Restorative Justice Seminar Series

Seminar 2: The Wounded Witness:
Police, Lawyers, Judges and Community

Monday, May 12, 2003

Orientation: Our first seminar focused on the healing paradigm and its relevance to healing the victim, the perpetrator, and the community. Today we envision this interview as expanding on that discussion by exploring how the restorative justice process also incorporates the experience of the witness as part of the healing process. We are also going to discuss how the retributive justice system uses a mode of witnessing that makes police, judges, lawyers, and courtroom personnel into witnesses of crime, trauma, and alienation and how this affects all of us.

PM: Kaethe, in your work—including your forthcoming book—you distinguish the witness from the activity of witnessing and you place the witness in a context with the victim and the perpetrator. I’d like to begin by asking you to help us establish a framework for this conversation by defining those terms and distinctions from your point of view.

KW: The heart of that distinction, for me, is that it’s important to realize that any of us could be in any of those roles—that of the victim, witness, or perpetrator—at any time in our lives. In fact, those roles overlap. I’d also like to differentiate the concept of “role” from the concept of which “position” we’re in, and in relation to what. We may not like to face this about ourselves, but most of us know that this is true. It is part of the human condition. An Egyptian myth illuminates this perfectly. In the myth, Osiris, a beloved ruler of Egypt, is murdered by his brother Set. Osiris is married to Isis, who is also his sister. Set, is jealous of Osiris and plots against him, eventually succeeding in killing him. First, Set seals Osiris with molten lead into a coffin and then he throws the casket into the Nile. Isis grieves terribly for Osiris and determines to discover his casket. Eventually, she does, at which point Set chops the body into pieces and flings them to the far corners of the land. Isis journeys to collect Osiris, traveling the earth to find his pieces. A healer, Isis collects the pieces to re-member her beloved Osiris. In mythic and dramatic terms, the relationship of the brothers Osiris and Set directs our attention to a universal truth: Set the murderer is an aspect of the “good” Osiris. All of us are both Set and Osiris, perpetrator and victim, and we can also be Isis, the healer.

In terms of the positions themselves, one advantage of thinking about witnessing in relation to something, as opposed to thinking of it as a fixed “role,” is that you are then able to see that there are different qualities of witnessing, depending on the position you occupy. (Click here for a diagram of Weingarten’s Theory of Witnessing.) This is a very simple grid, but it’s asking us to look at whether or not we are feeling aware and empowered as a witness in relation to what we are witnessing or, as very frequently happens in the criminal justice system, we are feeling very aware of what we are witnessing but disempowered. Or, perhaps, a person is witnessing something and has a great deal of power, but is actually unaware of the implications of his or her actions. That’s the unaware but empowered position. Then, there is the person who is in fact a witness but is unaware of it and, therefore, is disempowered and can’t take effective action. In some ways, that’s the most devastating position to be in, both for the individual but also for the community. Our society is saturated with this last kind of toxic witnessing; these experiences are going to come out and have some effect at some point in some way.

PM: From a psychological perspective, is it inevitable that the psyche is going to deal with an experience like witnessing trauma somehow, somewhere?

KW: One answer would be biological and relate to what we know about brain science. There’s a lot of evidence to suggest that the limbic system is impacted by stressors of traumatic proportion, but there is a lot of debate about what constitutes traumatic proportion. Psychologically, does everybody always respond to what they’ve witnessed when it is of traumatic proportion? No. Absolutely not. There is tremendous cultural variation about what people respond to and it makes an enormous difference whether you witness alone or in community, whether or not there’s an effective outlet for what you’ve seen, and also whether the witnessing has witnesses. The traumatic impact of witnessing differs, depending on these circumstances.

PM: Bearing witness through writing or sharing an experience is often perceived as a means of building connection. Does it follow that witnessing is a remedy for overcoming distance and separation?

KW: If you look at the witnessing grid I was referring to above, I would say it depends entirely on which witness position you find yourself in. A metaphor I’m working with is witnessing as a two-sided coin. On one side of the coin, there’s toxic witnessing: witnessing that’s inadvertent. When you are unaware of your witnessing and disempowered in relation to what you are witnessing, I think the evidence is very clear that, biologically and psychologically, the impact of that is to create further distance and separation. All kinds of “us/them” or “black/white” thinking, fearfulness, and helplessness comes when we are witnessing on the problematic side of the witnessing coin.

