All language subtitles for Beyond.Right.And.Wrong.Stories.Of.Justice.And.Forgiveness.2012.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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[Speaking foreign language]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

[Clamoring]

♪♪

Jean-Baptiste:
My mum's body was maimed.

I couldn't understand how
they could kill her.

Then, I was told,
by one young man,

that my entire family
was killed.

I had eleven brothers.

They were --
No one is alive, besides me.

♪♪

[Gunfire]

[Man shouts]

[Rapid gunfire]
[Man shouting]

[Rapid gunfire]

[Shouting]

♪♪

[Explosion]

[Siren wailing]
[Sobbing]

The two o'clock news,
they said there was a bombing

and my wife said that

someone saw Smadar going
down the street.

You start looking for her.

Eventually, you find yourself
running in the streets,

going from hospital
to hospital.

Later that night, you find
yourself in the morgue

and you see this sight which you
will never be able to forget

for the rest of your life.

♪♪

[Explosion]

Newsreader:
Well, certainly the most
devastating attack, so far,

inside the city walls.

There could hardly have been
a more pointed prelude

to the other main event
of the day --

a huge peace march
in the Irish Republic

by contingents
from North and South

who've had enough
of this kind of violence,

[Glass shattering]
and worse.

[Flames crackling]

[Siren wailing]
In 1984,

we targeted
the Grand Hotel in Brighton,

where the Conservative Party
were holding a conference.

Jo:
My sister woke me up and said,
"Which hotel is -- is dad in?

There's been a bomb in Brighton.
It's on the news."

Pat:
In that operation,
five people were killed.

Over 30 people were injured.

How dareanybody think
their need to be heard

is so important that
they've killed my father.

♪♪

[Birds chirping]

[Crickets chirping]

[Bird cawing]

♪♪

[Bell tolls]

Denis:
People talk about,

"The pen is mightier
than the sword."

I think that's true,

but I think that the --
the spoken word

and the spoken story is even
more powerful than the pen

because I think it goes
further and deeper

into the psyche of human beings.

Sometimes people tell stories

and all they do is
tell their own story.

That's not enough.

You have to tell your own story,
but you also have to hear

the story of the --
of the enemy.

You have to tell the story
of the people

that you have fought with
and argued with,

and perhaps killed.

You have to tell those stories.

A short while ago,
it was confirmed

that one of the dead is the MP
for Enfield Southgate,

Sir Anthony Berry,

who was treasurer
of the royal household.

I was caught for that operation
and sentenced

to eight life sentences,

with a recommendation
that I do fifty years

before being considered
for release,

but was released
after 14 years,

due to the --
the peace process.

[Camera shutters clicking]
Newsreader: Emotional
family reunion

for Catholic prisoners,

[Applause]
most from the
Irish Republican Army.

Among their number,

convicted bombers, snipers,
and murderers.

It was just after Patrick Magee
had been released from prison

that I actually began to feel
the anger and the rage.

Reporter:
Patrick Magee,
a convicted IRA bomber,

walked free from the
Maze Prison in Belfast.

And, suddenly,
I was back in the day,

like it was happening,

and it was
a very scary experience

because the emotions were --
were of the day, not of 1999,

and part of that was this
incredible anger and rage.

You know, how can someone
play God? You know.

And -- and now he's free
and I'm -- I'm left with it

and, you know,
no one's need to be heard

is so great
that they should kill.

[Birds chirping]

[Irish music plays]

♪♪

♪♪

Getting out, I mean,
the first thing is

to get your life back
in some semblance of order.

Then, out of the blue, I was
contacted by Jo Berry.

I wanted to put more
attention and energy

to the part of me that must
find alternatives to blaming,

you know, because then,
I'd stay a victim forever.

I think Jo wanted to meet me
to understand

wh-why her father died.

I thought, one meeting,

say what I have to say,
which would've been, I suppose,

a defense of what I did,
in terms of the politics,

but also, you know, show some
sensitivity towards her

[Train whistle blows]
and --

perhaps express regret at the
loss and that would be it.

We'd --
We'd part and that'd be it.

[Brakes hissing]

I remember sitting
in my friend's kitchen

in -- in Dublin
and knock at the door

and I knew it was Pat and...

I'd -- I was in such a state
of anxiety and kind of,

"Should I be here, even?"
You know,

doubting whether it was
the right thing to do and --

and he walked in and I got up
and shook his hand

and thanked him for coming.

Part of me was thinking,
"Maybe he won't turn up."

He said, "No, no,
I want to thank you."

He was, very, very polite

and I remember looking at him

and thinking,
"You've killed.

You've killed my dad."

The first hour, Pat talked
a lot about the struggle

and why he joined the IRA

and defending his use
of violence.

Why the IRA bomb
the Grand Hotel?

It was because
the Conservative Party were --

were holding
their annual conference

and were using that hotel.

