Puppies Behind Bars is a nonprofit organization that teaches prisoners (some violent offenders) how to train service dogs. The dogs spend 24 hours a day for 12-18 months with their assigned trainer, sleeping in a crate in the trainer’s cell. The prisoners’ stories and their transformations as a result of participating in the program are incredibly inspiring.

Lisa Gibson lost her brother in the Lockerbie bombing (PanAm flight 103) in 1988. On August 20th of this year the man convicted for the terrorist attack, terminally ill Abdelbaset Ali Mohmed Al Megrahi, was released from a Scottish prison on compassionate grounds so he could return to Libya to die. On September 23rd Gibson met with Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi in the spirit of forgiveness and reconciliation at a time when many American voices were saying that Megrahi’s release was a political ploy and a mistake.

Gibson is the executive director of the non-profit Peace and Prosperity Alliance and has chronicled her struggle to come to terms with the death of her brother in her book Life In Death: A Journey From Terrorism To Triumph. She has reached a state of forgiveness and believes that the lessons she learned along the way can help and encourage others who find themselves on a similar path.

J.B. Rabin: What was the process like to get to the point you’re at now?

Lisa Gibson: For many years, we didn’t know who was responsible, so I struggled with who I was supposed to forgive and love. Like the other family members, I struggled with anger at those responsible and at God for allowing it to happen. It shook my worldview and my faith. Ultimately, it was really painful and I had to feel the fullness of the pain and then give it to God so I could move forward.

JBR: When we receive media images of meetings like the one you had with Gaddafi, it is often difficult to ascertain the level of connection between the participants. Can you give us some insight into whether or not your exchange with the Libyan leader felt meaningful on a personal level or if it was more diplomatic in nature? What do you feel your meeting with Gaddafi accomplished?

LG: I had a dream several years ago that I would meet with Gaddafi face-to-face. I had hoped it would have happened on my personal reconciliation trip to Libya in January of 2005. I did not get to meet with him on that trip, but some of his senior cabinet officials. As you can imagine, it was shocking for them to see my desire to come and meet with them. Throughout the last several years, I have been working in Libya through my nonprofit, the Peace and Prosperity Alliance, with the purposes of overcoming evil with good. So, I also had written a letter to Megrahi letting him know that I have forgiven him, it seemed only natural to meet with Gaddafi as well. But I also wanted him to know about the work I am doing in Libya, to help the Libyan people. While everyone else seemed to be criticizing and mocking him when he came to the US for the UN, I welcomed him. I also gave him a pen as a gift and a card. In the card, I told him I had been praying for him for the last three years since I went to Libya and I blessed him and the Libyan people. From my perspective, it was meaningful and he seemed touched by it as well. I think few can resist true heartfelt goodwill motivated by love.

JBR: It has been reported by some media outlets that al Megrahi was released as part of an oil deal with Libya. Whether or not this is true, do you think that this clouds the issue of his compassionate release, or do you feel that compassion is a singular act that is not affected by other circumstances?

LG: You cannot escape the politics that have been intertwined in this case since the beginning. The UK and Libya had previously entered into a prisoner transfer agreement, which would allow Libyan prisoners convicted of crimes in the UK to serve their time in Libya. Megrahi first requested to be transferred under this agreement. But the US objected saying they had made it clear in the beginning that he must serve his time in Scotland. Megrahi then requested release on compassionate grounds. I believe it was a release on compassionate grounds, but I believe that political motives are invariably connected. In much the same way, US foreign policy was connected into the Lockerbie families civil lawsuit against Libya. Included as part of the “deal” was the requirement that Libya get rid of weapons of mass destruction. Either way, the Scottish government responded in the more honorable way by allowing Megrahi to go home to Libya to die with dignity. It is more honorable and compassionate then would likely be the response of Libya if the tables were turned. That speaks a very loud message. That love triumphs over hate, which is at the heart of terrorism.

JBR: What do you say to people who feel that compassion is not indicated in a situation like this one, where the action [the Lockerbie bombing] was a political one, and where little remorse is shown? What are your feelings about the fact that al Megrahi was given a hero’s welcome upon returning to his home country?

