‘I forgave my father’s killer because it liberates the soul’

The 18th century English poet Alexander Pope summed up some of the wonder of reconciliation when he wrote that ‘to err is human; to forgive, divine’. Belfast poet Michael Longley is perhaps best known for his poem ‘Ceasefire’ on the subject, which revisits The Iliad to contextualise the herculean feat of forgiveness that has been central to Northern Ireland being able to move beyond the bloody impasse of the Troubles. He has king Priam, whose son Hector has been murdered by the mighty warrior Achilles at the end of the Trojan War sum up the gigantic benevolence of making peace with an enemy: “I get down on my knees and do what must be done, / And kiss Achilles’ hand, the killer of my son.” This seems to require a superhuman effort, and for many who have lost loved ones to terrorists during Northern Ireland’s decades of conflict, forgiveness of the perpetrators is often a step too far, their hurt being too raw and all-consuming, their feelings of injustice and rage holding sway.

Some of us baulk at the idea of forgiveness altogether, especially when the stakes are high; isn’t this to let those who have committed heinous crimes off the hook?

But there is another way of looking at it currently being popularised by ‘forgiveness advocate’ Candice Mama, a South African author and inspirational speaker who gave a talk at Stormont on the subject at Stormont several weeks ago.

The 29-year-old writer and podcaster has published an extraordinary book called Forgiveness Redefined, outlining how she was able to forgive the man who

brutally killed her father during a vicious regime of apartheid in the country, a region that is in some ways comparable to Northern Ireland because of its struggles with sectarian violence.

Candice has been voted by Vogue Magazine Paris as one of the most inspirational women in the world, alongside Nicole Kidman, Michelle Obama, and Malala Yousafzai.

She was named in the Top 20 African Women by the African Union and United Nations celebrating women who have contributed in building peace in Africa.

Her story is incredibly moving and a testament to the magnanimity and power of the human spirit and the burden that can be lifted from the shoulders of victims of violence who freely choose to forgive.

Born in 1991 in a country riven by apartheid, a brutally enforced system of institutionalised racial segregation predominated, with an authoritarian political culture based on baaskap (or white supremacy) that ensured South Africa was run by the nation’s minority white population; violence against black people was a frequent occurrence.

Candice was just seven-months-old when her father, Glenack Masilo Mama, was cruelly tortured and killed by a man named Eugene de Kock, a former South African Police colonel, torturer and assassin active under the apartheid government and nicknamed ‘Prime Evil’; he was sentenced to 212 years in prison under 89 charges.

In September 2014 the National Prosecuting Authority reached out to Candice and her family to enquire whether or not they would like to meet de Kock, in order to reach some kind of closure. They agreed and sat down with this man who had caused so much pain.

“My memories of my father were nothing but compilations of different people’s stories and pictures we collected over time,” says Candice.

“In my mind he lives very much as a saint and isn’t tainted by the flaws we come to see in our parents.

“From the stories I am told he was vibrant and fearless in many ways. He valued being alive and wherever there were moments to dance or laugh he would take them - much like how I tend to be. Yet even though he had a care-free side he also possessed an incredibly resilient and fierce nature that refused to accept his lived reality and he was willing to be on the frontlines to fight apartheid.

“However, the one thing I knew for sure about my father was that he had been tortured and then burnt to death by a man named Eugene de Kock.

“I went on to read numerous articles and books about the man dubbed Prime Evil and his legacy, which was that of being the face and embodiment of an unjustifiable system of hate and oppression.

“Growing up in a house where reading and introspection were encouraged allowed me to be able to contextualise my dad’s killing. Which, in my mind, made his death mean something.

“He died fighting a system and wanting a different country for my brother and myself, which we are extremely fortunate to now be living in.

“This made me realise I couldn’t hate De Kock because love and hate cannot operate in the same space.

“If I wanted to resent him, I would never be able to fully enjoy the life my dad and so many others willingly or unwillingly died for.”

So she followed a saying made famous by Nelson Mandela, trusting its wisdom: “Forgiveness liberates the soul.”