I mean, so, therefore,
people in government

who made the decisions
that had directly affected

what was happening
in the streets here,

that were in control
of the oppression,

you know,
were all there together.

I mean, it seemed quite obvious,
you know, that this

presented
a great target for us.

And I was listening
and asking questions

and telling him about my father

and what had happened to me
since then and --

and after about an hour,
an hour and a half,

he stopped talking
and he sort of --

he wiped -- wiped his eye
and -- and he said,

I don't know what
to say anymore.

I don't know who --
who I am."

[Crying]

[Swallows]

And, in that moment,

I think part of me wanted
to run away

'cause I thought --
I realized

that this was the beginning
of another journey.

I mean, I'm still trying to come
to terms with the fact that

somebody who I've hurt,
I've killed her father,

is still prepared to come
and listen to me

and to talk to me
and to respect my point of view.

He'd opened up

and it was no longer
just him defending himself,

you know,
he'd become vulnerable

and we were starting
something together

and I didn't know
where it was going to take us.

But I think there was a --
a need felt, from both of us,

to meet again,

as if, you know, we'd left
the conversation short.

There was more talk about.

We must've been in similar
circumstances some fifty times.

It doesn't get easy.

Teacher training
college established --

It's lovely.
How old is it?

Well, it's
100 years old.

Then, to the right --

Please welcome Jo Berry
and Pat Magee.

[Applause]

Would you class yourself
or -- or would've classed,

been classed as a soldier
or a terrorist?

I can understand,
after all the decades

of misrepresentation,

while it would be difficult
for people here,

people in this audience,
to think of me as a soldier

and feel, perhaps, comfortable

with the idea
that I'm a terrorist,

in a post-9/11 world,

it's meant to explain a lot
and explains nothing.

A word that my readers
would use is murderer.

You were charged
with murder

of several people.

I had a very
strong experience

about labels
and what they mean

when I was at a -- a workshop
in Northern Ireland

and I was sitting
round the table

and there was somebody there
who'd been a British soldier,

Pat had been the IRA,
and somebody who'd been

in the Loyalist paramilitary
and the UDA.

I could've been
all their sisters.

I could've been their mothers.

I could've been them,
you know.

And, at that moment,
the labels are gone

and they're just human beings

because of what
they've been through.

Did you ever feel
hatred and revenge?

Yes, I have felt anger.

When I felt that kind
of pain, you know,

just absolute bottom pain,

I think I had a choice
to not go for the revenge,

but to end that cycle.

It's a choice to see the enemy
as a human being,

rather than as just the --
the enemy.

Does it not seem,
to Miss Berry,

that she may be
an apologist

for one of the most
horrifying crimes

of this century?

I'm true to myself
and I trust my inner impulse.

It seems to be great
psychotherapy for you,

and it seems to be
a great confessional

for Dr. Magee,
but I'm not quite sure

what the rest of us
are getting out of it.

I think I'm actually

quite a challenging
option for Pat.

I actually think he's extremely
courageous to sit with me.

He said, many times, that
it'd be much easier for him,

if I'd met him with anger
and with political debate,

but the fact that I
listened to him,

gave him respect, right from the
beginning, that was harder.

You can probably gather,
from what Pat said,

that, you know, at times,
it is hard to face me

and the more he knows me,
as a person,

and the more he knows
about my father,

the harder it is
to know that he's hurt me.

He lives with that
contradiction, that difficulty.

You know, we have this tension
between us of that all the time.

Well, one thing
that hit me after --

I couldn't tell you when,
exactly, this happened.

You talked about your father
and I got more of a picture.

He was a human being
who had shaped you.

In other words, all the things
that I admire in you came,

in some measure,
from your father.

That meant this was
a fine human being

and I killed him.

[Camera shutters clicking]

So, that's heavy, you know.

You --

It gives you a measure
of the loss.

[Camera shutters clicking]

And I end up, now,
a very conflicted person.

Um --

Conflicted because,
while I can look at the past

and have an understanding
that we had no other option,

I also know
and carry this heavy burden

that I hurt human beings.

Doesn't matter
that they wore uniforms

and that we can justify --

I can justify actions
in the past.

I hurt human beings

and I carry that,
that burden and...

...meeting you

puts your father there, too.

He's a human being
to me now.

He wasn't
a human being before.

He was a demonized enemy.

He was a, you know,
he was a Tory.

The --

But that's, that's what
you've given me.

[Camera shutter clicking]

♪♪

♪♪

I think, when you're young,

when you're in your seventeens
and your eighteens,

and you don't have the --
the benefit

of any sort of real maturity,

there's a degree of excitement
to it that we all have

and it's -- you look --
you look back at the violence

and it is very difficult
to say that it was worth it.

Very difficult.
I -- I don't think it was.

I don't think it was worth
3,600 deaths,

in any shape or form.

Forty yearsof killing each
other and hurting each other

before we came to a position
where we said,

"Well, we better get
in a room somewhere

and begin to talk about this."