LG: Sometimes it is helpful to stop and look at events through another’s worldview. The Libyans have always believed and been told that Megrahi was innocent. In fact, when I went there to meet the people and tell my story, people were shocked to see a real live family member of a victim. They had always been told it was an American conspiracy.

I don’t believe he received a “hero’s” welcome, but merely his tribe celebrating the return of a man they believe was innocent. When Fhimah the second defendant in the Lockerbie trial returned home after being acquitted, he received a hero’s welcome. There were parades in the streets. Megrahi’s release was much more subdued, compared with that.

Libya has always consistently said they were not responsible for this bombing. Twenty years after the fact, Megrahi’s case was on appeal before he dropped his appeal to go home to die. Arguably there were some legitimate questions in this case. But from the world’s perspective, he was guilty and Libya took responsibility. That is justice in my eyes. Allowing him to die with dignity doesn’t in any way change that, nor would requiring him to die in prison bring my brother back.

JBR: Is it harder to forgive someone who does not accept responsibility or show remorse for his or her actions? Or does forgiveness have more to do with the forgiver and less to do with the forgiven?

LG: From my Christian worldview the Bible has a lot to say about forgiveness. We are called to forgive others, because we are all forgiven for our sins. The act of forgiving someone when they have hurt us is not easy. It requires a dying of our desire to hold on to bitterness. Sometimes people try to simplify it and thereby undermine the legitimate pain that the “sinned against” have experienced. It is difficult to forgive someone that hasn’t changed their behavior. No one should attempt to reconcile with someone who will continue to hurt them. Sometimes behavior speaks louder than words in showing true commitment to turn from their wrong behavior. Even in the case of Libya, we have seen a conscious change in the way they do business.

In cases where it is impossible to reconcile, because the offender will continue to harm us, we can only transfer the case to heaven’s courtroom and trust God to right the wrong and bring justice. We are then called to love our enemies, because it is a tremendously shaming thing for someone who really is responsible. The hope is that will bring them to repentance. Either way, forgiving someone is the most freeing thing anyone can experience. If we continue to litigate the case in the inner courtroom of our hearts, we become bitter because we can’t seem to find relief. If we let God handle it, we will find peace.

JBR: Do you believe that modeling compassion and non-violence to people whose cultures have been ingrained with violence for hundreds of years, will eventually lead to change?

LG: Yes, I believe that in many parts of the world there is a culture of death. If people don’t value life, why else would they think it acceptable to kill innocent people? I am not a passivist, and believe it is important to defend your people and nation, or chaos will ensue. But, we should engage in pre-emptive peace, and that involves building relationships with other cultures and learning about each other so we can understand the others worldview. I believe one of the ways Muslim terrorists justify their behavior is that they think we hate them. When I have traveled to these parts of the world and reached out in goodwill and love, the people were amazed that I was actually nice and wanted to be their friend. I believe education is also important, because changing from a culture of death to a culture of life doesn’t happen overnight.

JBR: In your opinion, is there a circumstance in which a person is not deserving of forgiveness or compassion?

LG: There are circumstances where people continue to be a danger to others and need to be kept locked up. Justice is more about deterrence of future behavior than it is purely about punishment. If it was about punishment, than the sentence would better fit the crime. As an attorney, I understand well that our justice system doesn’t really do much to rehabilitate people. So, if they continue to be a danger to others, than they need to be kept away from others.

JBR: I have a personal interest in prison reform and I’d like to ask you a question that is not directly related to what we have been discussing, although it touches on similar themes:
In this country our model for dealing with criminals is a punitive one, though we espouse rehabilitative ideals. How do your ideas about forgiveness translate in this sphere? Do you think that punishment is a necessary component of handling wrongdoing?

LG: Yes our system is primarily punitive. But with prison overcrowding, rarely does the punishment fit the crime. In addition, if you don’t deal with the root issues for a person’s criminal behavior, than you are just buying time until they are out again engaging in the behavior. That is why I am a huge advocate for prevention. Especially with kids, because having worked in the criminal justice system previously, I can say that kids learn what they live. I never met a criminal who just one day woke up as an adult and decided to begin engaging in a life of crime. The roots go deep and often back to childhood wounds, character issues in upbringing and mental health issues. Unless someone intervenes and teaches another way or gets help. Without God’s grace, they will likely follow the path.

