THE RESEARCH

This article focuses on one part of a broader study of how Sierra Leoneans reconciled and built trust in their communities after war. Sierra Leone was an excellent place to study reconciliation in action. Though the 1991–2002 civil war was extremely brutal, Sierra Leoneans had good reason to reconcile after it. The war was not ethnically or religiously based. It was a rebellion against corrupt governing elites who impoverished the state and its people and decimated public services. As armed factions relied heavily on abductions for recruitment, the war tore families and communities apart, in a way that could not be sustained in peacetime. When the war ended, most combatants needed to find a way to live amongst people who had been harmed by their faction, and most civilians were willing to receive them, at the very least because they saw this as the only route to peace.

The findings were based on 65 in-depth interviews, participant observations and observations of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings.Footnote ⁴ Fifty-five of the interviews were with Sierra Leoneans, including reintegration officials, religious leaders, human rights workers, chiefs, educators, ex-combatants, amputees and diverse other citizens in seven communities, large and small, across the country.Footnote ⁵ I was particularly interested in the perspectives of ‘ordinary’ Sierra Leoneans, men and women of various ages and from diverse contexts, toward reintegration and reconciliation. The ten foreigners interviewed included a researcher, human rights workers, Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) officials, and two men who worked with amputees.

The research used an inductive method in which interviews were tape recorded and, whenever possible, transcribed and analysed before the next interviews were conducted. In this way, I could follow up themes as they arose. The proverb ‘There's no bad bush to throw away a bad child’, and the philosophy behind it, emerged as a major theme in my first interviews with Sierra Leonean reintegration officials. Although these officials worked for different agencies, in different towns and with different age groups, they articulated a consistent vision of African society as being inherently conciliatory and inclusive. This vision was ideal for promoting integration in the country, but my observations and interviews with diverse Sierra Leoneans often contradicted this ideal. As a discussion of reintegration springs from the war itself and the tensions that led to it, that is where this story must begin.

THE WAR

No war emerges from Utopia, and the Sierra Leone war was no exception. The 1991 rebel incursion was a violent response to a crisis of governance at both the national and local levels. Nationally, political leaders were enormously unpopular. Over the 1970s and 1980s top politicians, especially former president Siaka Stephens, used the state and its institutions for their own personal gain, and in doing so they drained the public service of its capacity to serve the population. These politicians created a clientelist system of governance, in which they used their control over resources and jobs to accumulate wealth and power, and to reward followers and exclude challengers. By 1991, when the war broke out, Sierra Leone was the poorest country in the world according to the Human Development Index, and the state was almost irrelevant to the rural population (Reno Reference Reno1995; TRC 2004; UNDP 1991).

Abuses of power by elites also occurred at the local level. The colonial system of indirect rule concentrated power in the hands of cooperative chiefs, who acted as intermediaries for all dealings with their constituents. This undermined traditional checks and balances, and gave chiefs unprecedented authority over their people, including the authority to interpret customary law. Many chiefs used this power to reinforce hierarchies of class, gender and age, and to silence or marginalise those whom they perceived as a threat. Young men often bore the brunt of this abuse, partly because they were seen as contenders for wives of polygamous elite men. Denied even the right to speak on their own behalf – as in traditional society youth cannot contradict elders – many young men fled their villages for diamond fields or towns, where they needed to find new support networks to survive.Footnote ⁶ When the war broke out, armed factions provided support and opportunities for impoverished and embittered young men (Hoffman Reference Hoffman2003, Reference Hoffman2004; Reno Reference Reno1995; TRC 2004; British researcher 2004 int.).

