2021
May
28
Friday

Monitor Daily Podcast

May 28, 2021
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Peter Grier
Washington editor

When I think of Memorial Day I think of lilacs.

In much of the northern United States, lilacs bloom in May and are the flower of ritual remembrance. As a child my wife gathered armloads of lilacs on Memorial Day to place on Civil War graves in her small Massachusetts town. At our family home in rural Maine our huge, ancient lilac is blooming today outside the window of my study, its panicles bobbing in the wind, deep purple against the sharp blue of the sky.

Other children must have gathered its flowers a century ago to take down the hill to the cemetery next to the inlet, where the oldest graves date to the era of the Revolution.

Memorial Day and flowers are inextricably entwined. It used to be called Decoration Day, and lilacs – and daisies, shadbush, and whatever else was in bloom – were the decorations. On May 1, 1865, Black residents of Charleston, South Carolina, carried armfuls of roses in a parade to honor Union prisoners who died in the city, in a pioneering memorial celebration. In 1868 an Army general issued an order for veterans to decorate graves of dead comrades with the “choicest flowers of spring time” – the first official Memorial Day recognition.

Lilacs are indeed choice flowers, fragrant, long-lasting, and colorful. Throughout rural New England they stand in meadows and forests, blooming in May, marking where homes and farms once stood. Buildings have fallen in, and fields grown over. Once-cherished lilacs survive. They are flowers of remembrance – and perseverance as well.


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Today's stories

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The Monitor's View

On Wednesday, French President Emmanuel Macron traveled to Rwanda to apologize for his country’s failure to intercede in the 1994 genocide there. Yesterday, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau issued an apology for the internment of Italian Canadians during World War II. And today, Germany apologized to Namibia for massacres committed by its colonial administration in southern Africa more than a century ago. “We will now also officially call these events what they were from today’s perspective: a genocide,” said German Foreign Minister Heiko Maas.

During the past 30 years, national apologies have gone from being extraordinary to, it seems, mandatory. They can mark healing turning points in relations between countries and in how societies and individuals define themselves. But they raise difficult questions about the obligations of history and require bridging what American poet Carolyn Forché calls “the mutually exclusive realms of the personal and the political.” And Angie Wong, a professor of Indigenous Learning at Lakehead University in Ontario, has warned that “a new cultural dynamic of apologism” risks reducing national expressions of remorse to crisis management.

Jonathan Sumption, a former member of the Supreme Court of the United Kingdom, argues in a new book that “what is morally objectionable about the practice of apologizing for [past] wrongs now, is that it depends upon a concept of collective and inherited guilt which is indefensible.” Yet for many communities, offenses done to previous generations may be living presents.

“History isn’t something written in a book that’s locked away in a glass cabinet,” argues Canadian documentary filmmaker Mitch Miyagawa. “It exists materially in the land around us, in our houses, in our villages and towns and cities. It’s in the way we relate to each other, and it exists in the stories we tell about ourselves and where we live. We carry history with us.”

Germany’s apology underscores the uneasy compromises required to reconcile these perspectives. In 1904 its settlements in what is now Namibia fell under siege. Weary of the brutalities of occupation, Herero tribesmen launched attacks on white farms, railroads, and colonial army posts. Ten months later another ethnic group, the Nama, pitched a second rebellion. The German response was devastating. When a census was taken several years later, it found that between 1904 and 1908 half of the Nama and three-quarters of the Herero populations – roughly 80,000 people – perished in battle, were systematically executed, or starved to death in concentration camps after the war.

“Our aim was and is to find a joint path to genuine reconciliation in remembrance of the victims,” Mr. Maas stated. “That includes our naming the events of the German colonial era in today’s Namibia, and particularly the atrocities between 1904 and 1908, unsparingly and without euphemisms.”

Under the terms of the deal, which took nearly a decade of informal dialogue and formal negotiations, Germany will fund $1.3 billion in development projects over 30 years specifically meant to redress the economic consequences of the genocide. President Frank-Walter Steinmeier plans to formally ask forgiveness in an address before the Namibian Parliament later this year.

Public atonement of an atrocity may smooth diplomatic rifts, yet it does not always salve the economic or emotional harm felt by descendants of victims. Herero and Nama families whose ancestors were slain sought individual reparations and a return of stolen family lands. Germany steadfastly rejected those demands to avoid binding itself – and perhaps other former colonial powers – to a burdensome legal precedent. Instead, it is giving money in the form of a collective restitution for those ethnic groups.

“A national apology asserts changed values, condemns past behavior, and commits to different, better actions in the future,” wrote Southern Oregon University linguist Edwin Battistella in Aeon. After a year of worldwide protests over racial injustice, reflected in backlashes against Confederate and colonial symbols, Germany and Namibia offer a road map beyond the clutches of historical pain. The test of sincerity awaits. But lifting the burdens of the past starts with a determination to see one another beyond grievance and harm.


A Christian Science Perspective

About this feature

Each weekday, the Monitor includes one clearly labeled religious article offering spiritual insight on contemporary issues, including the news. The publication – in its various forms – is produced for anyone who cares about the progress of the human endeavor around the world and seeks news reported with compassion, intelligence, and an essentially constructive lens. For many, that caring has religious roots. For many, it does not. The Monitor has always embraced both audiences. The Monitor is owned by a church – The First Church of Christ, Scientist, in Boston – whose founder was concerned with both the state of the world and the quality of available news.

As we head into Memorial Day weekend in the United States, we’re recalling moving experiences where people supported those who served in the military and their loved ones. In this article, originally written in 2008, a Christian Science chaplain in the U.S. Army shares how turning to God has brought inspiration that healed his own grief and empowered him to offer meaningful comfort and strength to others, too.


A message of love

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff
A U.S. flag was placed in front of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial by a visitor in Washington on April 28, 2021. Monday, May 31, is Memorial Day in the United States.
( The illustrations in today’s Monitor Daily are by Karen Norris. )

A look ahead

We don’t publish a Daily on Monday, Memorial Day in the U.S., but watch for a special audio report. Our podcast “Tulsa Rising” tells the story of a city wrestling with its history and working to forge a better future 100 years after it became the site of a brutal race massacre. We’ll explore the lasting legacy of this event – but also the new hope that’s taking hold. 

More issues

2021
May
28
Friday

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