Like many of you, at the beginning of every new year, I typically review my previous 12 months and “resolve” to change in some manner, presumably for the better. My resolution for 2008 is not only to “not sweat the small stuff” but, more importantly, to “sweat the big stuff.” Two remarkable people I met this year are the reason for my resolution.
Johannesburg area, South Africa: In 1987, Constance (Conny) Seoposengwe was 22 years old, in prison and confined to isolation throughout her long pregnancy with her second child. Conny had been on the run ever since she was a young girl. On any given evening, Conny’s “mother” was the woman who gave her food and a safe bed, risking her own life if Conny were to be discovered. Conny’s crime was her affiliation with and activities in support of the African National Congress and its mission. The ANC, led by “young radicals” Nelson Mandela and Walter Sisulu before their imprisonment, was classified as a terrorist organization because of its resistance and sometimes violent protests in response to the atrocities of apartheid (“apartness”). Conny endured horrific experiences at the hands of her fellow countrymen. Still, she survived.
I met Conny last month when she visited Seattle as part of a delegation of South African women legislators. The Honorable Constance is now an eloquent, robust mother of four, Speaker of the Northern Cape Provincial Legislature, proud of her country and its vision, and noticeably affected by her history. Another apartheid survivor in Conny’s delegation told me that even though many of their fellow delegates spoke optimistically about their love of South Africa and hopes for its future, their past lives had left deep, hidden scars that I could fathom only in my worst nightmares. I shuddered then and do now at what my mind imagines.
I had the honor of visiting the extraordinarily beautiful South Africa with a group of U.S. women delegates sponsored by “Women and Democracy” in 2004. Together with South African women lawyers and activists, I presented in Johannesburg and Cape Town on topics related to our respective countries’ histories of civil and women’s rights. Other than giving birth to my son Shawn, the trip was the most moving experience in my life.
Santiago, Chile: In 1973, Pedro Alejandro Matta was a law student in a well-respected university in his country’s capital. On September 11 of that year, General A. Pinochet Ugarte led a bloody military coup that overthrew the elected, socialist government of President Salvador Allende. Within months, Pedro was arrested, detained and systematically tortured in Santiago’s most renowned center of torture — Villa Grimaldi.
Between 1973 and 1978, Pinochet’s secret police confined thousands of intellectuals, students, union members and their families to detention centers, torture chambers, jails and other facilities converted for the cause, including Santiago’s National Stadium. Villa Grimaldi, once a beautiful Italian estate, was the primary detention and torture center for intellectuals.
In early 2007, I visited the site, now known as the Park of Peace, with a delegation of women from “Women and Democracy.” Pedro was our tour guide. During the first hour, he slowly and graphically described a typical prisoner’s experience after arriving at the center, often in pajamas, often in the dead of night: electric shock, gang rape, hanging by the wrists and ankles, brutal beatings, exposure to poisonous gases, injections of rabies, submersion in filthy liquid or suffocation to the point of asphyxiation, and worse.
His presentation was unemotional, with references to the hypothetical prisoner always in the third person. It was only when Pedro told us about his ability to forgive a fellow prisoner, who provided names of dissident colleagues to the interrogators, that we realized that Pedro was reliving his own life at Villa Grimaldi. Pedro admitted that he, too, may have become a turncoat, more hated than even the brutal soldiers, if he had to witness what his fellow prisoner witnessed shortly before divulging his friends’ names: the torture of the prisoner’s young child.
After 13 months of detention, Pedro was granted asylum in the United States. He attended universities, married and had children. He and his family returned to Chile in 1991 after the fall of Pinochet.
Through Conny and Pedro, I briefly experienced the “big stuff.” I discovered that survivors of unthinkable atrocities have the ability to move forward in the lives they have remaining, to forgive those who have perpetrated horrific crimes against their loved ones and themselves, and to strive for justice, equality and peace in spite of their recent sordid experiences. I was then — and am now — inspired by these two remarkable people, more than words can express.
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Eileen M. Concannon is a principal at Riddell Williams P.S., specializing in commercial litigation, mediation and arbitration. For references or comments, please contact her at econcannon@riddellwilliams.com.