We started to find agreement
about how we would talk.

Very practical.
It's, "How many days a week?

You know, where would we meet?

Who would be there?
How many people would be there?

What shape would the table be?"

You know all
very practical things.

And people got fed up.
They said,

"These people aren't serious,"
you know.

You used to laugh about talks

about talks, about talks,
about talks.

But, actually,
it was really important.

People often say,
"Ooh, they can't talk

'cause there's no trust."

Trust is an outcome

of a context like this,

not a prerequisite for it,
and trust comes

because I say to you, "Will we
meet at 9:00 tomorrow morning?"

And you say, "Um, could we
make it quarter past 9:00?"

I say, "Okay, we'll make it
a quarter past 9:00,"

and, tomorrow morning,
you come at a quarter past 9:00

and I say,
"Okay, I can trust her."

[Tender tune plays]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

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♪♪

[Speaking foreign language]

♪♪

[Speaking foreign language]

♪♪

♪♪

They said there was a bombing
in Ben Yehuda Street.

My wife said that someone
saw Smadar going

down the street
and she's worried.

Eventually, you find yourself
running in the streets,

[Siren wailing]
going from hospital to hospital,

from police station
to police station.

Later that night,
you find yourself in the morgue

and the finger is
right between your eyes

and you see this sight which you
will never be able to forget

for the rest of your life.

And your whole life
is changing completely,

from one minute to another.

She was 14 years old.

She was a very sparkling

and vivid
and beautiful young girl.

She was an excellent student.

She was a swimmer.
She was a dancer.

We called her the princess.

What else do you want
to know about her?

♪♪

She was 14.

♪♪

♪♪

[Sigh]

[Birds chirping]

♪♪

♪♪

[Speaking foreign language]

[Sobbing]

I think the -- the natural
and immediate response

is anger, and hatred.

You know, most people
choose this, this way,

this path of revenge
and retaliation

and it's very, very natural
and it's very obvious.

But then, after a while, you
start asking yourself questions.

"How could it be?

What can cause someone

to be that angry, that mad,

that he's willing to kill
himself with little girls?"

[Speaking foreign language]

[Cries]

Nurit:
After our tragedy,

a photographer
from The Washington Post,

she sent it to us.

We didn't know
she took the picture.

This picture right here...

...this is Abir,
daughter of Bassam.

She was shot by
-She was shot by a rubber --

-a rubber bullet.
-rubber-coated metal bullet.

And he just shot her
in the head

from a protected Jeep
by her schoolyard.

We both lost our daughters.

We both paid the highest
price possible.

Our blood is the same color.

Our pain is exactly
the same pain

and the tears
are just as bitter.

[Sobbing]

[Speaking foreign language]

And I think the most important
question that you ask yourself

is what can you do personally,
you know,

to prevent this unbearable
pain from others?

[Speaking foreign language]

And the turning point was
a year later,

when I met

the leader of the
Families Forum,

who invited me over
to watch a meeting

of this group
of crazy people.

I saw people who paid
the highest price possible,

who chose the way of dialogue,
instead of hatred,

but then, I saw the Palestinian
bereaved families coming

down from the buses,
coming towards me,

shaking my hand for peace,
hugging me, crying with me.

I was completely shocked.

I was -- I'm ashamed to say
I was 47 years old at the time.

It was the first time,
ever in my life,

that I met Palestinians
as human beings,

as people who carry
the same burden that I do,

as people who suffer
exactly the same way.

I was completely shocked.

I saw people, human beings,
not as workers in the streets,

not as tourists,
not as news items -- as people.

I discovered people like
Bassam Aramin, who is, for me,

more than a brother today

and the old Rami
could never have met him.

[Horn honks in distance]

♪♪

[Bird cawing]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

[Snorts]

♪♪

Finding peace
in communities in conflict

is finding ways
that individuals,

and, even more importantly,
communities,

find ways of repairing
and rebuilding

their relationships
with each other.

How do you repair

that kind of damage
that has been done?

And I think
the only way to do it

is through sharing experiences.

Sharing stories, developing
empathy and understanding.

So it's very human contact
is required.

I think it has to happen
on the community level,

face-to-face level.

♪♪

♪♪

[Singing in foreign language]

♪♪

[Singing in foreign language]

[Man singing]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

[Wailing]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

[Speaking foreign language]

[Continues speaking
foreign language]

[Chickens clucking]

[Speaking foreign language]

[Singing nearby]

[Children laughing nearby]

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Melancholy tune plays]

♪♪

♪♪

[Goat bleats]

♪♪

♪♪

There is pain that is never
going to be completely resolved.

There are people who have been
damaged by these experiences

and they cannot be healed.

And people sometimes
think that if something --

psychological damage
isn't like physical damage.

Of course,
if my leg was cut off,

you can't stick it back
on again,

But if it's psychological,

surely, it must be able
to be healed.

No.

I think there's a general belief

that forgiveness
precludes justice.