What many of us who do social justice work like to think we are doing is helping people turn the coin over. We want to be on the compassionate witnessing side of the coin, which is where you are aware and empowered and your position is chosen. Yes, it’s very clear that there are health benefits, benefits to the community, and there are tremendous benefits to the society to have people who are able to manage what they are taking in and take effective action in relation to what it is they are witnessing so that they can support people physically and psychologically.

PM: It seems that it would call on a lot of inner resources for a person who is disempowered and unaware to move into a position of awareness and empowerment. There’s a real process of transformation going on there, isn’t there?

Kaethe: Yes, it is a transformative process to shift position. In an earlier part of the work that I was doing for this book, I was looking at works of literature—including plays and operas—and found that one way of describing the heart of tragedy is an account of somebody having a rapid shift in witness position. Hamlet or Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, for example, are two examples of people who do a rapid shift from one witness position to the other. Rapid shifting, however, is not transformative, it’s traumatic. What’s transformative is when you consciously and deliberately take action to move from one position to another. This is hard work. In my way of thinking, it’s always easier if you are accompanied or if you do it with others.

PM: I want to bring Cheryl into the conversation to talk about our justice system, which she has helped us understand as a system in which witnessing has become professionalized. The current retributive system is peopled by judges, lawyers, and court personnel who witness harm and trauma on a daily basis. Cheryl, what is it about this professionalization of witnessing that contributes to their moral depletion, in your view?

CC: There are many components of your question. First and foremost, I believe that most lawyers and judges in our system enter the profession to be of service to their clients and others in the community. They have not been exposed to the witnessing literature which Kaethe invokes. They have not yet developed the kinds of sensitivities that Kaethe has described as necessary to make a genuine choice about the witness position they take. Legal training, and the way in which the professional roles have been formed in the past, lead to a kind of professional/personal detachment. The lawyer’s role is characterized by an emphasis on logical, analytical prowess and technical efficiency. The entire legal system glorifies a level of personal detachment that allows you to ignore your own experience of human connection. Participants in the legal system are perceived to be autonomous and independent actors motivated by personal gain and economic success. The goal of most professionals in the legal system is to subjugate any subjective feeling of interconnectedness. That goal is then supported because their professionalism is accompanied by economic, social, and political privilege. In other words, the system self-selects people who want to serve in a privileged position, and legal education promotes a manner of relating which appears distancing and does not leave much room for empathic connection.

If one had compassion to be a witness for the purpose of helping people, one would be discouraged in their lawyering or in their judicial role from holding that posture; everything that we do is to teach people to have a position that ignores responses of the heart. This kind of moral detachment gets promoted; one’s own moral compass becomes inferior to the rule of law and zealous advocacy for one’s clients.

PM: Isn’t it true that some people go into law out of a sense of concern for others and justice?

CC: Yes, many people enter the profession with a strong sense of concern for others.

PM: When does that concern turn to disconnection?

CC: As a lawyer and an educator, I would say that it happens in the first year of legal education where the emphasis is on abstraction and logical deductive reasoning as the core skills that are necessary for lawyers. This, implicitly, degrades other ways of learning besides logical deduction and other ways of experiencing and perceiving reality. In that way, the rule of law—our history of rules that are shaped to form by logic and court rooms—becomes the focus and increasingly detaches us from our other ways of knowing and experiencing what is in front of us. So, emphasis on the deification of the rule of law is primary.

The second way in which disconnection is reinforced is in the deification of the term “zealous advocate.” (Earlier codes of professional responsibility referred to zealous advocates. However, over the years, many states have preferred to describe the lawyer’s duty as “diligent representation.”) The earlier term is really a misunderstanding of the role of a lawyer, but it’s become a simplistic talisman about what lawyering is. While there may be ten archetypal ways that one could be a lawyer—counselor, spiritual advisor, teacher, advocate, warrior—the one we glorify, of all those potential archetypal human ways one could be of service in this profession, is the warrior. The profession has taken a limited understanding of what that warriorship is all about.

PM: What does the term “zealous advocate” mean in legal parlance?