One of the most powerful approaches at rehabilitation involves juvenile victim offender mediation. That involves nonviolent cases where the juvenile and the person they offended against sit face to face and mediate through what happened. It can be a powerful tool for reforms, because it causes the perpetrator to come face to face with the person they have hurt and understand how their behavior affected them. This forces the offender to really understand the cause and effect of this person they have hurt. It moves from being a nameless person, to a real life they have hurt. One of the only things that keep ordinary people from hurting others is the ability to empathize. It is a moral compass that causes us to think about how we would feel if someone hurt someone we loved like that. Many offenders, through attachment issues or other issues don’t have this moral compass. When they really are forced to understand how their behavior has affected the person they offended, and that person is able to forgive them, it can be a powerful conduit of restoration.

JBR: Can you tell us a bit more about the work you’re doing with Peace & Prosperity Alliance?

LG: We are a nonprofit that exists to bridge the gap between the developed and developing world through cross-cultural partnerships between government, civic, and religious leaders that will result in lasting change. We desire to attack injustices such as terrorism, oppression, and other social evils through humanitarian and education projects.

We exist to:
• Build and strengthen relationships between the leaders of the developed and developing world through partnerships and diplomacy.
• Facilitate cross-cultural partnerships between local governments, businesses, charities, schools, religious entities and other community-based organizations.
• Facilitate training, humanitarian assistance and infrastructure creation for developing nations.
• Facilitate dialogues between legislators from the United States and developing nations to explore solutions for the challenges that face nations.

In a post I wrote a few weeks ago about mercy, I commended the Scottish government for granting compassionate release to the Lockerbie Bomber, Abdel Baset al-Megrahi, who is terminally ill. By doing so, they have allowed him to die at home in Libya with his family. After publishing the post, I got a note from a friend who always lets me know in a very kind and respectful way whenever he disagrees with my position. This is what he wrote in reference to the fact that al-Megrahi was essentially given a parade when he got back to Libya:

“You touch on cultural differences [of mercy], but omitted an obvious one…the Libyans. If you look at events in the Middle East over the last 60 years, you will see that power trumps compassion or discussion every time…
The reception of Megrahi orchestrated by the government and his meeting with Qaddafi only reinforces this notion. It may have been noble for the Scots to let him go, but it was a mistake. The reaction on the Arab street will be one of victory over the 270 innocents lost that day.”

His comment got me thinking about whether or not the Libyans’ behavior should matter when we decide if al-Megrahi’s compassionate release was the right thing to do. Should an action’s merit be judged by the way in which the action is received? I understand that it does not sit well for anyone that a convicted terrorist would be given a hero’s welcome upon his return to his homeland. I can see how anyone would take that as a slap in the face, as further evidence that this person is not worthy of our compassion. But if we draw this scenario out to another example, the answer seems clear to me: Imagine if you give someone a letter opener for his birthday and he turns around and stabs someone with it. Does his terrible behavior diminish the kindness of your gift? Does it make your gift a mistake? I believe that your responsibility ends when your friend takes possession of your gift. At that point, whatever he does with it becomes his responsibility. And I believe it is so with al-Megrahi and the Libyans.

It is a frightening position to take. I try to think about how I would feel if al-Megrahi committed another act of violence after his compassionate release. It would be devastating. But as hard as it would be to separate ourselves from it, I believe that such an action would be on al-Megrahi’s head, not ours. I feel strongly that we can only lead in this world by example. The only way to prove to others that compassion should trump power in their lives is by practicing it in ours.

I read an AP article yesterday about Abdel Baset al-Megrahi, the man convicted of blowing up Pan Am flight 103 over the town of Lockerbie, Scotland in the late 80s. The so-called Lockerbie Bomber, who is terminally ill with prostate cancer, was released from a Scottish prison on Thursday so that he could return to Libya to die at home with his family. The U.K. government granted al-Megrahi a compassionate release, after he served eight years of his life sentence, as “an expression of the Scottish people’s humanity.”

What interested me most about the article was the way in which it illuminated different cultures’ attitudes about punishment and compassion.