And I don't think
that's the case at all.

I think justice
is very important.

It is part
of the healing process.

And to see that someone who has
hurt you has paid the price

is a way of moving on.

So that certainly
happened in Rwanda.

And people
may not stay in jail

as long as some people
would want them,

but that is a practical
solution sometimes.

Concessions have to be made
for the greater good.

Reporter:
Crowded together like
animals in a stockyard,

they wait for trials
to decide their fate,

virtually all accused
of genocide.

Opening new detention centers

has only slightly
eased overcrowding

and there's increasing pressure
on Rwanda's government

to start the long-awaited
judicial process

that will decide guilt
or innocence

for each of these prisoners.

After long debate,
the government has has decided

what kind of justice will apply
to these thousands of suspects.

There will be no amnesties,

but there will be
a simplified legal process

to speed up the trials.

[Suspenseful music plays]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

[Man speaking
foreign language]

♪♪

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Speaking foreign language]

♪♪

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Conversing
in foreign language]

♪♪

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Speaking foreign language]

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Speaking
foreign language]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

The problem is,
we can sit here

and deconstruct and criticize --
and people do,

from outside the country,
often --

but, you know trying to find
a better solution

is very difficult.
I don 't think there's --

There isn't any good solution
in a situation like this.

There was no appetite,

either from the government
or survivors,

simply to release everybody
without some form of justice.

So, basically, our Gacaca Courts
did a tremendous job.

To have the community own
the justice,

as they own the pain,

and they were the ones who saw

the people hack
each other to death.

They know who killed who.

So, giving them the opportunity

to solve this problem,
by judging them,

makes the community healed.

You know, nobody's happy
with the situation,

[Chuckling]
that's the problem.

So we end up with, you know,

some of the suspects
and perpetrators

who complain they've been
in prison too long

or that they've been
there without trial

or they've not had
enough defense.

And then, the survivors
are saying, "Well,

what kind of justice is this?

These people, you know,

killed five members of my family
and then what do they do?

Get a couple of years
in some community sentence

and they're back
living next door.

And, by the way,
they've got everything.

They've got their
whole family around them.

I'm still struggling here

without any form
of family support,"

which is very important
in a developing country.

People are still having
the tears flowing

around their cheeks.

The guilt is still choking
the perpetrators.

You can't understand how
a person can get a machete

and open the womb
of a pregnant woman,

bring out the fetus,
and cut it into pieces.

You can't understand
that demonic act.

So we are processing
something which is greater

than the human grief,
the human concept of grief.

It's too early, but the vision
to recover has to be now.

We cannot wait
until our pain is over,

in order to rebuild our nation.

We have to do it now.

♪♪

[Indistinct conversation]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

[Speaking foreign language]

[Conversing
in foreign language]

♪♪

♪♪

I don't understand,
for example,

how one of the killers
of my family,

one of the killers
of my dad, is free.

I can't understand.

I asked him,
"How are you free?"

I mean, the killer of my dad.

And he said,

"I recognize
that I killed people

and I asked for forgiveness,
then, they released me."

And I asked "Who did you ask
for forgiveness,

if it's not me"?

He said he asked
to the government.

He didn't kill the government.
He killed my dad

and now he's free.

If someone decides
to be a killer,

then, he have to accept
the punishment.

And the punishment
for a killer, for me,

is to be killed, too.

If you simply hold tight

to the requirement of justice,
come hell or high water,

then you probably won't find it
possible to move forward.

But if you try to move forward,

without attending
to the pain and the hurt

of the injustice
and the trauma of the past,

your move forward
will probably be illusory

and you will carry some
of that difficulties

into the future
and into your relationships,

as an individual,
or as a community.

There's a school of thought
that forgiveness

shouldn't even be on the table,
unless someone shows remorse,

is willing to pay back,
in some way,

to repair the harm,
to accept responsibility.

And there are other people
who think, "Actually,

it's got nothing, whatsoever,

to do with the perpetrator,
to do with the offender,

to do with the person
who's hurt me.

It's all within myself.

And, if I'm waiting

for that person
to show remorse --

maybe they're incapable,

maybe they don't have
that muscle --

then I'll be waiting forever
and I'll be forever linked,

ever tied to the perpetrator
and I'll never get beyond it."

[Tender tune plays]
[Birds chirping]

[Bell tolling]

♪♪

"Dear Charles,
my name is Richard Moore

and I live in Derry,
Northern Ireland.

Thirty-three years ago,
on the 4th of May 1972,

I think we came across each
other for the first time."

Richard:
When I was ten years old,
I got out of school, as normal.

I had to pass this
British Army lookout post.

And, as I ran past
the Army post,

a British soldier
fired a rubber bullet.

He said that he fired
the rubber bullet

in the hope that we would
all bugger off home.

Well, I was at the bottom
of the playground

and the Army sanger was there

and what would've
happened is, you know,

young people would've
gathered there at times

and threw bricks
[Laughing] at the sanger.