Referring to Sierra Leone, anthropologist Marianne Ferme (Reference Ferme2001: 160) writes that when the elite or their handlers are too successful in crushing criticism amidst crisis, ‘the flexibility required for power to constantly adapt itself to changing contexts’ is undermined. Rigid hierarchies and the marginalisation of those who might challenge the system eventually created a pool of young men who were available and willing to take up arms, even if they did not initiate the violence. While many young people, especially students in the capital, protested against corruption and abuses of power without advocating armed struggle, a few took up Libyan leader Mohammar Gadhafi's invitation for military training,Footnote ⁷ which provided the ideology, organisation and contacts that made the initial rebel incursion possible (Abdullah Reference Abdullah1997).

In March 1991, a small group of rebels, calling themselves the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) crossed into Sierra Leone from Liberia. Led by a disgruntled former Sierra Leone Army corporal, Foday Sankoh, and supported by Liberian warlord Charles Taylor and his forces, the insurgents aspired to topple the central government and, some observers argue, gain control of the diamond fields in the east of the country.Footnote ⁸

The RUF forces initially drew some sympathy and support. Sankoh was a skilled orator and his populist, anti-elitist message attracted some who were desperate for a change in government. However, a coup by junior army officers in April 1992 seemed to provide the regime change that many Sierra Leoneans desired. With 27-year-old Captain Valentine Strasser installed as head of the new junta, many young people in particular hoped that this would end the old gerontocratic order. This hope was short lived, as the new leaders proved to be as corrupt as the previous regime, but it drew support away from the RUF and into the army (Male student 2003 int.; TRC 2004).

The army recruited thousands of young men, and sent them with only cursory training into the field to fight the rebels. Despite this poor training, by late 1993 the army had almost succeeded in wiping out the rebel forces. However, at this point the RUF leadership stopped trying to attract followers through ideology. RUF forces left the communities in which they had based themselves, and began to conduct a bush war that relied heavily on terror tactics against soldiers and civilians alike (TRC 2004).

Militarily, this strategy was enormously successful as the rebels were quickly able to divide, confuse and frighten the poorly trained soldiers and discredit them in the eyes of the population. By 1994, the word ‘sobel’ – soldier turned rebel – had gained popular currency, as civilians began to suspect soldiers of collaborating with the RUF. This view, paradoxically, was encouraged by the military government, which did not defend the soldiers but shifted its support to community-based civil militias, now commonly described as the Civil Defence Force (CDF).Footnote ⁹ We do not know how many soldiers colluded with the RUF, but this shift in confidence demoralised even loyal soldiers, and turned the army into an oppositional force that committed many serious crimes (TRC 2004).

Politically and socially, RUF terror tactics were disastrous. In an all-too-familiar story, war became theatre (Hoffman Reference Hoffman2004), and amputations, murder, torture and rape became means of controlling civilians and communicating with the government, forcing it to negotiate a power sharing deal. As the rebels targeted the very population they claimed to be fighting for, their ability to recruit combatants dried up, and they had to rely heavily on abductions, primarily of children, to gain new members. These children were often forced to commit atrocities at home before they were taken away and resocialised, using trauma, fear, drugs and the lure of power into becoming young killers.

This brief history cannot do justice to a complex and brutal war, but it raises an important point. ‘Traditional’ ruling relations, entrenched in culture and ‘custom’, are heavily implicated in the war. For sustainable peace to be achieved, these practices need to be problematised and examined, and new alternatives need to be found through an ongoing dialogue that involves a broad range of Sierra Leoneans, not only elites.

THE NATURE OF RECONCILIATION

When the war officially ended in January 2002, the government faced three main conciliatory challenges. First, as all sides – the RUF, the army and the CDF – recruited children and committed atrocities, all combatants needed to reconcile with their communities and with the population at large.Footnote ¹⁰ This included rebel captives who were clearly victims, but were socially tainted by their forced association with their captors. Second, victims needed to reconcile with their communities – they needed to feel safe and accepted while they healed their injuries and losses. Third, as most Sierra Leoneans see failure of governance as a root cause of the war, citizens need to reconcile with their political leadership and state institutions.

