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

Archbishop Tutu is Chairperson of the TRC, as well as being an icon of South Africa. Krog repeatedly refers to him as the moral compass of both the TRC and South Africa as a whole, and while she should maintain journalistic objectivity, she clearly idolizes Tutu for his ability to remain calm and forgiving in the face of so much adversity. Tutu’s philosophy, stemming from his Christian faith, is: “You can only be human in a humane society. If you live with hatred and revenge in your heart, you dehumanize not only yourself, but your community” (143). Like Alex Boraine, Tutu believes the ANC cannot exclude itself from the reconciliation process, and threatens to resign “if the ANC grants itself amnesty” (152).

Krog expresses deep concern with Tutu’s cancer diagnosis, both for the man himself and for what his absence might do to the TRC. She characterizes his role as “the compass,” saying: “It is he who finds language for what is happening […] It is language that shoots up like fire—wrought from a vision of where we must go and from a grip on where we are now” (201). Tutu’s capacity for forgiveness and love seemingly knows no bounds, as he refuses to play into threats from the NP, and it is his subjugation of himself in begging Winnie Madikizela-Mandela to admit she was wrong that finally breaks through to her.

Tutu does periodically express points of view that are biased, particularly in his belief that blacks have an inherent sense of community and capacity to forgive that whites do not possess. Whatever his failings may be, in Krog’s estimation, Tutu is the guiding light of South Africa.

Alex Boraine is Deputy Chairperson of the TRC, and one of the white, English-speaking Commissioners. Krog depicts him as a man who believes firmly in justice, and who loses his temper easily. When he does, he becomes very aggressive. When the first amnesty rulings are due to come out, with only black amnesty-seekers receiving amnesty, Boraine loses his temper and sees to it that whites who will receive amnesty receive it at the same time. When the ANC tries to refuse to cooperate with the TRC, Boraine’s stance is that “unjust acts can be committed within the framework of a just war, no less than just acts in a just war” (152). Krog ends up on the receiving end of Boraine’s wrath in response to an article she publishes about Ntsebeza’s possible involvement in a bombing. While upset with his reaction, Krog acknowledges that:

Perhaps more than any other commissioner, Boraine’s personal life has been beset by traumatic family tragedies since he took on this task, including a vicious criminal assault on his daughter and the illness of his youngest son (298).

If Tutu represents the moral compass of the TRC (and South Africa), Boraine represents the ethical compass, striving for truth and reconciliation through justice.

Madikizela-Mandela, ex-wife of Nelson Mandela, is a controversial figure, a sentiment reflected in Krog’s assessment of her. Krog describes her in seven pictures: a quiet member of Parliament, a clever politician, a woman of great presence, a disappointment, a trashy headline, a “pre- and post-feminist,” and a defiant ANC member. She inspires both hatred and reverence. Madikizela-Mandela’s hearing draws significant attention from outside South Africa, which Krog describes by saying, “the world has come to watch us burn a witch” (321). While Madikizela-Mandela does eventually apologize for the violence and abuses carried out by her bodyguard “football club,” Krog leaves ambiguous whether she actually feels any remorse for her actions. Madikizela-Mandela serves as a representation of all ANC members who committed violence in the name of a just war, and Krog feels that Madikizela-Mandela’s personal hearing is a test case of whether killing because of apartheid is acceptable or not. 

Botha is a member of the National Party, and he was president of South Africa until F.W. de Klerk replaced him. He repeatedly refuses to appear in front of the TRC, eventually forcing them to press criminal charges. He “represents the unrepentant white rulers of yesterday, ensconced in so much financial and political privilege that nothing in their lives has changed” (348-49). Apartheid “acquired its coldest, its most brutal and murderous edge” (349) during Botha’s presidency. Krog usually refers to Botha by his nickname, Die Groot Krokodil, and frequently draws comparisons between him and actual crocodiles. He is racist to the last, believing apartheid was a good idea, and claims infirmity and health difficulties to try to excuse himself from taking any responsibility for his actions.

Coetzee is one of the founders of the Vlakplaas and one of the first perpetrators to seek amnesty from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. When Krog shifts focus from the victims to the amnesty-seekers, she begins with Coetzee, highlighting his experience as someone who “was not the average Afrikaner, nor was he one of the greatly misled […] He was just a person who, like the rest of us at that time, didn’t necessarily know what was right, but did know what was wrong” (88). Krog uses Coetzee as representative of Afrikaners who committed violence during apartheid and who admit they were in the wrong enough to ask for amnesty. 

While Krog names many of the victims whose testimony she includes, there are just as many who go unnamed. However, many of the victims give similar testimonies detailing pain, sorrow, confusion, anger, and perhaps oddly, relief at being able to tell their stories. Facing silence for so long, the victims largely feel a sense of closure in telling people about their own experiences or the loss of loved ones. Krog anthropomorphizes the first narrative: “She is sitting behind a microphone, dressed in beret or kopdoek and her Sunday best […] Truth has become a Woman” (74). In Krog’s assessment, the victims are predominantly black and female.

In contrast to the victims, in Krog’s estimation the perpetrators are largely white—particularly Afrikaner—and male. While victim testimony tends to center on emotions more than specific details of an event, perpetrator testimony often involves very detailed accounts, which Krog observes could be a sign of disturbing lack of empathy on the part of the amnesty-seekers or could be an attempt to seem more honest, as honesty is a key requirement for receiving amnesty. Some perpetrators suffer from trauma and memory loss, struggling to recall their own past deeds. Many of the amnesty-seekers explain away their behavior by claiming that they were following orders, insisting they were present but not committing the worst crimes, or saying they simply didn’t fully understand the magnitude of what was happening.  

F.W. de Klerk is the last white president before Mandela, and “is known for his dramatic announcement […] that the ANC and other parties were unbanned and that Nelson Mandela would be released from prison” (398). De Klerk is the only National Party member to speak before the TRC during amnesty hearings, and does so only to protect his party. 

Throughout the TRC process, psychologists officially help journalists deal with their own feelings. Krog also has conversations on her own with psychologists and professors who specialize in understanding human reactions. These psychologists serve as a unified voice in the text explaining how trauma works, why people behave the way they do, and making sense of behaviors that might otherwise be confusing or difficult to understand. They not only help Krog understand herself, her colleagues—especially the black ones—and sometimes the perpetrators, but also give the reader a window into better understanding of the situation as well.