I've done it meself
in the past.

So it was just a normal day,
about 20 past 3:00,

and, up behind those houses,
there was an Army lookout post.

And, as I ran past the sanger,

that's when the soldier
fired the rubber bullet.

[Birds chirping]

[Gunshot]

I spent about two weeks
in hospital.

Me brother Noel said to me,

"Richard, do you know
what damage was done?"

And that's when he told me
that I lost me right eye

and I would never be able
to see again with me left eye.

[Birds chirping]

It struck me here,
on the bridge of the nose.

I lost this eye and was left
completely blind in me left eye.

I just accepted it.

I just accepted it, as if

they had just told me that

Derry City they lost
the football match

at the weekend or something.

Until that night, really,

and, when I was in bed
that night,

on me own, I cried.

And I cried because I realized,
for the first time,

that I was never going to see

me mammy or me daddy's
faces again.

[Birds chirping]

[Wind whistling]

November 2005.

I found out
the soldier's name

and then,
I wrote him a letter

and the letter was
hand-delivered to him.

"Since I was a young teenager,
I have always said

that I would like to meet
the soldier who shot me

and now, I can't believe,
after all these years,

that you're sitting,
reading my letter.

Charles, I hope
you will say yes to me.

I'm confident you won't
regret it, in any way.

Finally, thanks
for reading this letter

and I look forward
to your response,

if and when it comes.
Richard Moore."

The first day that I found out
his name, everything changed.

He wasn't a soldier, then.

He was Charles.

I'd give him a --

You know, he was
a human being, in a sense,

and that sort of distance
that the term "soldier" creates

was brought a bit closer
by saying "Charles."

I tried to reassure him,
in the letter,

that I wasn't writing
to make him feel guilty.

I wasn't writing to make him
accountable to me.

I also wanted to meet him --

and I told him this
in the letter --

to let him know

that I have
no hatred towards him

and never had any hatred
towards him.

♪♪

I arranged to meet him
on the 14th of January 2006.

♪♪

There was a bit of small talk,
at the start.

But eventually, I said,
"Look, Charles,

in your letter, it said
you felt justified

and I find that hard
to swallow,

that you can justify blinding
a 10-year-old boy."

And he said, well,
what he meant by that was,

when he decided to fire
the rubber bullet,

he felt justified
in firing it.

If he had known the damage
that it was going to cause,

then he wouldn't have fired it,

and he was not justifying
what happened to me.

And Charles said, at that point,
"Look, I regret what happened.

I wish I'd never fired
the rubber bullet.

And, if I had known the damage
that I was going to cause,

I wouldn't have fired it."

[Birds chirping]

Now, you could pick holes
in that story, if you wanted.

You could go
down all sorts of roads,

in relation to what Charles
is saying.

What Charles done that day,

only he knows what was
going on in his head.

I'm not saying that what
Charles done was right.

I'm not saying
it was justified.

What I'm saying is

that I forgive Charles
for what happened.

In unusual circumstances,
unusual things happen

and there's no question that
Derry and Northern Ireland

was an unusual place.

And I think we're all
very lucky,

if we get through our life

without doing something
we live to regret

for the rest of our lives.

[Birds chirping]

Forgiving Charles wasn't
going to change the past.

It wasn't going to give me
back me eyesight.

But what it did do
is change my future.

I didn't carry all that baggage
of hurt and anger.

And I think it would've
prevented me from operating

and living me life as a fully
functional human being,

in the way that I have.

♪♪

[Bell chiming]

♪♪

I do actually believe
that we're all capable,

given the right circumstances,

of doing anything,
just about anything.

It's a rare person
that wouldn't,

when their family is
under threat,

when they are told

and believe that their
neighbors are threatening

and they might take
their family away.

Who knows what any of us
would do?

People actually think that,
you know,

the evil monster is out there

and is different to us.

I've never believed that.

I've always believed
that any of us

are actually capable
of doing anything,

under certain circumstances.

What allows one group
of human beings

to annihilate another group

is if they find a way
of dehumanizing them.

Now, you do that by taking

aspects of yourself
that you hate,

that you feel are bad,
despicable,

and you want to disown them,

and you put them
into the victim.

Then, the victim is experienced
as a disease or a scourge

and can be annihilated.

You also, the same way,
extract anything good from them

and attribute that
to yourself --

"I'm civilized
and you're a savage."

For forgiveness to occur,

the process must be put
into reverse, so to speak,

as where the victim has
to see the perpetrator

as not all bad or evil,

and this can occur if they see
that the perpetrator

shows genuine remorse, guilt,
and takes real steps

to repair or rebuild
the damage they've done.

One day, you might forgive,

the next day,
something triggers it,

and you might hate
all over again.

As you move forward again,
something comes to your mind

that takes you back
to what happened in the past.

But gradually, a little bit
further down the line,

you can begin
to let go of the pain.