Obama released a statement that Scotland’s decision to release al-Megrahi was a mistake. Secretary Clinton is outraged. The American families of the victims are speaking out, saying things like, “‘I don’t understand how the Scots can show compassion. It’s an utter insult and utterly disgusting,’ said Kara Weipz, of Mount Laurel, New Jersey, whose 20-year-old brother Richard Monetti was on board Flight 103. ‘It’s horrible. I don’t show compassion for someone who showed no remorse.’”

On the other hand, “Scottish Justice Secretary Kenny MacAskill said although al-Megrahi had not shown compassion to his victims – many of whom were American college students flying home to New York for Christmas – MacAskill was motivated by Scottish values to show mercy.” Likewise, a British man whose daughter was killed aboard flight 103, “welcomed the Libyan’s release, saying many questions remained about what led to the bomb that exploded in the cargo hold. ‘I think he should be able to go straight home to his family and spend his last days there…I don’t believe for a moment this man was involved in the way he was found to be involved.’”

Mercy and compassion seem to be part of the cultural landscape in the U.K., values that its citizens continually aspire to possess. In America we have confused mercy with weakness. When I looked up mercy in the dictionary it said, “compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one’s power to punish or harm.” In fact, mercy is a show of great power. It is a grace offered to those who are weaker than we are. The greater the act of mercy, the greater the show of strength.

I am not advocating that we let all the criminals go; I think there should be consequences for people who break the law; but I believe that most people who do bad things are in need of help. I believe that violence and crime are a result of desperation, a lack of resources, and the exposure (and subsequent inurement) to violence over the course of one’s life. People who promote violence deserve our pity not our hatred.

But the American families of al-Megrahi’s victims feel that by granting him a compassionate release, we are not punishing him enough, and are thus forsaking their loved ones. Al-Megrahi has spent the last eight years in prison suffering for his crime and will spend the next three months–the last three months of his life–getting intimately acquainted with death. To those who think he is getting off easy, I would say that over the next three months he will be going through a process far more frightening than anything we could impose on him in prison.

The argument can be made that al-Megrahi’s victims did not have the opportunity to die in a loving environment surrounded by their families, so he should not be given that luxury. I understand that reasoning completely, but I think it reveals a lot about our beliefs in justice, retribution, and punishment. The conventional wisdom is that if someone does something bad to us or to a loved one, it will help set things straight if the perpetrator is made to suffer as much as possible for his crime, that his suffering will act as balm for our suffering and for the suffering of our loved one.

Is there another way to think about it? Might the death of a loved one be less in vain if the person who killed them was given a different view of humanity, a chance to retreat from violence and revenge, to make something of their life, to serve their community instead of rotting in a cell, a victim of continued violence and hatred, further reinforcing the negative belief system that caused them to commit the atrocity in the first place? Might we have more to gain by modeling compassion for our prisoners, by exposing them to a way of being they have not yet experienced?

It is too late for al-Megrahi to turn his life around and to be of service, but his release has given us the chance to look at our views on justice and punishment, and to re-examine the principles upon which our penal system is based.

Comment away, my sweets.

I keep telling myself that the reason I haven’t posted anything to this blog in over a week is because I’ve been busy. But that’s not true. The real reason is that someone wrote an anonymous hateful (and very personal) comment on one of the posts and it completely deflated me.

I know that whenever you put yourself or your opinions out into the world there will always be people who have nasty things to say about it. I expected it when I started this blog. But I would be lying if I said that it didn’t still feel like a slap.

I started going through old posts, removing the most personal details about my life that I had written, thinking that if I shared less about myself I would be less vulnerable to personal attacks. I thought about changing the format of the blog, about giving it up entirely. I wondered if it wasn’t a completely self-indulgent project in the first place (surely my anonymous commenter would say it was).

Then I thought back to why I started this blog, which is because I believe in the power of personal storytelling. I believe that when we share pieces of ourselves, when we offer a window into our lives for other people to look through, it serves as a kind of communion. And at a time in history when we often feel cut off from one another because of technology, culture, and lifestyle, it seems important to grab little pieces of each other whenever and wherever we can.