But what does reconciliation mean in this context? There is no short and neat answer. We know that reconciliation implies some kind of ‘coming together’ of conflicting parties, or ‘coming to terms’ with events, but what this actually looks like in societies emerging from mass violence is heavily debated. The literature on post-conflict transitions offers a range of definitions that can be divided into two sets. To some, reconciliation means coming to agreement, coming together or coexisting peacefully. To others it means building trust, healing from a loss or trauma or coming to terms with events. All these definitions are relevant to post-conflict peacebuilding, but there are three important differences between the two groups.Footnote ¹¹

The first set of definitions – reconciliation as coming to agreement, coming together or coexisting peacefully – represents forms of reconciliation that can be measured and planned for. We know when a peace agreement has been signed or breached. We can see when citizens are working together or coexisting without reports of violence. I call this first set rational reconciliation and it is the focus of most peacebuilding efforts.

The second set, however, is not easily measured – it is felt. People may say they have reconciled and may coexist peacefully, but until they feel trust and healing, until they have come to terms emotionally with what happened to them or what they did, deep reconciliation has not occurred. I call this group sentient reconciliation.

Rational forms of reconciliation do not require fairness or justice (broadly defined) to succeed. Agreements do not have to be fair – and in fact peace agreements, with their amnesties and power sharing arrangements, rarely are. Similarly, efforts to promote peaceful coexistence often seem to reward those most willing and able to stir up trouble. Demobilisation programmes that offer training and allowances to ex-combatants are a prime example. Sentient reconciliation, on the other hand, probably does require justice. Those who suffered from crimes, or who are expected to welcome perpetrators into their communities, probably do need to see some evidence of remorse, change and possibly redressFootnote ¹² from combatants, and fairness within the society, to begin to trust and heal.

The third difference between these two groups is a matter of timing. Rational forms of reconciliation occur early in the transitional process and sentient forms follow. The peace agreement and peaceful coexistence lay the foundation for later healing and trust building. At the same time, they may undermine sentient reconciliation because the early processes themselves are unjust. Moreover, there is a danger that policy-makers, planners and donors will see peaceful coexistence as the only ‘realistic’ form of reconciliation, and will not commit themselves to the actions required to achieve deeper, sentient reconciliation.

The analysis that follows is based on this interpretation of reconciliation. I argue that while demobilisation and reintegration processes – including those that promoted a traditionalist view of reconciliation – sought to achieve peaceful co-existence, they lacked mechanisms for building trust within communities. As a result, they are unlikely to enhance sentient forms of reconciliation.

‘THERE'S NO BAD BUSH … ’: A TOOL TO FACILITATE POST-CONFLICT REINTEGRATION?

One of the priorities of a newly transitional state is to persuade fighters to give up arms. War can provide a good living, camaraderie and adventure for combatants. Where child soldiers or militias are used, it also gives them heady access to power over civilians and captives, far beyond anything they can expect in peacetime. Fighters must be persuaded to give up these things and enter mundane, difficult, civilian life where they may be disliked and distrusted by those around them, where their inflated status is not recognised, and where they are expected to be subservient to local authorities and elders.

Many governments facilitate reintegration of ex-combatants by providing them with job training or formal education, and small allowances to give them economic alternatives to war. Additionally the Sierra Leone government and civil society prepared civilians to receive ex-combatants by encouraging them to accept and forgive them. Civilians, most of whom did not receive free training or allowances, often referred to this as the ‘bitter pill’ they had to swallow for the sake of peace. In other words, while civilians generally accepted that ex-combatants needed assistance to reintegrate into peacetime society, many viewed the imbalance in assistance as an injustice.

At the end of the war, Sierra Leone was an impoverished and poorly functioning state with limited capacity to provide for its citizens without substantial foreign aid. The major towns could not handle a mass influx of new residents. Both the government and international donors had to rely on the organic capacity of communities to receive and provide for their members, and on people's desire to return to their rural homes. The proverb, ‘There's no bad bush to throw away a bad child’, was perfectly suited to these needs. With its vision of belonging, it became the rallying cry of post-war reintegration efforts.