For me, forgiveness is
difficult, costly, painful,

however, potentially
transformative.

[Birds chirping]

My mum's body was maimed.

She was just in a small ditch
with another woman

and they had just covered
with a little soil

on the top of her body.

She was still clothed,

but she was hit on the head
and the hands were cut.

I was numbed.

I couldn't understand
how they could kill her,

when she was feeding almost
everybody in the village.

When the genocide was
over, '94,

I took about a month
to regain some strength,

to come back to see whether
somebody survived

at my village level.

When I reached Butare,
people were just fleeing me.

They didn't want to be the ones
to tell me the bad news.

One of them said, "Please
don't go to your home village."

I said, "Why?"
He said, "No, please don't."

When I reached there,
I was on the main road,

looking at my village.

There was no house.

[Clucking]There were more than ten houses.

All the houses were destroyed.

Even the bricks
were destroyed completely,

were turned into -- to dust.

Then I knew
that the worst happened.

I had 11 brothers.

They had about 65 kids.

No one is alive,
besides me.

Then, I was told,
by one young man,

that my entire family
was killed.

He was ready to take me
where they had put my mum.

Then, I knew
that everybody was dead.

I never thought my family

could be swept away in such
a short period of time.

[Thunder rumbling]

[Melancholy tune plays]

♪♪

My mum was like the grandmother

of all the children
in the village,

so whoever was feeling hungry,
she was ever there,

and most of the kids were
coming rather to see her.

She was simply loving
and generous.

Even the killer
of my mum said

she was feeding him
alongside her own sons.

I just cried.

♪♪

I buried my mum.

I could find the body
of my younger brother.

I buried the body
of my younger brother

and then, I returned
back to Nairobi.

Yes, I was terribly angry.

Angry against everyone,
angry against the leadership,

angry against the church,

angry against the neighbors.

I was angry against anything
and everyone.

They told me the killer
of my brother

was still in the village.

They said he has taken the
clothes from my brother's body.

And they said, "You can come
and take the clothes."

I said, "If I go there,
I will kill him.

I'll make sure he dies."

I said, "Keep the clothes."

Because I knew,
had I gone there,

something wrong
could have happened.

♪♪

I couldn't sleep.

I could sleep and have
a nightmare of him.

I was carrying him all over.

My mind was full of him.

He was in prison,
but I was his prisoner,

because he was tied on me

and I couldn't separate
myself from him.

♪♪

♪♪

Forgiving is the most
difficult act to make.

♪♪

It's so painful.

♪♪

It's so hard, especially
when it comes to somebody

who took away the life
of the person you loved most,

the life of the person
who loved you more

than any other person
you might know.

♪♪

[Man singing]
-[Speaks indistinctly]

♪♪

♪♪

Before I entered the prison,

I said, "God,
give me enough strength

so that I won't faint
in front of him."

♪♪

[Creaks]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Then, when he entered,

I felt like a huge power

just pushing me from behind.

When I looked at him,
I hated him most

and I wondered
why I came to see him.

But when I realized
that he was shaking

from the toes
to the hands,

to the mouth, to the lips,

I had some pity on him.

I said, "This guy
might feel what he did."

I asked him how he was --

"Amakuru?" --
"What news?"

Then, I told him,

that I came to know
the truth about my family,

so that I can know how
to give a decent burial,

to whoever he might know,
where he might have been left.

[Speaking
foreign language]

Then, he went back, 1994.

He was just saying,
without stopping,

everydetail of how
my family was killed,

how they fled, who killed
in my village -- everything,

which really made me say,

"This guy [Snaps fingers]
is not cheating me."

For the whole three hours,
I felt he's the only person

who told me the whole truth
I was needing.

Because, without him,

I could have neverknown
what happened to my family.

My extended family,
my immediately family --

every detail.

And I could know
how my mother was killed.

No one wanted
to tell me that.

Truth is also liberating.

Because my mind
was always wondering,

"What happened
to my brother?

What happened to my sister?

What happened to my nephew,
to my niece?"

And really knowing
what happened to my family

and I can carry on in life,
which makes me much stronger.

Then, I asked him, in case
my mother came back to life

and was sitting on your side,
what would you tell her?

I wanted him to say
he was sorry.

He told me
that he'd tell her

to give him money.

♪♪

I said, "Why?"

He said he was poor.

Then, I asked him,
"What would you tell my mother,"

if she gives him the money?

Then he said, "I would ask her
to come to visit me."

"What else will you
ask my mother?"

I was hoping,
for the third time,

at least, he will ask
for forgiveness.

He was shaking.

To me, he was recognizing
what he did,

but he couldn't express it.

He was too afraid.

♪♪

Then he said, "I would ask
for forgiveness."

♪♪

I told him that I came
to see him

to give him forgiveness
on my own behalf,

on behalf of my family,

and on behalf of my mother.

