BASIS OF THE REPRESSION

A few days after the coup, the Junta de Defensa Nacional (National Defence Board) declared martial law to be in force throughout Spain, and even in the parts of the country which remained under Republican control. According to this law, anyone “committing acts or omissions which could prejudice the aims pursued by the movement to redeem our country” would be deemed guilty of a crime of military rebellion and tried by the military tribunals. This fiction would serve as the basis for court-martial trials in which thousands of people were sentenced to death or long prison terms during the Civil War and for many years after it was over, with the total violation of even the most elementary of procedural rights. Martial law remained in force until March 1948, nine years after the end of the Spanish Civil War.

Between 1936 and 1945, the Franco regime carried out a brutal programme of mass repression. As well as those who were murdered by the regime's death squads, in some areas Francoist authorities subjected up to 15% of the population to summary military trials in which members of the civil society and Catholic Church frequently collaborated in denouncing and providing information about the activities and/or political orientations of the defendants. Recent historical research reveals that the Franco regime did not impose a police state upon a passive Spanish society. Instead, according to Anderson, there was mass complicity that forged a powerful repressive system based on elements present within Spanish society itself which was perhaps even more aggressive than what the Nazis managed to impose on the German population.

DEPURATION

The “purification” of Spain through the elimination of those considered responsible for its woes was the main goal pursued by Franco in directing the war effort and subsequently in building the “new state”. For this reason, in addition to the physical elimination or exile of opponents, Franco planned their removal from power and even from public employment. This lustration affected judges, university lecturers, teachers and other public employees. Franco thus made sure that his followers occupied relevant positions in the public administration. The scope of these measures was one of the key elements that explain the strength of the dictatorship.

INTRODUCTION

As in much of Europe, the history of Spain in the 20th century was scarred by violence, war and dictatorial regimes. It was also marked by the struggle to construct a democratic system capable of responding to the needs and aspirations of all its citizens under equality of conditions and within the framework of the rule of law. The majority of Western Europe definitively embarked upon this journey in 1945, whereas in the south, in the states of the Iberian Peninsula and Greece, this process had to wait until the 1970s. On the other hand, the majority of the countries that had become socialist republics after the Second World War did not start their transition towards democracy until the last decade of the century.

These transition processes involved states reconstructing their political systems and restructuring their social relations, which they achieved with varying degrees of difficulty. In some cases, these challenges also had to be combined with a change of economic model. Some countries decided to subject past acts of violence to the scrutiny of justice. In all cases, it was necessary to manage the burden of history. Managing a more or less peaceful coexistence between the victors and the vanquished, between oppressors and their victims, and between the heirs of one group and those of the other (whether these relationships are based on family ties, political affiliations, ethnic origins or ideology) has never been easy.

Within this context, the case of Spain is not unique, but it is particularly complex, given the fact that a long and bloody civil war was followed by a brutal, merciless, and even longer, period of dictatorship imposed by the victors. Although everything may seem very distant now, as the war ended in 1939 and the dictator died in 1975, in some respects it still remains all too present.

Although the symbolic frontier of the year 2000 has now passed, there are still many who, with good reason, believe that the political powers have not done enough to compensate the victims of the violence of the past or to recognise those who opposed the dictatorship. But there are also many who interpret any policy of historical memory aimed at achieving these objectives as a revenge attack on the stability that had been achieved and as an attempt to reopen old wounds.

Act 52/2007, of 26 December, to recognise and broaden rights and to establish measures in favour of those who suffered persecution or violence during the Civil War and the Dictatorship.

BOE No. 310, pp. 53410–53416. 27 December 2007.

Explanation of Reasons

The spirit of reconciliation and harmony and of respect for pluralism and peaceful defence of all ideas which guided the Transition, enabled the establishment of a Constitution for us, that of 1978, which legally expressed the desire of Spaniards for reunification, forming a social and democratic state of law with the clear wish for integration.

Thus the spirit of the Transition gives meaning to this constitutional model offering the most fruitful co-existence that we Spaniards have ever enjoyed and it also explains the various measures and rights which have been recognised over time from the very beginning of the entire democratic era, for the benefit of those persons who, for the decades prior to the Constitution, suffered the consequences of our devastating civil war and the dictatorship that succeeded it.

