It involves a commitment of time and a commitment of motive. Its relevance comes from its sustainability. For those who know, believe in, and practice reconciliation, it is the relevance that ensures us of a "seat at the table." The following story demonstrates this relevance.
When I lived in Washington, DC, my pastor was invited to lunch at the Pentagon by the number two civilian stationed there. When he arrived he saw that he would not be lunching alone! There was a veritable "audience" of admirals and generals, providing enough starch and splendor to last a lifetime. The group sat down for lunch and, following the usual small talk, the purpose of the meeting became clear. The admiral who had just assumed responsibility for the Balkans said,
"Tell us about forgiveness. We are experiencing things in Kosovo that we have never seen before."
"Tell us about forgiveness." This was an extraordinary moment. At the Pentagon, the headquarters of the strongest military ever assembled in the history of the world, a lesson was missing. The Pentagon has a budget of a half trillion dollars a year, and it is capable of delivering shock-and-awe power at a moment's notice. But there was a hole in the body armor, a hole that needed to be filled. So, "tell us about forgiveness." Religion has much to bring to the table. Reconciliation is a critical dimension of religion's relevance in a world devoid of easy answers.
It is easy to predict that the next 25 years will be even more challenging than the last 25. The human rights movement, and the lawyers that have played such a pivotal role, will need to elevate their "game." Such an exercise should start with elevating language that befits the task and that serves those who continue to need the best that religion can provide.
[1] This article is excerpted from a lecture delivered in October, 2007 commemorating the Silver Anniversary of the Center for the Study of Law and Religion at Emory University. The lecture's original title was "New Tools; Old Rules: Harmonizing Religious Freedom in the Developed and Developing World."
[2] Stephen Carter, The Culture of Disbelief (Anchor, 1994).