According to one Sierra Leonean NGO worker, the political use of ‘There's no bad bush … ’ began about 1997, when the Inter-Religious Council sought ways to broker a peace deal between the government and the RUF:Footnote ¹³

‘There's no bad bush … ’ is a Krio proverb, but is now well known throughout the country because of its widespread use in sensitisation campaigns by demobilisation officials, NGOs and the TRC (Female educator 2007 int.).Footnote ¹⁴

Joe (2003 int.), the head of a child reintegration agency, articulates well the vision of reconciliation embedded in this proverb. He argues that by gaining a skill and contributing to their communities, ex-combatants can prove their worth and re-earn people's respect:

In Joe's view, all people can have a role in the community, even those who were severely disabled during the war:

Joe's vision conveys a spirit of belonging and mutual support that is part of Sierra Leonean life and well worth reinforcing, but ignores the harsh realities facing many people, especially women and children, in this highly unequal society. There is a danger that this appealing vision might obscure significant problems with reintegration if taken at face value. Let us look at the assumptions behind this ideal.

‘There is no bad bush to throw away a bad child’ assumes: (1) that Sierra Leoneans are reconciling with and forgiving ex-combatants; (2) that people want to return home; (3) that all people are (equally) valued; (4) that returning to the pre-war situation is ideal; and (5) that communities have the capacity to (justly) absorb all returnees. I have placed the words ‘equally’ and ‘justly’ in brackets because, in fact, the expression says nothing about equality and justice. These qualities may be assumed by outside donors, but they are not part of this communitarian vision. The vision behind the expression, ‘There is no bad bush … ’ is enormously appealing, but the interview findings encourage a sober second look. Let us look at each assumption in turn in light of these findings.

The first assumption states that Sierra Leoneans are reconciling with and forgiving ex-combatants, and most Sierra Leoneans I spoke with claimed that this was true. But when I asked them what reconciliation and forgiveness mean, almost everyone said they mean they will interact and not take revenge. Only two of the 55 Sierra Leoneans I interviewed said that reconciliation should come from the heart.

In part, statements of reconciliation reflect the success of sensitisation and reintegration efforts that conveyed a coherent philosophy of forgiveness, empathy and sacrifice for the sake of peace. Many respondents showed tremendous empathy for ex-combatants and emphasised that they would not normally commit atrocities.

Stephen, a house worker who was injured by child soldiers in the 6 January 1999 attack on Freetown said:

Similarly, Margaret (2003 int.), who was abducted and whose family was murdered by RUF forces said, ‘Because, if it's a normal situation, nobody would just get up and kill my family.’ Others said they had no choice but to forgive. Traditionally, a person who has committed an offence might be ostracised, but Edward (2003 int.), a Mende elder who lived in a small village, explained why ex-combatants must be accepted.

At the end of two days of extensive interviews in one Mende village, my research assistant, Musa Jambawai (2003 int.), made this astute observation:

Many statements of forgiveness, then, reflect not real forgiveness but rather helplessness. In his book, In Sierra Leone, Michael Jackson (Reference Jackson2004: 70) contrasts a powerful politician's desire for revenge with statements of forgiveness by a woman, Fina Kamara, whose hand was amputated, as well as the hand of her young daughter. Jackson writes, ‘Clearly, both one's point of view and one's tactics reflect one's hold on power … That (the politician, S. B. Marah) gave (the rebels) no quarter was not because his anger was stronger than Fina Kamara's, but simply because he was in a stronger position.’