Notwithstanding that legislative effort, there still remain initiatives which should be adopted to give effect and a definitive response to the demands of those citizens, presented both through parliament and through various civic associations. These constitute legitimate and just demands to which our democracy, calling again upon that founding spirit of harmony and in the context of the Constitution, cannot fail to respond.

Therefore, this Law addresses the matters stated by the Constitutional Commission of Congress of Deputies which unanimously approved a motion on 20th November 2002 in which the representative organ of the people affirmed that “no-one should be able to feel that it is legitimate, as it has been in the past, to use violence as a means to impose political beliefs and to establish totalitarian regimes contrary to the liberty and dignity of all citizens, and to do so merits condemnation and repudiation by our democratic society”.

THEORETICAL BACKGROUND: MODELS OF TRANSITIONAL JUSTICE

In recent years a heated debate about transitional justice has emerged at the transnational level. This phenomenon has been reflected in numerous publications, which have mainly been in English, but also in Spanish. The latter have appeared in some Latin American countries, but also, more recently, in Spain. This is a clearly transdisciplinary field which has attracted contributions from specialists in political science, sociology, philosophy and public international law. Specialists in criminal law have been less drawn to this area, despite the challenges that the issues involved present from the perspective of theories of punishment and the points of contact that exist with international criminal law and restorative justice.

Historically speaking, demands for justice in transitional contexts have traditionally been linked to the application of criminal justice against those responsible for violations of human rights that occurred under previous political regimes. If we focus on the best-known experiences from the contemporary era, we find that the regimes in question tended to emerge from an armed conflict or a revolutionary transition, and to adopt exceptional measures to repress those who were judged to have committed unlawful acts under the outgoing regime. A culture of punitive emergency and even the abrogation of the basic principles of criminal law and due process were the dominant attitudes of the new rulers once they had become entrenched in power. Lustration, special courts, the use of untrained judges, violations of the principle of legality and the prohibition of the retroactive application of criminal law have all been components of a model of transitional justice in which the concept of “political justice” has prevailed over the rule of law. Examples of this transitional model were common in the European transitions that took place immediately after the Second World War and were also seen more recently in the Portuguese revolution of 1974 and in post-Soviet political transformations of the 1990s. In these cases, we frequently find degenerate forms of justice, such as “revolutionary justice” or “victors’ justice”.

GENERAL REMARKS

As previously explained, following the dictator Franco's death, many different measures were adopted with the aim of restoring and rehabilitating the rights for those who had long been deprived of them. It is, however, important to highlight the fact that these measures had a specifically restitutional character. Taking this into consideration, it is evident that from the beginning of the democracy in Spain there were many different legislative initiatives aimed at offering appropriate reparations to those who had been victims, first in the Civil War and then during the dictatorship. It was not, however, until the arrival of the seventh legislature (2000–4) that some members of Parliament started to take action and to demand a different kind of proposal that focused on the acknowledgement of dignity and honour, the recognition of moral obligations, and the offering of public apologies by the Spanish State and finally culminating in the recognition of historical memory. As Davis observes, at that time it seemed that Spain was finally recovering its memory by breaking the pacto del olvido.

As already mentioned, it was not until 2002 that a decision was taken in the Spanish Parliament to officially condemn Francoism and that the Interdepartmental Commission for the Study of the Situation of the Victims of the Civil War and Francoism (hereinafter the Interdepartmental Commission) was finally created. The time had come to end the silence and to settle the outstanding debt with the victims.

It is particularly relevant to underline the significant role played by the Interdepartmental Commission, even though it has been criticised by some NGOs. This Commission held a series of meetings with 36 associations and organisations involved in dealing with the Civil War and the dictatorship or that worked in related fields. Demands were presented from different perspectives. The most important of these was for the rehabilitation of people who had been convicted by special judicial or administrative bodies and for the decisions of such trials to be declared null and void. There were references to a number of very specific cases, such as those of Lluis Companys, Juan Bautista Peset and Blas Infante, as we shall see below.

