What’s the value of an official apology?

Image by spud murphy via Flickr

What does it mean for a government to apologize to its people for a past mistake? Does it make any difference?

In December’s issue of the Walrus, Mitch Miyagawa writes of his experiences as a descendent of Japanese-Canadians interned during the Second World War. Both his parents later re-married; one to an Cree woman, and the other to a Chinese man – both also part of groups that received official apologies for the treatment they endured in the past from the Canadian government. Miyagawa writes,

[Former Canadian Prime Minister] Mulroney, in his apology to Japanese Canadians, said the aim was “to put things right with the surviving members – with their children and ours, so that they can walk together in this country, burdened neither by the wrongs nor the grievances of previous generations.” [...] With the apology, so the redemption narrative went, Mulroney was returning Canada to its natural, perfect state. Cue music. Roll credits. The lights come up, and all is right in the world again.

Is an official apology just a political move, or does it hold any genuine emotional value? And if so, what kind?

On Monday, Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd apologized to “the Forgotten Australians and those who were sent to our shores as children without their consent.” He was talking about the thousands of British children sent to Australia – exiled, really – to work. Home Children, as they were called, were sent to British colonies under emigration programs set up by organizations in the UK. Most of the children were from poor backgrounds, and often their parents were told they were going to a better life. In reality, many were abused and forced to work under harsh conditions, unpaid.

British Prime Minister Gordon Brown announced that he’s also prepared to apologize to those affected by the program, which ended in 1967. As for Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper? From the Canadian Press:

Immigration Minister Jason Kenney says there’s no need for Canada to apologize for abuse and exploitation suffered by thousands of poor children shipped here from Britain starting in the 19th century. [...] he says there’s limited public appetite for official government apologies for tragic events of the past and no demand for one in this particular case.

Home Children Canada spokesman Sidney Baker told the Toronto Star, “We’ve got four million Canadians who are descendants of the home children and I think they deserve an apology for what their parents went through,” and that he was “very disappointed” by the decision.

No wonder. Effectively, what Kenney is saying is that because other groups have heard official apologies recently – notably to Aboriginal children who’d been abused at residential schools – that another one would be too boring for the Canadian public to endure. “Limited appetite” for apologies? Canadians?

But what would an official apology really mean? The political ramifications of a successful apology might somewhat remove any genuine feelings of remorse from the act, making an apology completely useless. Gordon Brown is suffering what appears to be a slow political death after consecutive scandals and public ennui after years of Labour government. Would Stephen Harper offer an apology to the Home Children if his poll numbers were lower? There’s no telling in either case, obviously, if that did or would affect the decision – it’s purely speculative. It seems callous to suggest it, but as politics is usually viewed as a series of competing talking points, devoid of emotion or (often) intent, an emotional confession is – perhaps unfortunately – bound to fall to cynical questioning.

And at what point does a government stop apologizing for the wrongs committed by its past incarnations? As a descendent of probably the last group of Canadians to ever receive an apology from my government for anything done in the past, it’s an interesting thing to watch. Not because I think I deserve one, too, but because I feel sort of guilty. Do past mistakes define my nationality? Miyagawa suggests in his Walrus piece that the recognition of historical missteps serves as a reminder of who we are now. “They’ve made me rethink what it means to be a citizen of this country,” he writes.

It’s a persuasive argument, and one that perhaps the Harper government ought to heed. If anyone learns anything from the Harper government’s re-tooled Canadian immigration guide, it’s that daily life as a Canadian is directly affected by decisions made hundreds of years ago. Surely, then, we ought to feel compelled to acknowledge – even apologize – for some of it?  It doesn’t mean we should feel guilty. After all, many of the policies had nothing to do with us. Apologizing doesn’t mean we’re revising history, but merely calling a spade a spade. We were jerks. Our bad. Jason Kenney’s apparent picking and choosing which harmed groups deserve an official apology is tricky business. After all, how much of a “demand” must there be to warrant an apology?

So here we are, with no real answers and one more existential national identity question to solve. It seems though, that the Home Children and their relatives are owed some acknowledgment. Canadians are renowned apologists. What’s one more?