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“Democracy” does not only define a given political system, it is based on a set of cultural attitudes. Some of these attitudes have been thoroughly studied: there is no real democracy without debate, listening of other people’s opinions, fairness in elections, transparency of the political process… Other values are more controversial: as a nation enters a fuller democratic stage it has to deal with its memory, or rather with conflicting “memories’, since the way to recall past events, traumas and dramas vary form one segment of the population to another. A democratic nation usually shares a certain common perception of its past, has undergone a kind of reconciliation, even when opinions and feelings greatly diverge. Democracy needs to be rooted in time and reconciliation, and this is why the democratic process takes sometimes so much time before reaching its full maturity.
Can there be true democracy without justice, i.e. without an examination of history that renders judgment on past acts and behaviors? Opinions diverge on that point. Judgments can be divisive, hasty or unjust. Time might heal wounds better than words. However, whatever the precise answer, everyone will agree that there is no real democracy if history is hidden, responsibilities denied and past sufferings ignored.
At the same time, one can plausibly argue that “forgiveness” is as important a value for democratic culture as “justice” is. The capacity to forgive expresses the maturity of the social body. It helps a society to start on new grounds, and it cuts down the cycle of resentment and violence. It nurtures respect, capacity for listening and balanced judgment, as, ordinarily, forgiveness goes with an appreciation of the complexity of historical events and mechanisms. Maybe, a healthy democratic society is one which is able at the same time to pass judgments and to forgive.
The relationship between democracy and justice has been much explored in Taiwan. Recently, a good number of essays have been dedicated to “transitional justice”: “In making such a transition [from oppression to respect of personal and collective rights], societies must confront the painful legacy, or burden, of the past in order to achieve a holistic sense of justice for all citizens, to establish or renew civic trust, to reconcile people and communities, and to prevent future abuses.” The importance of “forgiveness” has been rather less explored, and, for this reason, this issue of Renlai concentrates more on this side of the equation. However, from the start a misunderstanding is to be avoided: speaking about forgiveness does not mean to deny the requirements of justice. It aims at complementing a perception of history that has nurtured the intellectual and political debate in Taiwan for the last ten years or so – a debate that is far from being closed. Furthermore, it explores the issue of “forgiveness’ as an example of the “cultural resources” that are used when trying to nurture a democratic culture adapted to local and historical circumstances.
Another debate cannot be avoided: as there is a capacity to forgive, there is a need to enhance a capacity to repent. Do our societies encourage people and groups to honestly recognize their failures and their faults? Do they give them the space and tolerance that make them able to express the trouble that weights on in their souls and minds in a way that will not exclude them for ever form the community but rather will facilitate a new start? Is not imposed “self criticism” a weapon of destruction rather than a tool of redemption? In other words, the “capacity to forgive’ and the “capacity to repent” nurture each other, and social education has to develop both of them in the way it prepares children to become responsible citizens.
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