Is there such thing as an opportune apology or too much (or not enough) apologies?

Gerry Conlon, the most prominent of the Guilford Four and whose prison life was ardently played by Daniel Day-Lewis in In the Name of the Father, was recently interviewed in light of the recent (and admittedly belated) apology given by PM Tony Blair to the Conlon and Maguire families whose family members comprised the Guilford Four and were wrongfully imprisoned for the 1974 pub bombings. The public apology was apparently campaigned by Conlon for many years now.

What caught my attention was neither the changed man Conlon has become nor the reaction of the families to the Blair apology (though the psychological trauma Conlon bears to this day is something I would not wish on another person). It was instead directed at the rightful observation of the interviewer of an obvious anomaly in this matter.

On the one hand, Conlon et al, wrongfully imprisoned for 15 years, were finally given apologies by Blair (though the manner in which this was done is even questioned - the apology was given in a recorded TV statement). On the other hand, the families of the bombing victims continue to seek justice for the deaths of their loved ones. With the Blair apologies, the families were summarily dealt a double blow - not only were the Four apologized to, they were practically shoved back to square one: no one to attribute the crime with, no one to pay for their horrific acts.

There is also the matter of the others who shared the same fate as the Four. If the Guilford Four and their families were given apologies to, this should go for those wrongfully accused of the spate of bombings at the time as well. (Of course, this will again take years and enough vigilance from the families of unrecognized aggrieved persons.)

Personally, I view the Blair apology (though limited and grossly late) as laudable, not so much for its admission of the limitations of the British justice system but moreso for the obvious need for the families to heal and start anew.

My initial query has, until this point, obviously not been addressed adequately. I started by citing the case of the Blair apology for a miscarriage of justice. I referred to this case to use it as a backdrop to my own musings on the politics of 'saying sorry.'

Yesterday, I was made aware by a friend of an insensitive thing I said to him/her. Curiously, s/he went to our usual ritual of 'disclaimers/clarifications' - that had it been another person to whom I said the remark, it would definitely be met by ill feeling. That since it was s/he who was recipient and knowing my sharper tongue of late, then the remark would have been properly reconciled in his/her head.

Looking back, the whole matter is quite innocent, if not trivial - his/her current reading and my dismissive comment. I immediately gave my apology and the matter was put to rest.

Of course, my friend was not wrongfully imprisoned for 15 years. But certainly she was dealt with an act that was found to be offensive. That I should have held my tongue. That had it been other friends who are even more unkind to certain literary choices, the conversation would have merely proceeded by another order of drinks.

By this time, it would be apparent to the reader that my train of thought is halfway remote from the Blair apology and towards the simple contemplation of everyday apologies.

We say sorry when we block the view of the person watching a favorite program. We say sorry when we bump into someone while walking. We say sorry when terms of communication are mixed-up. We say sorry, and then we say it some more.

Sometimes, this leads me to question the power of the two words I'm sorry.

Whatever the circumstances of the situation leading to this inevitability, the purpose is crystal-clear: closure. Did Gerry Conlon find complete closure in Blair's apology? Certainly not; the man still experiences irregular sleep in his own home. Blair cannot apologize for that. But Conlon did find in the apology an admission of wrongdoing and, the worst of all sins, the sin of omission. With reconciliation of intention comes healing and healing, hopefully, comes to approximating closure.

Did my friend find closure in my apology? I'd like to think s/he did. My take is that it wasn't so much my uttering it as making me aware that sweetie, there is a person on the other end of the line who does care about your opinion, who does care what you think, who does give a shit.
The apology might as well be the needed period at the end of a sentence.

A while back, I myself was the recipient of a belated apology. To be specific, the apology was issued twice. So why did the first one end up as a dud? It went two ways: from his/her end, the apology fell short. From my end, I doubted the sincerity of the act. In other words, I did not find closure.

Thankfully, the other person was sensitive enough (to say the least) to realize that it was not enough, that I still have no closure and did not need to expend great energy to make this clear. Ergo, the second apology. An apology that seemed to reverberate beyond the walls of the internet cafe where I first read it. (There are days when I'm still not sure if the apology was meant for me. But then again, I know well enough by now which are intended for me and aren't.)

What have I concluded from this little exercise? That it is not in the lateness, nor in the frequency. It is not whether the supposed aggressor fully understood the span of his offense nor the urgency to apologize. It will always be in the intention. An apology, big or small, is always an act of acknowledging that a person does not act by him/herself. It is the supreme act of recognizing and being recognized. It is the ultimate gesture of love.