A Sierra Leonean Catholic priest (2003 int.) also attributed people's willingness to ‘forgive and forget’ to powerlessness. He said:

But while Sierra Leoneans generally agreed to coexist and interact with ex-combatants, they had not reconciled in any deeply felt way. They still did not trust ex-combatants, and few formal avenues existed to help people discuss war experiences. In much of Sierra Leone, especially in rural communities, strong strictures prevent open dialogue between generations, and intermediaries are expected to be used to facilitate discussions in times of conflict or difficulty. This forced people to use indirect means of trust-building. When I asked respondents how they learn to trust ex-combatants, the answer was always, ‘We watch them.’ The following statements are typical:

These comments support Joe's view that people must return to their villages and make themselves useful to earn the trust of community members.

And ex-combatants knew they were being watched. One young woman, Grace (2003 int.), was abducted by RUF forces, and was thus associated with them when she returned to her village. She talked about her experience at home, and her need to display humility to gain the trust of the people around her. Here are two segments of my interview with her:

When I asked Grace how she could ease relations with others in the village, she said it is her responsibility to show appreciation for those around her and in return they should be open to her:

Grace had not spoken of her experiences with the RUF to anyone outside her immediate family. She was a victim of the RUF and undoubtedly suffered greatly with them, but paradoxically she was on ‘trial’ by villagers for this unwilling association.

These interviews indicate that while Sierra Leoneans are willing to coexist peacefully, this ‘reconciliation’ is not deeply felt, and few avenues exist for facilitating the kind of discussion that might lead to deep reconciliation and trust. (I address the question of whether such discussions are culturally appropriate below.) Many respondents empathised with ex-combatants, but most also expressed a sense of powerlessness. The TRC provided a rare forum for ordinary Sierra Leoneans to discuss the past openly.

The second assumption asserts that Sierra Leoneans want to return to their home villages. Here the results are mixed. While many did return to their communities, others preferred to settle elsewhere – either because they found new communities or opportunities, or because they were not accepted at home. Early in my research, for example, I heard that many ex-combatants from the south were living in the northern town of Makeni because they were afraid to return, so I headed north. Predictably, none of the young people I spoke with admitted to being afraid to return – and most said they had gone home and returned – but they seemed more at ease with their former comrades than they were back home, where opportunities were limited and they had to be subservient to adults. They were now making their own way – some selling cigarettes or driving motorcycle taxis to pay for school.

I also met a diverse group of fishermen and women outside Freetown, who had formed a solid new community and had no intention of returning to their respective home villages. Similarly, I talked with elderly amputees who said they were happy to live in a community with other amputees in houses built for them by donors about an hour's drive from the capital. They were closer to amenities and, in the words of an elderly man, ‘We live as a community, as a family, because your arm has been amputated and my arm had been amputated so all of us have the same suffering … We live together and understand each other’ (Elderly male amputee 2003 int.). The elderly woman added that she had nothing to return to at home. Her close male relatives are dead or missing (Elderly female amputee 2003 int.). As a woman she has limited title to land in the village, and now she has a house and is providing for her children and grandchildren who live with her.

Finally, I met a group of former militiamen who felt they were heroes because they had defended their country when no one else would. They refused to return home until the lofty and unrealistic promises made to them by politicians were fulfilled.Footnote ¹⁵ That many people did not choose to return home casts healthy doubts on the essentialist view of Africans needing to be in their home communities.

The third assumption, that all people are (equally) valued must also be examined. Let us look at the examples of amputees and female victims of sexual violence – especially women who became impotent or contracted fistula after the war. Although Joe, the reintegration worker, stressed that everyone belongs in the community, many in these two groups were rejected by their families, because they were seen as unproductive drains on families already struggling to survive. This presents the paradox that ex-combatants often reintegrated more easily than victims of serious crimes.

A civil militiaman who was an amputee described going home:

A Canadian intern (2003 int.) who worked with amputees said that this story was not exceptional.