It was not a matter of condoning her father’s murder but rather unshackling herself from the grief, depression and anger that her father’s killer had engendered in her.

“A few things shifted inside me when I sat face to face with my father’s killer and the most profound was that when I forgave Eugene I suddenly realised it had been me who was in prison the entire time.

“Forgiveness taught me that it is rarely ever about the perpetrator it is about freeing ourselves from the hold the perpetrator has over us, it is not about forgetting, it is about removing the emotional attachment we have to the event.

“Forgiveness is choosing to free ourselves from our own mental prisons.

“So I did what I had to do and I forgave Eugene.”

At 23, she had discovered how liberating and wonderful forgiveness can be, and how key reconciliation really is in rebuilding societies that have been destroyed by violence, sectarianism and unrest.

“Forgiving Eugene was more a necessity than a choice for me, when he killed my father that was the first point of trauma but when I held onto that pain and resentment I was giving him the power to kill me too. I always say “resentment corrodes the vessel that carries it” much like acid destroys the metal container it is stored in. Before forgiving Eugene I was sickly, angry all the time and had destroyed myself to the point that I was hospitalised.”

De Kock was not the monster she had imagined. But like the rest of us, a flesh and blood man. Admittedly one who had committed horrific acts. But still, a real man and as she saw it a victim of apartheid in a different way in that he had been brainwashed by ideology and politics that led him to commit such terrible crimes against the black population.

“With every question asked and every answer given, my empathy grew for this complete stranger who spoke so sincerely that I couldn’t help but let my defences down. I looked on in awe as I witnessed myself crying not because of who I had lost, but because I saw a man who was created by a regime and who took the fall for a government.

“I left having felt like I had just been lucky enough to meet one of the most brilliant thinkers of my time and someone who was also a victim to a system of indoctrination.”

A few days later she went on to write an open letter to the South African Judicial system, telling them boldly: “The African National Congress’s strategic objectives are to build a united nonracial, nonsexist and prosperous society. I believe in order to do that and fulfil the vision of the greats like Nelson Mandela, we have to go through the reconciliation process as a country, because there can be no progress without reconciliation.”

For Candice, apartheid should be described as an outright war - this, she says was the reality of it for the people of South Africa. De Kock was dedicated to oppressing the black population; Candice’s father wanted to liberate them; she believes that if her father had realised he was being set up by Eugene’s team’s ambush and had been prepared, he would have pulled the trigger.

But forgiving de Kock does not mean that Candice does not carry the very real trauma of this hurt.

“Knowing that when my dad left the house that morning he did not know that he was heading to his slaughter is a difficult reality for any one person to come to terms with.

“It really hit me hard when I turned twenty-five myself and realised how young my father truly was when he died. The one piece of solace I received was the knowledge that everyone who knew my father said he was a fighter and he was prepared to lay his life on the line and do what was necessary to make sure my brother and I never had to feel shackled by our race. So in some ways to me he died a hero.

“When I sat down with Eugene and he gave us the depth of detail such as the fact that he emptied out his gun on my dad and when he still saw him struggling to survive he poured gasoline on them and set them alight. That part still hurts to know.”

Because it too is a country in which reconciliation has finally brought about a tentative peace, Candice has a special place for Northern Ireland in her heart.

What does she feel about how Ulster could benefit from a committed ethic of forgiveness?

“I would only give insights based on my own country. When we operate from a place of wanting to unite and understand one another as we ourselves would like to be understood it creates a better lived environment not just for ourselves but for the generations to come. Reconciliation comes from a place of strength and looking forward but learning from the past, understanding that your pain is justified and worth being listened to, however, being able to put that aside and ask yourself does the past have to eclipse the future?”

Although she does not look at forgiveness through the lens of Christianity or any other world religion, instead considering it a universal principle for anyone who chooses to free themselves from pain she still believes in a divine authority guiding her.

Candice, a heroine of compassion, adds: “I have a relationship with God, and I strongly believe that it is my purpose to be doing this work and that his guidance has led me to where I am.”

Forgiveness Redefined by Candice Mama is available now.