CC: Historically, in America throughout much of the twentieth century, the term “zealous advocate” gained momentum and prominence as one element of a competitive economic system where warriorship became synonymous with winning. In a judicial system where we focus on who is losing and who is wrong and who is blameworthy, the whole zealous advocacy framework has become extreme by everyone’s perspective—even those who are players in the system. They know that it’s an extreme but people don’t quite have a lens to unlock the habit of mind, the addiction. There’s a cultural addiction in the profession to the zealous advocacy model and people don’t quite know what to replace it with. Restorative justice is one model where some courageous people have suggested a thought-form that could compete with the zealous advocacy model. Little miracles are happening around the edge of our profession but the thought form is really entrenched.

PM: It seems as though what a lawyer does is to depersonalize witnessing while the kinds of witnessing Kaethe has talked about come out of a very personal experience of awareness or lack of awareness. There seem to be some opposite extremes at play here.

KW: They don’t have to be dualities…

CC: But the people who hold the system together believe that they are dualities.

KW: At the moment, people would think that it’s inconsistent to have a compassionate, psychological approach to being a zealous advocate. But maybe it is possible.

CC: Right now is an important time in my profession. We are beginning to have conversations about these notions and things are shifting. But I agree with Kaethe that differing kinds of witnessing can permit compassion and judgment and warriorship because they are all on a spectrum of ways we can be human and serve each other when we come together around conflict that gets magnetized through the legal system.

PM: In addition to the witnessing of lawyers and judges in the system, you’ve also spoken elsewhere of violence of the courtroom. What do you mean by that?

CC: I take a slightly larger definition of violence than the one which we typically use in the criminal justice system. As a lawyer, I can put on my hat and define violence as “conduct which is actionable under the criminal law.” These are acts of physical aggression which cause injury and death. Alternatively, as someone who studies the nature of mind and of consciousness, and who is a student of comparative religion and spirituality, my definition of violence is quite different. I would say that violence encompasses intentions, words, or actions that lead us to experiencing ourselves as separate from each other. In the courtroom, I think it is violence when an advocate in a child custody case presents a set of facts in a pleading which only focus on how someone is a bad parent. And yet advocating on behalf of custody for one parent by discrediting the other, as a custom, would be taught in 99 out of 100 classrooms in American law schools. To me, that is violence because as those words are spoken, we are denying the full humanity of that person. We are injuring that person’s understanding of him or her self. We are devaluing that person.

In the circles that I’ve been holding for six years with lawyers we talk about that experience from a lawyer’s point of view. I know that sensitive lawyers feel that they are perpetrating an act of violence on the opposing party if they portray opponents only in negative terms which are unflattering, partial, and hurtful. In addition to these lawyers, sensitive people in the courtroom—husbands and the wives and the mothers and the fathers—experience that as violence. Among lawyers, there are those who are very aware and who are saying that they choose no longer to create partial pictures of reality because that is an act of violence.

PM: If we could all agree on your definition of violence, I have a feeling the world would change dramatically.

CC: The potential violence in the courtroom could be eliminated if participation in the court room came with the intention not to hurt anyone. If you come to the courtroom with the intention only to win, only to be better than the other person, only to be the victor in the case over another, you are denying the humanity of the facts before us. Many come into the courtroom with that intention and it changes the whole experience of that lawyer in the courtroom and probably everyone in the courtroom.

PM: Staying with your definition of violence for a moment, it means that lawyers would have to be allowed to be open to an emotional, personal, relational level of awareness that is outside the role as we understand it. How might a lawyer who wants to relate to clients and others in a more human way become aware and empowered?

KW : The re-definition that you gave of violence is actually packed with meaning. One of the key concepts in your revised definition has to do with an understanding of the inter-relationships amongst all beings. Whether or not that’s the Buddhist concept of inter- being or some other spiritual concept of harmony, that is a key concept. As it happens, in rigorous, empirical, materialist, positivist, scientific traditions, the idea of interconnectedness is also present. I don’t think you have to go only into a spiritual realm to see the wisdom of applying concepts of interrelatedness. There are traditions within positive, materialistic, scientific discourse to provide foundations for doing that. Once you introduce this idea of interconnectedness to your concept of what constitutes violence and violation, which immediately expands our ideas about violence and violation to include structural as well as interpersonal issues, then the role of many professionals changes, not just those within the criminal justice system.