This raises the important point that crime is not just the injury or violation in itself. It exists in a social and economic context, and is interpreted through that context. In most of Sierra Leone, which is regulated by customary law, a woman's primary social function is to be a mother, and she can only own property through men – her father, husband or son. This means that women who can no longer have children as a result of sexual violence may be rejected by the men around them, and lose their claim on any form of economic security. This situation is made worse by the stigma of rape. The government and women's groups are beginning to address these social and legal issues, but nobody mentioned the need to establish alternative and respected roles for women, so they may have dignified options to marriage and motherhood.

The fourth assumption suggests that returning to the pre-war situation is ideal. But internally driven mass violence rarely emerges from Utopia. Severe inequalities and abuses of power at both the national and local levels are widely accepted as the root causes of the war in Sierra Leone. There is the danger that using tradition-based rituals, expressions and integrative processes uncritically may reinforce the pre-war status quo. While communitarian societies often have strong conciliatory institutions and processes, these tend to emphasise social conformity rather than equality and justice.

A focus on rituals, idealised depictions of traditional cultures, and people's premature expressions of reconciliation and forgiveness, also ignores the fact that Sierra Leoneans primarily integrate through age-old relations of dependency, many of which are tremendously exploitative, and leave many women, children and other marginalised groups extremely vulnerable to abuse. If deep and sustainable reconciliation is to be achieved in Sierra Leone, pre-war governing structures cannot be assumed, and should not be prematurely reinforced. Elites cannot be the sole spokespeople for the country. Avenues need to be created to support broad public dialogue about the problems of the past and directions for the future, and the public needs to know that the government is responding to its wishes.

In March 2003, the UNDP funded country-wide consultations for the Ministry of Local Government and Community Development, in preparation for the May 2004 local government elections. The findings indicated that many Sierra Leoneans wanted more diverse representation in local government. The consultation report recommended that: (1) candidates should be elected on a ‘non-party basis’; (2) no seats on elected district councils should be reserved for paramount chiefs; and (3) councils should have ‘special representation for women, youth and disabled war victims’. However, all three recommendations were rejected when the Local Government Act 2004 was drafted (Jackson Reference Jackson2005: 52).

Consultations such as these about governance issues have three important functions: they educate citizens about the roles and responsibilities of government; they empower them to reflect on governing structures and seek changes where needed; and, if recommendations are acted upon, they give the government more legitimacy in the eyes of the population. These are important steps in reconciling the citizen and the state – the third major conciliatory need identified above.

The fifth and final assumption was that communities have the capacity to absorb returnees. In Sierra Leone, communities did display remarkable capacity to absorb returning ex-combatants and displaced people, especially those who were seen as able to contribute to the income of the family and community. The government and donors did what they could to facilitate this reintegration, by (re)building infrastructure such as schools and village courts, and supporting income-generating projects. However, the questions must again be asked: on what terms are people being reabsorbed, and are the conditions that led to the war being recreated?

We must also ask whether traumatised and impoverished families and communities are able to deal with the physical, emotional and psychological needs of a large number of equally traumatised returnees – many of whom are also dealing with unspoken feelings of culpability. In 2003, when I conducted the interviews, people still seemed to be in shock and were focusing on mere survival. But they will eventually have to deal emotionally with their war experiences. Support mechanisms need to be put in place to help people come to terms with what happened to them and those around them, so that these feelings do not erupt in unforeseen and harmful ways.

OPEN DIALOGUE: CULTURALLY INAPPROPRIATE OR A WAY FORWARD?

Many Sierra Leoneans and knowledgeable outside observers argue that open dialogue about the problematic past is inconsistent with Sierra Leonean culture, and is not desired by the vast majority of the population. Indeed, Sierra Leoneans often repeated the expressions ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ and ‘forgive and forget’. One reintegration officer actively discouraged villagers from talking with child ex-combatants about the war, because he felt this would help children forget and move on. He asserted that this was also the preference of the parents (Child reintegration officer 2003 int.). Jackson (Reference Jackson2004) and Shaw (Reference Shaw2007) also observe that many Sierra Leoneans do not want to talk about the past. Shaw (Reference Shaw2007: 68) encountered repeated ‘reluctance to reproduce the war by discussing it publicly … both in Freetown and in the rural provinces’. She adds that ‘Parents often told their children not to talk of the war outside the home.’

