ONLY WATER IN YOUR HAND CAN SATISFY YOUR THIRST

Khadija Ossoble Ali

Somalia, a country wracked by civil war for a decade, has journeyed to the dawn of the 21st century without a modern state. Located in an unstable region, Somalia's neighbors continue to support proxy militias for their own selfish interests. This has exacerbated the Somali conflict and has prolonged its peaceful resolution in the absence of a unified structure that represents the interests of the Somali people. Moreover, Somalia remains largely ignored by the international community, having been labeled a "poor investment" for international assistance. This is a tragic misperception.

To say Somalia is journeying into the 21st century with high hopes and a bright future might sound too utopian to the international community but certainly not to the many civil society groups in Somalia that have emerged with the realization that they can make a difference. A Somali proverb says "biyo gacantaadaa lagaga dhergaa," which means, "only water in your hands can satisfy your thirst." This is said because international interventions proved to be unsuccessful and Somali people realize the future of Somali children is in the hands of the Somali people and Allah only.

Local and regional structures have been established in most parts of the country except the Bay, Bakol and Juba regions where a number of factions supported by other countries are fighting. Community-based Islamic courts operate in many places in order to ensure law and order. Business is flourishing, private banks with connections to international banks are open, private phone systems with internet access operate through out most of the country, more efficiently and cheaply then other phone systems in Africa. Several Somali owned airlines fly regularly to Djibouti, Saudi Arabia, Kenya and the Gulf. Private schools and clinics are being opened everyday by grassroots organizations.

Similarly, a growing number of peace and human rights organizations are committed to working toward peaceful resolutions of the many conflicts in this complex society. I work for one of these groups, the Saacid Voluntary Organization, an indigenous local NGO. Saacid's peacebuilding program focuses on ways to engage the civil society in programs that promote dialogue among conflicting clans, facilitate reconciliation, and promote nonviolent activities that benefit the community as a whole. We at Saacid argue that the place to begin restoring peace is by working with local community members to raise their awareness about the issues that affect their lives. In order to build relationships among community members, Saacid conducts conflict management and peacebuilding training and provides people with the social space, logistical support and the necessary institutions that can sustain the process of peacebuilding while increasing the ownership and the responsibility of the people themselves. While responding to the dynamic situations of the conflict, Saacid also arranges forums and debates in order to create a shared vision for peace among the civil society.

People realize the
future of Somali children
is in the hands
of the Somali people
and Allah only.

Most Somali people believe that assistance from external agencies can help with the peace process, but that the actual solution must come from the Somali people. The framework in which the peace process operates must respond to the Somali needs and must be owned by all parties involved in the discussion as Somali solutions. Because external influences have created major havoc in the past, there is a strong sentiment that any new structures must reflect the priorities and needs of the Somali people if they are to endure.

Without question, peace is the most important goal of the majority of the people in Somalia. Somalis want peace. Most Somalis believe that the war had gone on too long, with too much suffering and loss and that the time had come to make agreements and develop governance structures that provide basic human needs for all Somalis. A Somali poet once said "Cir tarraray rag waa tolikaraa, taako labadeede" - "men and women of good will can mend even a rip in the sky." I hope this strong desire and vision for peace will lead to a better future for the Somali people in the 21st century and overcome the international misperception about the readiness of the Somali people to live in peace.

Khadija Ali is an MA student in the Conflict Transformation Program, currently working with Saacid in Somalia and Washington, DC.

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Transcendence:
The Journey toward Healing

Howard Zehr, professor of sociology and restorative justice, is currently exploring with victims of severe violence in North America questions of their understandings of how their lives had changed as a result of their experience. This exploration, conducted through interviews and photographs will be incorporated into a book and a travelling exhibit, to affirm for victims their own - and others - experiences, and to give professionals and the general public new awareness and insight into victims' experiences and healing processes.

The interviews cover various topics relating to the experience of violent crime. How do victims of severe violence understand their experience? How are they different because of what has happened? What is justice for them? Do victims feel that they have transcended the traumatic experience? Have they found "meaning" in what happened?

Following is an excerpt from one of these interviews with Wilma Derksen, whose 13-year-old daughter Candace was kidnapped and murdered in 1984. The perpetrator has never been identified. Wilma recounts a bit of her journey over the past 15 years.

We were an ordinary family with three kids. It was an ordinary day, and it just changed our lives. We have a BC and an AC - before Candace and after Candace.

