Country of My Skull: Guilt, Sorrow, and the Limits of Forgiveness in the New South Africa

“It soon becomes clear that overseas journalists are interested only in the amnesty-seekers and whether there will be important politicians among them.” 

Krog does not hide her bias against foreign journalists and politicians. In Krog’s estimation, foreigners who do not understand South Africa or its people are only invaders looking for a good story that they can use to their advantage. Krog believes that these journalists do not genuinely care about what has happened to the victims of apartheid or whether South Africa is able to recover from its mistakes.  

“All the women are asked whether they feel there should be women on the commission. No man is asked whether he feels there should be women on the commission. Nobody is asked whether they feel there should be men on the commission.” 

While racial bias takes the forefront in most of Krog’s observations, she also notes considerable gender bias in South African society as well. In this first example of calling out gender bias, Krog very clearly and succinctly illustrates the problems she sees with the supposedly balanced TRC selection process. Krog is never shy about pointing out how much of South African society is unkind to women.

“Should we treat information about important politicians differently to that about ordinary people, we immediately create a new injustice as bad as the previous one.” 

During the Commissioner-choosing process, Krog and her fellow journalists wait for someone to express what Krog calls “the litmus test” for the Commission. She sees it in the above quote from Reverend Frank Chikane—who does not ultimately become a Commissioner—but whose opinion differs from that of many other blacks, particularly within the ANC, with regards to who is accountable.

“It will sometimes be necessary to choose between truth and justice. We should choose truth, he says. Truth does not bring back the dead, but releases them from silence.” 

Krog initially isn’t in favor of the TRC’s formation because she doesn’t understand what it can possibly accomplish. After attending a lecture by a Chilean activist, she changes her mind on the process. While the TRC may not be able to punish those who deserve it, it can give a platform to people who have never had one, allowing them to tell the truth of their experiences where they previously were unable. 

“Beloved, do not die. Do not dare die! I, the survivor, I wrap you in words so that the future inherits you. I snatch you from the death of forgetfulness. I tell your story, complete your ending—you who once whispered beside me in the dark.” 

Krog, who started as a poet rather than a journalist, interweaves poetic digressions throughout her text. The above quote is an example, in this case highlighting the feelings of many victims regarding their testimony about murdered loved ones.

“The black people in the audience are seldom upset. They have known the truth for years. The whites are often disconcerted: they didn’t realize the magnitude of the outrage, the ‘depth of depravity,’ as Tutu calls it.” 

Black and white experience during apartheid is fundamentally different. Blacks are and have always been aware of the atrocities taking place because they are the targets, and therefore must be watchful for their own safety. Whites, who are not targets for the most part, have been able to live in ignorance. This ignorance causes shock when they’re faced with the revelations of the victims.

“As Coetzee is relating the details to gasps of horror from the audience, [Klein Dirk’s] girlfriend is busy lacquering her nails.” 

Throughout the text, Krog frequently expresses dislike or even disgust with the attitudes of her fellow Afrikaners. Here Krog describes how the girlfriend of one of Coetzee’s security team members ignores the substance of Coetzee’s testimony, highlighting what she interprets as white apathy to the atrocities committed during apartheid. 

“I’ve still got shrapnel in my body, all it means is that the bells ring when I go through the airport, and that makes life exciting.” 

In Chapter 7, Krog provides testimony from two women, both attacked at Christmas, but one of whom is white and the other black. While the black woman laments the loss of her husband and lasting detrimental impact on her son in a testimony filled with painful emotions, the white woman finds something near amusement in her own injury. Her “excitement” at having to learn to walk again stands in sharp contrast to the testimonies of black victims whose lives have never been the same since their assaults.

“Telling is therefore never neutral, and the selection and ordering try to determine the interpretation.” 

In trying to make sense of the first perpetrator testimonies, Krog observes that each amnesty-seeker describing the same event has a different take on the story. She suggests that the “narrators” are speaking to a larger audience of family, colleagues, and the country as a whole, who will judge them for what they say, and therefore they each reveal selected details, presented in the way they think will serve them best.

“Whereas before, people denied that atrocities happened, now they deny that they knew they were happening.” 

In her assessment of amnesty-seekers’ testimony, Krog tries to understand white—particularly Afrikaner—guilt as a whole. She observes that whites want to avoid blame for the atrocities of apartheid, and that their basis for doing so changes as time passes and previous excuses no longer seem valid. Faced with the reality of what blacks in South Africa went through, whites shift the focus of their denial to something more plausible in the face of the truth.

“In a sense, it is not these men but a culture that is asking for amnesty.” 

As she struggles with her own identity, Krog is horrified to find that she feels a sense of intimacy with the members of the Vlakplaas who apply for amnesty. She recognizes that the culture she loves and comes from also gave birth to these men who committed horrible acts of violence, and because of that, Afrikaner culture as a whole must ask for forgiveness for birthing apartheid.

“Is the individual merely a puppet in the hands of politicians or appointed authorities? Or is the individual, soldier and comrade alike, ultimately responsible for his own actions and deeds? Is the phrase ‘I was only carrying out orders’ a good enough reason for having committed murders?” 

Collective responsibility is a concept that philosophers and historians have debated for years, and continue to do so. In her section on politics, Krog raises the essential questions about collective responsibility within South Africa’s context, particularly as they might pertain to the ANC and NP.