The other matter, which is embedded in your question, is the word “emotion.” I do think that, in many respects, emotion is at the heart of the dilemma that Cheryl is talking about. There is a legal system that is very interested in and, in fact, uses emotion theory to understand motivation of clients, but is very uninterested in reflecting on its own emotions and understanding that, as practitioners, they participate in the processes they observe. By cutting off their own emotions—and by believing that it is possible to do that—and focusing on the emotions of clients, or the other parties, they are certainly fracturing the very wholeness that Cheryl is advocating. There are technical ways that one could introduce revisions in the process. There are psychological ways that one could do it. There are simple matters of self-reflection. And I do think that restorative justice does provide opportunities to move toward that wholeness.

PM: How does our media culture, which provides opportunities to see events happening anywhere in the world—whether its replays of 9/11 or live coverage of war on the streets of Baghdad—how does that culture affect our witnessing … our emotional response to others and is this constructive or destructive?

KW: There is some interesting biological data about the effects of watching media on the brain. The answer is that it is not very good for us, which is not a big surprise.

PM: Why, then, do we so often hear filmakers and others resisting such critiques and defending violent movies, as if they didn’t have a negative effect on kids?

Kaethe: What I’ve just said comes from very recent literature reporting on research that is actually doing CAT scans of the brain. There will be resistance to it but there isn’t at the moment. The resistance that you’re talking about has to do with a correlation between watching media violence, which now includes video games, computer games, and simulations and toys as well as television and film, and the effect on aggressive behavior. The question is one of whether or not media violence is correlated with aggression in children, adolescents, and adults.

There have been around 3,500 studies and over 92 percent of them find that there is a correlation in the short run and now there’s some good data that suggest that it probably does correlate significantly with aggressive behavior in the long run. Clearly, the media have a great stake in not placing much significance on this correlation. It’s been said, for example, that if the numbers of murders that the average adult sees in prime time TV were extrapolated, everybody in the U.S. would be dead in 50 days. Or, if you watch two hours of television, the average adult has seen seven murders; in fact, the average adult does not see a single murder in his or her lifetime, unless you live in a low-income, urban neighborhood. I don’t think that there’s any doubt about the negative effects of this kind of “entertainment.”

The question of what happens when we look at global events on television has a different sort of angle to it. There, I think the hope is that watching events occurring in other parts of the world can help create an empathic bridge between our own experience and the experience of other people. Sometimes that does happen for some people. The problem is that it also can produce a flattening and numbing attitude toward others; it can create a paralyzed response. People are often not aware that that is happening so they don’t think that there’s a need to protect themselves from it. That, of course, is problematic for any culture.

PM: Cheryl, a great deal of what is on television seems to be centered on forensic investigations and court room dramas. How does that play into your concern?

CC: One area of concern for me has to do with the future lawyers of America. Many students come to law school because they are attracted to what they see of lawyering on TV. They believe that that the adventurous adversarial legal profession portrayed on TV accurately reflects the legal profession. Ninety-nine of one hundred cases in America settle out of court, and the remaining one percent or less are crimes and a few civil matters. Prospective lawyers are getting a disastrous view of the law; much of the law involves counseling, research, the drafting of documents.

As for those lawyers and judges who do sit and watch the courtroom all day, it’s a bit like eight hours a day of television of the worst traumas in the world in your courtroom. I have developed programs for lawyers and judges in the last seven years in which many have described what daily court room life is like to me. To use Kaethe’s word, it’s a very numbing experience. Many feel detached and helpless. I see a cycle at play here. These TV shows influence the perceptions of law students as they come in, and then the non-stop viewing of the violence of crime is what lawyers in the courtroom are experiencing. It kind of feeds itself. Many lawyers who have never thought about emotional intelligence or self-awareness are flattened, which explains why lawyers have the highest rates of depression and suicide of any profession in the country.

PM: Do you sense that the trauma of witnessing experienced in the justice system by police, lawyers, judges, and others can be replicated on a governmental level to the point that this moral depletion or sense of dehumanization and detachment can become institutionalized? It sounds like you are saying it is institutionalized now in our criminal justice system.

