A nation’s relationship with its past is crucial to its present and its future, to its ability to “move on” with its life, and to learn from its past errors, not to repeat them.
There is the past that “isn’t dead and buried. In fact, it is not even past,” in William Faulkner’s famous phrase. Such a past obsessively blocks any possible evolution toward a necessary reconciliation with oneself and a former or current foe.
Such a past is painfully visible today, for example, in the Balkans, a world largely paralyzed by a painful fixation on the conflicts that tore the region apart in the 1990s. An absolute inability to consider the point of view of the other and to go beyond a sense of collective martyrdom still lingers, unequally to be fair, over the entire region.
What the Balkans needs nowadays are not historians or political scientists but psychoanalysts who can help them transcend their past for the sake of the present and the future. It is to be hoped that the promise of entrance into the EU will constitute the best “psychoanalytical cure.”
In contrast to this paranoid version of the past is a past that is buried under silence and propaganda; a past that is simply not dealt with and remains like a secret wound that can reopen at any moment. Of course, non-treatment of the past is not the exclusive privilege of non-democratic regimes. More than 30 years after the disappearance of the long dictatorship of Francisco Franco, Spain finds itself confronted by the shadows of a past it has deliberately chosen not to confront. That supposedly buried past was always there, poised to erupt with a vengeance once the economic miracle slowed or stopped.
China, which has just been celebrating with martial pomp the 60th anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic by Mao Zedong (毛澤東), constitutes one of the most interesting cases of a nation evincing “shortsightedness” toward its past. China has a lot to show for its efforts in its recent history. Just consider the massive access to education of its huge rural population in contrast with its “democratic rival” India. So China’s pride nowadays is legitimate.
In 60 years a weak and divided country, one torn apart by wars internal and external, is about to become the second-most powerful economy in the world. China’s insolent prosperity, even if it is far from being distributed equally, China’s relative political stability, even if the regime’s opening remains strictly limited, are undeniable and deserving of respect. But the success of a country that has so mobilized its energies as to transform past humiliations into massive national pride is not accompanied — and this is an understatement — by a responsible opening into its past.
From 1957 to 1976, from the beginning of Mao’s “Great Leap Forward,” which led to a mass famine that killed tens of millions of people, to the end of the “Cultural Revolution,” which left Chinese society divided and traumatized because of its wanton cruelty and the destruction of cultural goods, China endured two hideous decades. China must confront them if it wants to progress domestically and become a respected and respectable actor in the international system.
But how can China become capable of implementing the “rule of law” that it so badly needs — let us not even speak of democracy — if it continues to systematically lie to its people about the recent past? To refuse to deal with a painful past is to risk reproducing it.
RSS