PRECEDENTS

AN EXCEPTIONAL CASE FOR PROSECUTION

Criminal justice for crimes committed during the Civil War and under Francoism is already known not to have existed during the Spanish transition. No criminal prosecutions have been brought against those responsible for crimes attributable to the victors. Passive behaviour has prevailed among judges, prosecutors and political authorities who could order or call for prosecutions, as well as, to a certain degree, society at large. This is a crucial point, since the Spanish criminal procedural system recognises a broad space for individuals and organisations to call for criminal proceedings even if not direct or indirect victims of the crime concerned. Known as “class action” (acción popular), it stems from liberal tradition, conceived in the Spanish Constitution as the right of the citizens to participate in criminal proceedings. However, almost no efforts were made to avoid or mitigate the effects of the Amnesty Act. Until National Court Judge Baltasar Garzón decided to investigate the crimes committed during the Spanish Civil War and the dictatorship, there have been no initiatives to start a general criminal investigation.

Due to its exceptional character, the Ruano case is noteworthy. Its interest lies in it being a post-Amnesty Act attempt to prosecute, for a crime related to political repression by Francoist police forces. The case is also an excellent opportunity to provide an overview of the regime, which, even in the last phase, behaved ruthlessly against the opponents and was supported, in the form of passive complicity, by the Judiciary and wide sectors of Spanish society. Enrique Ruano was a twenty-year-old student member of the Communist Revolutionary Party, an illegal extreme left -wing organisation, who was arrested by the Brigada Politico-Social, the police in charge of investigation and prosecution of dissidents, on 17 January 1967. He died after three days in police custody. The police report stated that, during the search conducted at a home, “the handcuffs were removed to sign the minutes, he pushed an inspector against the wall and ran into the hallway and, jumping out of a window, fell into the inner courtyard of the building, having thwarted all the efforts by the officers to avoid that happening”.

THE “SPANISH MODEL”: RHETORIC ABOUT RECONCILIATION AND A DECISION NOT TO LOOK BACK TO THE PAST

The transition from dictatorship to democracy was triggered by the death of Franco on 20 November 1975. Two days later, King Juan Carlos I was crowned. The restoration of the monarchy took place in strict compliance with the provisions of the dictator who, in 1968, through the Law of Succession, had appointed the grandson of last king, Alfonso XIII, who had left Spain in 1931, before the proclamation of the Second Republic, as his successor. There was no break with the past, but absolute institutional continuity. Juan Carlos I assumed the position of Head of State and Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces. The legitimacy of the monarchy was subsequently confirmed by King Alfonso XIII's son, Juan de Borbón, renouncing the crown in favour of his son, Juan Carlos. The new monarch did not condemn the Franco regime, but rather pronounced messages in favour of harmony and reconciliation among all Spaniards. The monarchy gradually expressed support for establishing a democracy without breaking with the former regime and with calls to look forward to the future and not back to the past.

The Spanish Government, headed by Adolfo Suárez, promoted a process of democratic reform, which was reflected in a law of political reform passed by the Cortes Generales, a body with a parliamentary appearance that had existed under the Franco regime but which had never been directly elected by Spain's citizens. The new law was put to referendum and approved on 15 December 1976. Under these legal provisions, democratic general elections were subsequently held on 15 June 1977, from which a Constituent Parliament emerged, with two chambers, the Congress of Deputies and the Senate, whose primary mission was to draw up a constitution. During this period, a number of measures were adopted that were distinctly democratic in character; these included various amnesties and remedial measures that we shall examine later. Almost all political parties were legalised and were allowed to participate in the elections of June 1977. The trickiest decision centred on the legalisation of the Communist Party.

WHAT KIND OF JUSTICE AND FOR WHICH VICTIMS?

A comprehensive overview of the victimisation caused by such a long and bloody dictatorship as that of the Franco regime is impossible. Presenting a topography of pain would require us to consider the full extent of largely irreversible human suffering as well as the social harm caused, the deadliest attacks on the human bonds on which a community is built, and the vacuum left by the disappeared and exiled. Referring strictly to individual victimisation, we should include in the balance not only the deaths, but also the pain suffered by the wounded and tortured. We also need to consider the psychological damage caused to people who lost their loved ones, those who did not know the fate of their relatives, the mothers who were deprived of their children and the children who were deprived of their parents or fraudulently and violently removed from them. There were also the exiles who were forced to spend long periods away from their families, and there was the transmission of trauma to subsequent generations. Finally, there were numerous economic losses, many of which were very difficult to repair, as well as the deprivation of property and the loss of opportunities.