The things that have affected me the most online, the things that have caused me to stop what I am doing and to examine my life, have not been news blurbs or special reports. They have all been personal stories written (or told on video) by other people. Not all the personal writing out there has had this effect on me, but when I sit down to think about what type of writing has most changed my life I keep coming back to personal narrative, creative nonfiction, memoir, and the first-person essay.

I have noticed a good deal of distain in modern Western culture for these types of writing; somehow we see them as having less value than straight-forward nonfiction, historical works, or journalistic accounts of important events. We think of their authors as narcissists, self-obsessed nobodies, or as thinking they have something important to say when, in fact, they do not. And in some cases, that is true. But I don’t believe it is any more true of the writers who attempt to uncover universal ideas from within than it is of news writers who attempt to uncover universal ideas from without.

I believe that personal writing should be evaluated in the context of something much larger. It is not just about the individual writer or the pieces that he or she is writing. It is about the lot of them. If we were to string together all the personal scraps—all the essays and the blogs and the love letters and the memoirs—written at one point, we would have a record of that time more faceted and nuanced and rich than anything we could ever hope to find in a history book. Subjectivity is not the enemy of objectivity. Writers who share parts of themselves and their experiences fill out all the holes in our objectively written history, they are the keepers of our collective memory—one day, one thought, one word, one comma at a time.

So to my anonymous commenter, and to anyone else who thinks that personal writing and blogging is a self-indulgent whine fest: I invite you to stop reading at any time.¹

And to everyone else: thank you from the bottom of my heart for your interest in my teeny tiny sliver of our shared history.

I was raised in a Jewish family that is staunchly pro-Israel. I also live in the U.S., a country that has been a strong supporter of the Israeli Zionist movement since long before I was born. All the voices that have ever reached my tiny ears have always been from the perspective of what is best for Israel.

Fortunately, I am married to a man (also a Jew) who encourages me to examine every issue, to seek out the truth in every situation even if the truth challenges my beliefs. So for the past six months I’ve been reading up on the history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and watching every documentary I can get my hands on in an attempt to understand the motivations on both sides.

I have been trying to figure out what can make two people h@te ¹ each other so much that they are willing to sacrifice their own children in order to destroy one another.

The more I learn, though, the more I see how much the Israelis and the Palestinians have in common: they share the same Mother Land, they consider the same sites to be holy, both prize a pious and disciplined life, both love their families, both fear Hamas, both want to live in peace and safety. (They also both know what it is to be a victim and a terrorist.) ²

When the recent attacks started in Gaza my obsession to understand the situation became heightened. I had planned to write a post about my thoughts, my questions, and my confusion, in an attempt to sort through some of them.

But then someone left a note on my windshield.

It said, “Learn how to park, you fucking pig!” The author of the note also went to the trouble, in a carcinogenic coup de grace, to put out his or her cigarette onto it. ³ When I surveyed the damage I’d done, I saw that I had absentmindedly parked my car slightly over the hash marks on the road the previous evening in the dark, which made the space in front of me smaller and more difficult to get into, and about which I felt bad.

Later that evening I discovered a new person I wanted to follow on Twitter. I’d read a blog post of hers about her inability to finish knitting projects that charmed the hell out of me. I sent her a message, making a joke about what all of us knitters could do if we put together all of our half-finished knitting projects. She responded by sending out the following tweet (not to me personally, but to all of her followers):

“You make a mistake if you try and make inside jokes with me and we’re not close enough to have them. I’ll get awkward and hate you for it.”

How can the Israelis and the Palestinians ever hope to make peace in the face of religious strife, occupation, violence, displacement, and murder when people in America h@te each other for how they park their cars or try to reach out to one another with an inside joke? How did this happen to us?

I am just as guilty of thinking negative things about other people as the next guy. I assume that the man who cuts me off in traffic is a hideous person who beats his wife, and that the woman who confiscates my tweezers before I go on the plane is married to her twelve cats and hates her life. I also sometimes think of very unneighborly things to do to the cops who issue parking tickets.

But lately when I find myself in these situations, when I’m thinking terrible thoughts about someone I don’t know, I imagine my husband, Joshua. Whenever anyone is rude to him, treats him unfairly, or is generally wretched, he turns to me, usually scowling indignantly on his behalf, and says, “They must be having a really bad day.”