“If there is one thing that irritates me, it is when the new black elite whines about racism—while in actual fact all they want is the power and the positions of the whites so that they can exercise those very same values.” 

The question of inherent unity among blacks comes up several times throughout the text, and is in some ways a more sensitive, taboo question than any questions having to do with black versus white issues. During a panel discussion on reconciliation, a student contributes the above quote, making everyone else in the room uncomfortable by saying something that many are thinking but none want to admit they are thinking.

“But there will be no grand release—every individual will have to devise his or her own personal method of coming to terms with what has happened.” 

One of the psychologists Krog meets and interacts with explains that the TRC will not be a quick fix, as people may have wanted. As every individual’s experience is different and unique to them—a mix of culture, upbringing, education, and events—their perspectives are also unique. Those perspectives shape how someone processes trauma, and that process, too, will be unique for everyone.

“I was a convinced pacifist when I arrived in South Africa […] but quickly discovered that in this country neutrality was impossible […] it was clear to me that if you were white and did nothing to change the situation, you were actually a functionary of the apartheid government.”

Father Michael Lapsley gives his testimony detailing how he lost his hands and one eye in a package bombing by the ANC. Lapsley’s personal observation here sums up general feelings about white involvement in apartheid—doing nothing in the presence of evil makes a person complicit in the evil.

“I envy and respect the people of the struggle—at least their leaders have the guts to stand by their vultures, to recognize their sacrifices. What do we have? Our leaders are too holy and innocent.” 

Krog receives a letter from a white woman whose first love and husband both change dramatically after carrying out violence during apartheid on others’ orders. She expresses jealously for antiapartheid fighters because she feels that at least black leaders are willing to stand united with the individuals who carried out their orders, whereas white leaders have abandoned their underlings, blaming them instead for their feelings of guilt.

“A white woman said to me, ‘I don’t even watch the Truth Commission on television—because all you see there is a sea of hatred’ […] That is pure projection […] Firstly, she knows instinctively that if apartheid had been done to her, she would have hated. And secondly, whites prefer to think that they are being hated; then they don’t need to change.” 

One of Krog’s psychologist associates relates the above story to her during a conversation about whether black people are angry since there have been no violent outbursts during the TRC hearings. The psychologist analyzes a white woman’s statement, suggesting that many whites feel the same way and use denial as a way of distancing themselves from proceedings that make them uncomfortable. 

“We make sense of things by fitting them into stories. When events fall into a pattern we can describe in a way that is satisfying as narrative, then we think that we have some grasp of why they occurred.” 

Several times in the text Krog exposes her own approach to writing Country of My Skull. She says this quote to her husband as a way of explaining her experience with the TRC, but she is also describing how Krog the writer processes her actual experience—by writing a book that turns her experience into a story as a way of trying to understand herself and her experience.

“I scold myself—how do I know? I cannot read the body codes of black people. It is as simple as that.” 

Krog acknowledges that while she has black friends and engages with black journalists, politicians, and commissioners, her experience and culture are inherently different from theirs, and because of that, she cannot engage with them with the same intimacy that she would a white person.

“Blacks are deciding among themselves what they regard as right and wrong. They are making that decision here, today. Either a black person may kill because of apartheid—or none of us may kill, no matter the reason. This hearing has little to do with the past. It has everything to do with the future.” 

Winnie Madikizela-Mandela’s hearing is important and sensational for many reasons, not least of which is that she is the only major ANC party member called to account for her behavior publicly. The outcome of Madikizela-Mandela’s hearing impacts all blacks, as it sets the standard for what is acceptable behavior when fighting an unjust system.

“People feel guilty when they violate the rights of others. They feel shame when they fail themselves, when they fail their group. Guilt is linked to violation; shame is linked to failure. Shame requires an audience. Guilt does not. And shame is more overwhelming and more isolating than guilt.” 

Krog and her associates discuss guilt and shame as concepts several times in the text. One of Krog’s conversation partners earlier in the text mentions that she prefers shame over guilt because shame tends to inspire people to change, whereas guilt can be kept quiet. This quote implies that failing one’s own group causes more emotional distress than failing someone outside one’s group, which plays into the “us versus them” mentality that underscores race relations in South Africa.

“He is not senile, or old, or suffering from the effects of a stroke: he is a fool. And we have been governed by this stupidity for decades.” 

P.W. Botha uses many excuses to get out of appearing before the TRC and having to account for his behavior. He claims that he is unwell, feeling the effects of his age and his stroke, and his friends corroborate his claims. When Botha is finally forced to attend a trial, Krog understands that all of his excuses are merely excuses. He is perfectly healthy, and there is nothing wrong with him other than racism and a stubborn resistance to change.

“Against a flood crashing with the weight of a brutalizing past onto a new usurping politics, the commission has kept alive the idea of a common humanity […] For all its failures, it carries a flame of hope that makes me proud to be from here, of here.” 

Krog supports the TRC through most of its lifespan, but as controversy builds, she finds herself fatigued and frustrated, losing faith in the process. Though the TRC concludes its hearings with mixed success, Krog appreciates that the Commission was able to be South Africa’s moral compass in a difficult time. She feels that on some level the Commission was successful because it gives South Africa hope for the future.