Many forms of victimisation are impossible to measure, classify or quantify. Some are related to the humiliation caused by the victors’ persistent arrogance toward the vanquished, which took various forms of stigma and personal degradation, such as the denial of the status of being Spanish, discrimination as to who could enjoy the benefits of the regime, and a persistent climate of intimidation. Socially, the costs of such a large number of people being killed and exiled, and with university lecturers, judges and teachers being expelled from their jobs, were incalculable. As noted by Reyes Mate, political murders led not only to the physical disappearance of victims, but also to their “hermeneutic death” and the loss of basic foundations of social order.

Transitional processes share common problems, even though they are mediated by different national, historical and cultural features.

The last decade of the twentieth century marked a critical milepost for women: the international legal community had, finally, prosecuted rape in trials at the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda (ICTR) and the International Criminal Tribunal for Yugoslavia (ICTY). These prosecutions were rightly seen as a victory for feminists who had lobbied extensively for this kind of recognition and prosecution of sexual violence against women. After centuries of silence, including near silence about rape during the Nuremberg trials and in the Geneva Conventions, with the advent of the ad hoc international tribunals for the former Yugoslavia and Rwanda, the hybrid tribunal for Sierra Leone, and the new International Criminal Court, the international legal community was at last prosecuting rape as a crime against humanity and as torture. While feminists in general applaud this development, they differ on some issues involved and raise important questions. Should wartime rape be seen as different from ‘regular’ rape–that is, rape committed in peacetime? If it is seen as different, should it be treated differently in the international tribunals? What is the relationship between the general oppression and violence towards women in most societies and the treatment of women in times of conflict? Can these two harms be severed for purposes of international trials? Should rape committed during times of armed conflict be treated as other acts of violence in conflict or is the crime categorically different and be so prosecuted? Does the focus on sexual violence against women in conflict obscure the other harms that women experience in times of war? Does it reduce women to a single category-victim? Some feminist scholars also look skeptically at the very mandate of the tribunals and suggest that it categorizes women as victims and fails to address more general and widespread discourses of war and nationalism.

Despite the unsettled and unsettling questions, some feminist activists believe that we should be grateful that rape is being prosecuted at all, that expecting too much of the nascent tribunals creates undue pressure as the jurisprudence evolves.

INTRODUCTION

Despite the gains made for women following the Cuban Revolution in 1959, Cuban feminists were slow to recognize the ongoing problem of violence against women. Certainly, the Cuban revolution had focused on the needs of women at the outset. It had established a number of principal mass organizations shortly after 1959 including the Federation of Cuban Women (FMC) which set forth its initial objective as the incorporation women into the realm of productive labor. The FMC established day care centers, state-run cafeterias and take-out restaurants, and laundries as part of an effort to socialize domestic work. As a result, a ‘triumphalist discourse’ emerged which assumed that matters such as domestic violence would cease with changed material conditions.

Over time, however, Cubans recognized that domestic violence was an entrenched problem with grave consequences that called for research and resources. Through multidisciplinary efforts, Cuban scholars, policymakers, and activists have developed an approach to domestic violence that draws on its historical political culture and is distinguished by the socio-political norms that inform, if not characterize the Cuban revolution.

Domestic violence as a global feminist concern impacts localities differently. This paper examines an alternative approach to addressing gendered violence. It considers the circumstances in which domestic violence assumed heightened importance in Cuba, the framework within which Cubans approach the problem, and the principles means Cubans rely upon to address the issue.

CUBA IN THE INTERNATIONAL: HUMAN RIGHTS AS POLITICAL OPPORTUNITY STRUCTURES

Particular country conditions at any given time directly influence whether efforts to achieve gender-based reforms will be successful. For example, during times of political turmoil that threaten the stability of state regimes, when governments experience pressure – particularly in the form of external hostility – women may be reluctant to mount criticisms that target state practices. Under these circumstances, women are often forced to choose between defending their personal welfare or protecting their community or national wellbeing. For many complex reasons, they often choose the latter.

This dilemma describes the circumstances in Cuba with regard to domestic violence. It was not until the 1990s that feminists and the FMC publicly recognized the need to incorporate a gender analysis to assist in projects related to women's issues, including the problem of domestic violence. These developments occurred during the post-Soviet special period, when the United States increased its sanctions against Cuba.