♪♪

[Thunder rumbling]

♪♪

[Thunder rumbling]

♪♪

Here, in Rwanda,

there are some
remarkable examples

of people who have been
able to,

somehow, have some form
of individual reconciliation

with people that were involved
in killing their families.

But they are a minority,
and I don't think

they're representative of how
the majority of people feel.

Yet, there is a coexistence.

In the experience
of my own wife,

she knows the man
that killed her mother.

She's met him and doesn't feel
hatred, doesn't revenge.

She doesn't interact with him
on a daily basis.

I mean, what do we call that?

I wouldn't say that
there's forgiveness there,

but it's certainly not hatred
and revenge, either.

It's a coexistence that
allows society to function

and I think that's the key
to the future of Rwanda,

that it's held long enough,

through the political
and the community situation,

that it gives a second
generation a chance

to live together without that
division and hatred

that could lead to another
spiral of violence.

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

Two years ago,
I was giving a lecture

at the American Embassy and,

there was a Palestinian
sitting in the audience

and he kept looking at me

and I knew he wanted
to say something

and I asked him,
"What's going on?"

And he said, "You know, the day
before your son was killed,

I went through that roadblock."

David was killed
by a sniper.

And this beautiful
young man --

David was very tall --

came to the car and he said,

"Look, I have
to look at your papers.

For me, it's like
paying income tax --

I'll do it as fast as I can.

It's my duty."

And they started to talk
and then, he drove away.

And this Palestinian said to me,
"And, you know, Robi,

the next day, when I heard
he was killed, I was so sorry."

Because that's the human face
of the conflict.

This pain is the pain
that everybody experiences.

♪♪

David -- David was a student
at Tel Aviv University.

He was 27 and he was
doing his master's

in the philosophy of education.

And he was called up
to go to reserves,

like most everybody here.

And he came to talk to me
and he said to me, "What to do?"

Because he was
in such a quandary.

You see, we look at the world
with black and white.

Nobody sees the gray.

Nobody understands
what this kid,

who belonged to the peace
movement and was torn --

what shall he do?

And then he goes
and I was filled with dread.

And then, he gets killed
by some guy

who had seen his uncle
very violently killed

when he was a small child.

So this man,
this Palestinian man,

went on a path of revenge
and David was in the way,

and nine other people,
and he killed them all.

[Siren chiming]

[Horn blares]
[Siren chiming]

They asked me if I wanted
to go to his trial

and I had no desire
to do that at all.

I don't --
It doesn't give me --

There's no punishment.

Will that bring back David,

if I feel good about the fact
that he's rotting in jail

and his mother is sitting
in Silwad without him?

She's lost a child,
also, in a way.

So what joy could that bring me,
that he's sitting in jail?

No.
I don't even--

I didn't even get involved
in that side of it at all.

The memory for me is David
sitting down there

and going like this
when he drove off.

That's much more
important for me.

It's strange because,
when the army came to tell me

that David had been killed,

the first -- apparently --
thing I said is,

"You may not kill anybody
in the name of my child."

[Birds chirping, cawing]

One of the projects that we did
in the Parents Circle --

you know, we are 500 families
of Palestinians and Israelis --

we understood that
we shared the same pain.

We thought that it would be
very important

to share each other's
historical narrative

and personal narrative,

in order to understand
the other's point of view.

And we decided that we would go
to the Holocaust Museum.

We invited 70 Palestinians
to first come

and stay overnight
in East Jerusalem,

so that they wouldn't have
the indignities

of coming through the
checkpoint the next day

and that we could meet them
at the Holocaust Museum

in a dignified manner.

[Indistinct conversations]

Then, the next day,
we went to this village

which existed before 1948.

It's called Ekbeba.

Two of the Palestinian families
from our group come from there.

And, when we got there,

there was nothing left
of this village.

It was wiped out completely.

And, suddenly, Umm Jamil,

who's the mother
from Dheisheh refugee camp,

stood there
and she started to cry.

And we looked at her and we
said, "What's the matter?"

And she looked down
and she said, "You see here?

This is the well that I used

to draw water out of
as a child."

And then, we could understand
this longing, you know, this,

"Why do people walk
around with keys

to doors that are
no longer there," you know?

And you could understand,

with empathy,
this pain of longing

and, as Jews, we need
to understand that, you know?

We came out of Toledo,
in Spain,

and walked around with keys
around our neck for generations.

For me, reconciliation is
to be able --

not to forget your pain.

It's to be able to create
kind of a package,

where you put your pain there,

you specific this pain
in a specific place,

and you don't allow this pain
to control your mind

and your feeling
and your daily life

and to bring you to madness.

Three years ago --
or four years.

I'm not good at time --

they caught the sniper
who killed David.

His name was Tha'ir.

And I decided that I
couldn't do this work,

if I wasn't willing
to go on a path

and so I wrote a letter
to the family.

And, about two weeks ago,
I came home at about 11:00

and I found an email

from a friend of mine
in America,

who said that the sniper
and --

had written me a letter,
but not directly,

and that the letter
was printed in Ma'an,

which is the Palestinian
news service.