Even though the killer has never been found, have you had an experience of justice? I think I have experienced justice and that was the real surprise for me. Justice is - for lack of words - the healing of the soul. Certain components have to happen for justice to take place. We as victims need truth, judgement of the wrongdoing, validation, and vindication. I used to think that these things needed to happen in the courtroom and I yearned for that. But now I realize that a trial doesn't guarantee these things and that in the final end, we were spared the re-victimization of the criminal justice system. Cliff and I were forced to go with another kind of justice - finding truth by telling our story. I wrote a book - my story, my version. And we were very fortunate in that our story was accepted, validated, and affirmed. Our community said very clearly that the murder of our daughter was wrong. By their actions, building a swimming pool as a memorial for her, they told us that Candace was valued. They also gave her memory life. After hearing other victims who had been to trial complain about not feeling that justice was served, I knew that I didn't feel that way. I realized that in a round about way, "I've had justice."

What about anger? I've changed my ideas of anger. Before I saw anger as something that would destroy you and something you needed to overcome. Now I realize that anger is a motivation to do something about injustice. Taking someone's life is the ultimate injustice so we shouldn't be surprised when it arouses tremendous rage in us. Uncontrolled rage and passive rage is dangerous in the long term. I had tremendous rage; I know I could kill now. Before this, I thought, "No, I'm too nice. Now I understand in my heart where violence comes from. But when I did get in touch with my own violence I also realized I didn't want to perpetuate "an eye for an eye" because than everyone would be blind. It's got to stop. That's the mission of love - to be able to transcend our own hurts into creating more love because otherwise we're going to continue the cycle of loss. It takes active determination to go in the direction of love.

How do you understand forgiveness? For me, forgiveness is a moving target because as soon as I've got an understanding of it, it just keeps moving on me. I think forgiveness is such a wonderful comforting word when we are offenders - it can be a warm cozy blanket word. But when we are victims it's a working costly word. I think there are two levels of forgiveness. Right after our tragedy, my idea of forgiveness was to be free of this thing, - the anger, the pain, the absorption. It was totally personal. It was a survival tactic to leave this experience behind. It had nothing to do with the offender. The second level was realizing how the word forgiveness applies to the relationship between the victim and the offender. How it means accepting and working on that relationship after a murder. The latter is more complicated. Now I think I see that forgiveness is more of integrating the experience into my life in a controlled way, rather than letting it go or escaping it.

However letting it go or accepting it, has nothing to do with letting the offender off the hook. They need to be held accountable and feel the consequences of their actions. Just like the victim needs to suffer through the pain of their loss to heal, the offender also needs to suffer through their guilt in order to heal. My holding them accountable is their way to freedom too. Accountability is not a victim's vicious, vindictive agenda; it is a way that both of us can free ourselves.

How have you dealt with the destruction and recreation of meaning in your live, your sense of order in the world? Life looks totally different; it looks more fragile. I find my values have changed. I think I'm much better able to identify the important things in life. I know life is short.

God looks totally different from this side of the murder than he did before. I don't see him as in total control anymore. I really don't know where his control begins or ends. It's a scary thought. I think God understands the value of suffering, the value of free choice, the value of allowing good and evil to live together. For a time, I went through a deep abyss in my faith. Now I'm more comfortable. Now, I not only see the suffering, I see his blessings also.

How are you different today because of this? How am I different? I guess I don't know. I don't know what I would have been like if this hadn't happened. One thing I know it that it changed me. I know what hell is all about. I think you are different once you've visited the dark edges of life. For one thing death isn't that terrifying. And I don't have huge expectations of life anymore. In some ways you would probably expect me to be sadder. But I don't think I am. I value life more now. The murder of my daughter made me sit back and choose what I would do with all of it. It forced me to be more aware of life. I value life more.

What have you learned about the meaning of life? I still think the essence of our life is loving. To be able to transcend ourselves. We're incredibly selfish people; we're incredibly self-absorbed. I think life always rewards any tiny, tiny effort that we do to transcend our own self-interest and make somebody else's life a little better. Probably our suffering gives us some of the tools to do that.

Wilma Derksen lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, where she works for Mennonite Central Committee. Her book about her daughter's death, Have You Seen Candace? was published in 1992 by Tyndale House Publishers, Wheaton, IL. The "Transcendence" research project is being partially funded by the Soros Foundation Center on Crime, Communities and Culture, the Schowalter Foundation, and Eastern Mennonite University.

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