INTRODUCTION

International law has primarily viewed time as functional. Statutes of limitations, the Rule of Inter-Temporal Law and two-year Security Council terms for nonpermanent members all illustrate the practicality of time in the international legal system. Time, however, plays a much more dynamic role. It is inherent to the construction and operation of international law. In spite of its ubiquity, however, time is rarely examined or identified as a tool. This chapter seeks to introduce temporality as an analytical framework in international law.

This chapter confines itself to a specific context within which to derive and apply a temporal analysis: international law's preoccupation with crisis. Legal scholars have widely argued that international law tends to place inordinate emphasis on crises, and can thus be said to adhere to a ‘crisis model’. This model facilitates and contributes to the marginalization of women and their interests.

INTRODUCTION

Sexual violence against women has been a recurrent feature of armed conflicts throughout history, and as the above quote demonstrates, still occurs daily in on-going conflicts. This is also evidenced by the alarming reports of the scale of sexual violence being committed against women in areas such as Darfur, the Democratic Republic of Congo, or Ivory Coast. The attacks against women are generally gender related and may include crimes such as sexual assaults, rape, sexual mutilations, sexual slavery, forced prostitution and forced impregnation.

Restorative justice has recently emerged as an increasingly important alternative to traditional punitive justice both during and after conflict and in peacetime. There are a number of on-going theoretical and normative debates as well as practical experiences being made around the world attempting to apply this innovative approach to justice. Some of these experiences have failed. Others have encountered problems, causing such approaches to be seriously put into question. Nevertheless, for its broader vision of the causes and consequences of crime; for its humane approach to victims, perpetrators and communities; and for its potential for accountability, deterrence, and reconciliation, restorative justice needs to be examined in a post-conflict context.

Some of the aspects of restorative justice in its stricter meaning may not be relevant or appropriate for dealing with sexual crimes in armed conflicts. Nevertheless, there are many aspects of this type of justice, which I believe to be suitable and even crucial to be taken into account in a transitional justice context, that is to say in giving it a broader appeal.

In Bosnia and Herzegovina, a vast and sprawling marketplace sprang up as peace accords were going into effect, bringing three and a half years of bloody ethnic fighting more or less to a conclusion. The place, Arizona Market, was created, fostered and supported by the international community (‘IC’), which for years would hype it as a shining example of capitalism, evidence of the positive impact of the political and economic engineering that takes place with internationally assisted post-war reconstruction.

The internationals present during the early days after the Dayton Peace Accords, mostly military, diplomatic and humanitarian actors, pointed to Arizona Market as the one place in Bosnia where Serbs, Croats and Bosniaks interacted peaceably. Early narratives about the Market expressed faith in its ability to spur peaceful relations between warring ethnicities through the neutrality of commerce, citing it as an example of how the free market transition could overcome ethnic disharmony in greater Bosnia and Herzegovina.

For quite some time, the IC ignored the fact that women were being sold in the market place, like slaves at auction, to be sent to brothels all over the region and beyond. They turned a blind eye to the human trafficking, even though (or perhaps because) some of them were themselves purchasing and selling women for sex and other indentured services. When stories began emerging outside of Bosnia and Herzegovina about human trafficking emanating from the hub of Arizona Market, the narrative abruptly changed to one describing it as a dark and seedy place, full of corruption and hidden criminal activity. Thus, the narratives surrounding Arizona Market are conflicting; and perhaps all hold some truth. It was in fact a place to buy the goods necessary for daily survival when there were none to be found elsewhere in decimated post-war Bosnia, but it was also a place to buy human beings to satisfy the sexual demands of the internationals and international money flooding into the region.

This chapter will employ the example of Arizona Market to illustrate some of the harms that emanate from the politico-economic engineering that takes place in early phases of post-conflict reconstruction, in particular the harms that accrue for women.

In 2010, ethnic violence broke out in Kyrgyzstan, the worst in decades. Displacing hundreds of thousands of Uzbeks to refugee camps along the Uzbekistan border, the clashes resulted in hundreds of deaths and an uncounted number of sexual assaults. On one Osh street alone, Kyrgyz men sexually assaulted more than ten Uzbek women and girls – some pregnant, some as young as twelve years old. The underlying causes of the violence remain disputed, with some citing ethnic or class tension and others suggesting political fallout from a recent presidential coup, but ultimately sides divided along the faultline of ethnicity. The United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights thus urged an end to the ‘indiscriminate killings, including of children, and rapes [that] have been taking place on the basis of ethnicity’.

