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The reaction to the arrest of renowned film director Roman Polanski this month has been—to put it mildly—intriguing. The 76-year-old had admitted to unlawful sexual intercourse with a 13-year-old in 1977. He pleaded guilty to statutory rape, but fled the country before sentencing. For thirty years he has lived in France, raising a family and continuing his work without censure. Those lining up to defend the Polish director in his hour of need have been conspicuous by their positions of influence if not by their large numbers. The French Foreign Minister, no less, described the arrest as ‘sinister’. The cultural minister from the same country said it was ‘totally unjust,’ and felt it revealed a ‘scary’ side of America. And a host of sophisticates, European artists and Hollywood insiders have been quick to defend Polanski and cast his capture as cruel, barbarous and the result of persecution. ‘Incomprehensible overzealousness’ is how the arrest was described by Poland’s foreign minister Radoslow Sikorski. ‘He’s so talented.’ ‘It was years ago.’ Can’t we forgive and forget?’ It’s hard to imagine the same generosity being extended to a wayward Catholic Priest, or schoolteacher, no matter how long ago were their crimes. Forgive and forget. If only it were that simple! Yale University theologian Miroslav Volf writes in his book, The End of Memory – Remembering Rightly in a Violent World, of the need ultimately to put memories of past wrongs aside; of active ‘forgetting’ as part of forgiveness, healing and reconciliation. He could easily be misunderstood. Volf, himself a victim of intense and sustained interrogations by the government of then Communist Yugoslavia, insists that the Christian vision of the world entails the possibility of overcoming the past for both the victim and the perpetrator of wrongs. He holds out hope of healing from guilt and (at least partial) redemption even for those who have committed terrible crimes. But here’s the thing. This is no teary-eyed sentiment according to Volf. Nor is it the justification of the weak and powerless coming to terms with the cards life has dealt them. Forgiveness and reconciliation can only ever occur once justice has been served. In this sense, it is hard-nosed. The light of truth shone into dark places where sometimes we’d rather remain hidden, is the only hope for the possibility of recompense. Polanski’s crime, and a crime it was, is not something to be swept under the carpet of time, or artistic success, or other contributions that he may have made. We may well hope for compassion for him at the appropriate time. But he has not faced justice, and therefore cannot truly move beyond the stain of what transpired in a Hollywood home all those years ago. Simon Smart (We ask that you please keep all comments to 200 words or less) |
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