And I discovered a letter
filled with...

justification for killing
and that my son was a murderer

and that he could have
nothing to do with me

and didn't want me
anywhere near his family

and would not write me
a letter directly.

The next morning, I got up very
early and I turned on the BBC

and, suddenly,
I heard Jo Berry on the radio,

together with Pat Magee,

discussing their journey
to reconciliation.

So I thought,
"What you're doing is right,"

and I went away
and I wrote another letter.

And I think I would like
to read you that letter.

"Tha'ir, how ironic.

The people who most wanted
to protect me

from your words in your letter
were my Palestinian friends

and other bereaved parents
in our group.

You said that David went
to the army to kill.

This young man spent most
of his time helping

to make a difference,
educating towards democracy,

and who anguished
about going to serve said,

'If I go, I will treat all
with respect

and so will my soldiers.'

I think that these are not
words of a violent man.

You claim that you killed
ten soldiers and civilians

in order to end
the occupation.

Do you think that you made
a difference?

I'm well aware,
from your family,

and have shared the story
all over the world,

of your uncle,
who was violently killed

by Israeli soldiers
in front of you

when you were a small child,

and of the uncle you lost
in the Second Intifada.

I think there was a definite
longing for revenge.

I also think that you
will find out, with time,

that there is no revenge
for a loved one.

The wisest reaction I had
to the words of your letter came

from my wonderful son Eran,

who I thought
would be terribly angry.

'Well,' he said, 'Listen, Mum,

perhaps this is the
beginning of a dialogue.'"

What revenge could I take
to bring David back?

You could take anything
from me, and everything,

if I could just,
once more, see him

and once more talk to him.

[Swallows]

So, I'm very worried

and reluctant to use
the word forgiving.

Is it giving up
your right to justice?

Does it mean that it's okay,
what they did,

or they can do it again?

Or do you forget?

I don't know, you know?

I don't know.
I don't know.

I know that the sniper is
on the list to be freed,

you know, for Gilad Shalit,
for the soldier.

And I know, absolutely,
here, I'm being honest,

they must release him,
if it will bring back this kid.

Firstly, nohuman life --

the sanctity of human life
is much more important

than any small revenge
that I might take.

And, you know, when you think
about the generations

of children and grandchildren
of these prisoners,

who are so angry
and want revenge,

then what is more dangerous --

releasing them back
into the community

or facing further generations,

two or three generations,
of revenge?

So I say -- and I've said it
on television, many times --

that you must release
the prisoners.

I often say people make
the mistake that they think

politics is about agreeing
with each other.

It's not.
Politics is about how

we disagree with each other
without killing each other.

Because these are issues
of relationships,

they're only ever going
to be solved

by people talking
with each other.

In other words,
force and violence

is never going to bring
a resolution of the problem.

♪♪

♪♪

This is a place where
Israelis and Palestinians

are meeting each other
for peace.

You know, you can always
cross the wall.

You can go under the wall.
You can go behind the wall.

You can go
above the wall.

This wall cannot stop
two kinds of people --

the one determined
suicide bomber

will find a way
to go through,

and the one determined
peacemaker

will find a way
to go through.

But I think the basic reason
behind it all is prevention

of any kind of dialogue
and knowing each other.

And this is something that,
for me, as a peacemaker,

is essential to go to,

even at the price
of breaking the law.

♪♪

Am I afraid?

[Laughs]

No, I'm not afraid.

As I said earlier, the worst
thing already happened.

♪♪

[Indistinct conversations]

♪♪

♪♪

Man:
It's easy to say,
"Forgive and forget."

It's very hard
to achieve that.

It is not improbable that one
of the Palestinians today

would've been killed by me
ten years ago.

Then he wouldn't be with us,

or I wouldn't be here
with you today

to do this --
this joint activity.

♪♪

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Speaking
foreign language]

♪♪

[Speaking foreign language]

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Speaking foreign language]

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Speaking
foreign language]

[Whistling]
[Clamoring]

[Calling]

[Whistling]

[Calling]

[Whistling]

[Cheering and applause]

[Whistling]
[Singing]

[Whistling]
[Singing]

[Chanting in foreign language]
[Clapping]

[Whistling]
[Chanting continues]

[Whistling]

♪♪

♪♪

Rami:
This is a mission.

This is something
that I have to do.

This is the reason for me to
get out of bed in the morning.

This is the meaning of my life
after the death of my daughter.

We can change this endless cycle
of violence,

the only way out is the ability

to listen
to the pain of the other.

When all the other extremities
are passed away,

and you go beyond the story

to where there is nothing left
but the two people,

and you feel that what you are
meeting is the other person,

then I think reconciliation,
forgiveness, bonding

and even love begins
to happen.

[Suspenseful-melancholy
music plays]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

[Speaking foreign language]

[Singing]

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪

♪♪