Statements like these, common in times of crisis and mass violence, subsume violence against women under a broader category of violence against an ethnic, political, or religious group, thereby obscuring the underlying histories of gender hierarchy and gender-based violence. For example, like many other countries, Kyrgyzstan is host to pervasive domestic violence even in times of relative peace. Although years of lobbying by women's rights groups resulted in the 2003 Law on Social-Legal Protection from Domestic Violence, as of 2006, enforcement remained limited at best, for reasons ranging from law enforcement apathy, to subscription to the prevailing paradigm of gender hierarchy, to the perceived failure of the law to promulgate and publicize a clear enforcement mechanism.

Kyrgyzstan is also home to the custom of ala kachuu (roughly: ‘grab and run’), which is the practice of ‘taking a woman or girl against her will through deception or force and using physical or psychological coercion to force her to marry one of her abductors’. The custom, which predates the twelft h century arrival of Islam in the region, is practised across Central Asia to varying degrees. A holdover from the days of marauding tribes who would steal women from rivals, ala kachuu now allows men to avoid the rigors of courtship and an often expensive ‘bride price’. As if the underlying gender hierarchies were not selfevident, one Kyrgyz graduate student explained that ‘[m]en steal women to show that they are men’.

INTRODUCTION

International law's approach to conflict-related harms has evolved over the years. Through various measures, such as the adoption of the 2005 Basic Principles and Guidelines on the Right to a Remedy and Reparation for Victims of Gross Violations of International Human Rights Law and Serious Violations of International Humanitarian Law [hereinafter 2005 UN Basic Principles], the international community of states has formally recognised the importance of adopting a victim-centred approach that addresses questions of justice from the perspective of victims. This article critically evaluates international law's embrace of a more victim-centred approach by studying how justice has been conceptualised at two levels, namely, its formal articulation at international law and its actual practice by victim movements. It proceeds by examining three questions: (1) the different approaches to justice for conflict-related harm developed by international law; (2) the mobilisation of three post-World War II movements around the idea of justice; (3) the conception or idea of justice put forward by these movements.

Before proceeding further, it is necessary to position this article, describe its subject matter, and outline its scope. The topic of reparations is potentiallybroad in nature and has been studied from various perspectives. By focusing on the perspective of victims, this article follows in the footsteps of recent scholarship emphasising the need to take a bottom-up approach when responding to mass injustice in a post-conflict or transitional context. By focusing on victim movements and applying social movement theory, this article limits itself to justice demands generated by movements composed of victims and their supporters. It does so for two purposes. First, without denying the legitimacy of other conflict-related justice claims, claims advanced by broad-based movements demand a certain legitimacy and attention from policy-makers in democratic societies. Second, as sites of knowledge generated through practice, movements are able to provide us with new insight when approaching contentious issues.

The post-World War II movements considered involve claims made for harms that are particularly serious in nature. These harms amount to violations of the victims’ fundamental rights, and were perpetrated in a systematic and organised manner. Within the human rights framework, these harms fall under the category of ‘gross and systematic violations of human rights’.

INTRODUCTION

Over the last 35 years approximately forty truth commissions have investigated human rights violations and abuses in a wide range of countries and communities. They were established by those in a society who believed that finding the truth through an examination of the past was important to build social and political trust. Their goals have generally been to uncover the truth and report findings and recommendations in order to strengthen or transition into democracy, reduce conflict and create a basis for long term reconciliation; bring about some form of transitional or restorative justice; and begin the process of change needed to avoid similar human rights violations in the future. Each of these forty commissions provides different lessons on how investigating and testifying about past abuse can lead to healing and change.

I have participated in two of the more remarkable Truth and Reconciliation processes, the first as an observer, the other as an advisor. The former is perhaps the most widely known and discussed TRC process, the one which took place in South Africa from 1996 to 1998 that examined the entire apartheid era in that country. The other was the first TRC process in the United States that took place in Greensboro, North Carolina from 2004 to 2006. It was a much narrower and less publicized process that looked at one incident in that City's past in order to help bridge the class and racial divides existing there. In addition to my own observations, I also had the opportunity to interview some of the staff and witnesses involved in these processes. As a result, I was able to review and analyze such factors as how these two Truth Commissions were constructed, how their mandates were developed, what their fact finding processes did and did not include, and what was the overall impact of their final reports including the implementation of their recommendations.