However, while many people choose not to talk about the past, and while customs discourage open conversations about problematic events, it does not follow that all or even most Sierra Leoneans prefer silence or avoidance. Sierra Leoneans have another expression, which I heard translated from Mende: ‘Before you plait a woman's hair you must remove the lice’ (Female section chief 2003 int.). This proverb means that one must address the problems of the past before building the future. It was also frequently repeated by TRC chairman Bishop Humper during public hearings.

The experience of the TRC indicates that many Sierra Leoneans wanted to talk and hear about the past. When given the opportunity, and despite predictions to the contrary, 7,706 Sierra Leoneans – out of an estimated population of 5·1 million in 2003 (UNDP 2007) – chose to present statements to the TRC, and 446 witnesses testified publicly, a number which was limited due to lack of time and resources (TRC 2004). I witnessed enormous public interest and engagement with the TRC in the towns of Bo and Kailahun after the public hearings began (Stovel Reference Stovel2006). Unlike the hearings in Freetown, where there seemed to be little public interest in the proceedings and attendance was generally low, hearings in Bo and Kailahun were well attended, and many people around me who did not attend the hearings followed them on the radio. On the last day of hearings in Kailahun, the hall was jam-packed, with people standing in every available space, eagerly following the proceedings, which involved witnesses giving lengthy and uninterrupted testimony, followed by questions by commissioners and the leader of evidence.Footnote ¹⁶

Consistent with this, the TRC (2004: vol. 1, par. 134) found that despite ‘a number of publications that referred to the “closed” nature of Sierra Leone's traditional societies … women testified in large numbers and in great detail about their experiences’, including experiences of sexual violence. Women who testified to the TRC about sexual violence were offered the opportunity to testify in camera, but many women, ‘particularly in rural areas’, ‘volunteered to testify in public’. They ‘wanted the community to hear their stories’ (ibid.: vol. 3B, par. 27).

While dialogue should not be forced,Footnote ¹⁷ neither should it be discouraged. As ex-combatants, abductees and displaced people attempt to integrate into communities, and as people in those communities wrestle with the betrayals and losses of the war, many Sierra Leoneans will want to talk about their experiences, hear the stories of others, and ask questions. While watching others and demonstrating trustworthy behaviour will always be part of the trust-building process, direct dialogue can go a long way towards clarifying facts and stopping rumours. Where people want to engage in direct dialogue they should not be discouraged from doing so, and when custom blocks dialogue, alternative avenues need to be provided to facilitate it.

*  *  *

Traditional governing institutions, and conciliatory expressions and processes, are tremendous resources for achieving peaceful coexistence in the aftermath of war, but they should not be taken for granted, romanticised or blindly reinforced. If communities are to be the safe havens, that ‘There is no bad bush … ’ suggests they need to be responsive to the needs, concerns and interests of all their members.

If the needs of victims of war abuses are to be addressed and the rigidities and abuses of the past are to be avoided, the brackets around the words ‘justly’Footnote ¹⁸ and ‘equality’ (in the list of assumptions inherent in ‘There is no bad bush’) need to be removed, and these values need to become an explicit part of this communitarian vision. This would be a significant break from the past, and would require significant and safe public discussion to see how it would be implemented.

A time of transition provides the best opportunity for reflection, dialogue and change. It is a time when all parties recognise that a crisis exists, and that change needs to occur. It is also a time when the international presence is largest, and the government is receiving the most international funding. With the international spotlight on them, elites will be least likely to crack down violently on those who dare to voice their opinions on issues of governance and social and economic injustice. The Sierra Leone TRC provided a rare opportunity for open and broad-based dialogue. Other channels for dialogue, within communities and nationally, need to be created, supported and their results must be acted upon while the time is ripe.