CC: Yes, I think it is. If you listen to what law students and lawyers say, in DA’s offices there are often implicit, if not explicit, awards for those who put the most people in jail and for those who convince judges to impose the longest and hardest sentences. The glorification of winning, the glorification of incarceration is often part of the formal or informal legal culture. You can observe prosecutors tallying their asset forfeitures. These are the kinds of distanced cultural mindsets that become institutionalized from the accumulation of acting out of this rule of law, this culture of zealous advocacy which strives to place blame and reward.

PM: Do you see it translating to other kinds of institutions like the immigration services, housing services, departments of education, and other bureaucratic institutions?

CC: The law is very rules-oriented; objective rules dominate subjective, or more subtle, determiners. Around the edges there are institutions that are considering more moderate approaches, but the blaming mentality and “rules orientation” also dominates the culture of welfare programs, housing programs, and immigration offices.

PM: It sounds like the common denominator might be the emphasis on rules and structures at the expense of a more humanitarian outlook.

CC: Yes, and a recent example come to mind from a law student paper which I supervised this semester about the myths of the welfare mother. She outlined all the ways in which the rules act out of ignorant assumptions about the nature of these women’s lives, where the rules have become concrete and the human experience—its varieties and complexities—can’t get captured by the rule and the hardening of the hearts of people who have to apply the rules. This paper also illuminated where the rules actually reflect outdated realities and myths altogether. It’s pervasive.

PM: The arts have traditionally offered ways for us to enter into imagined subjectivities and witness the lives of other people in other places. We have all experienced this through film and literature, theater, music, and dance. Kaethe, I’d like to ask you if you see a role for the arts in social transformation related to this act of bearing witness. Do you see it functioning in the arts in a constructive way?

KW: I absolutely do. I think that the concept of catharsis is incorrectly understood as meaning just the expression of emotion. I think it has a much more significant meaning, which has to do with being transported from where you started off to some other place through the experience of witnessing. I do think that that’s really where the arts can offer hope. The arts hold that possibility of situating us, as witnesses, in such a way that we enter through one point of view or with one perspective and we leave, truly, having undergone catharsis, meaning that we are transported to another place, another location. Often it’s because we have been able to step into the shoes of other people.

There’s a wonderful anecdote about Tolstoy who had initially envisioned Anna Karenina as a very unsympathetic character. However, through writing about her, he came to identify with her and understand her. In the end, she emerges as one of the great characters of literature precisely because Tolstoy himself was a compassionate witness to her. It’s the ability of the artist, whether a musician or a playwright or a filmmaker, who is the compassionate witness to the characters s/he creates, that helps us enter in as compassionate witnesses.

Greek tragedies, for another example, often use the device of a chorus; the chorus, of course, is acting as a collective witness and is mediating our witnessing so that there are layers and layers of witnessing going on. That sort of thing is usually present in the most profound art, rings of witnessing and transformations at each stage.

PM: Does it make a difference that so many activities, like film or music, allow the kind of witnessing and catharsis you describe to be a shared and a collective experience?

KW: There is some wonderful work about what it is that creates the experience of unity. When structures in the brain are made to experience very slow, rhythmic states, or very fast rhythmic states, this change in rhythm can produce experiences of unity. The kind of awareness you have when you are in an audience watching a drama is actually a situation where there is some sharing of slow rhythms taking place. I also think that’s another feature involved when we feel, as we often do, that we have shared a very intimate experience with the people we are sitting with. It’s a sharing of a slow rhythm that sets up certain resonances, not just in our heart but actually in our brains.

PM: Is it easier, somehow, to enter into emotion or to open oneself up to emotion if it is imaginary?

KW: I am not sure if the issue has to do with a story being imaginary so much as with the right amount of difference. If there is too big a gap and you can’t identify with the person, the central character, it’s unlikely to have these kinds of effects. It could be a real situation but the question is whether or not you are able to make the connection. We make connections all the time between people who come from a different place. I just watched a movie about Inuit Indians last night. I am really different from an Inuit, but I was very immersed in the drama and got inside the skin of the people. There was something about the way that the story was presented that allowed me to cross over and enter into it fully.

PM: Cheryl, given what we know about witnessing and healing, why do you think that our criminal justice system has been so slow to incorporate restorative justice reforms and principles?

CC: To be honest, I have been a little surprised at the slow movement of reform within the legal profession ever since Carolyn Boyes-Watson introduced me to restorative justice six years ago. We’ve done many programs for lawyers and judges and there are only a few judges who have become interested in its possibilities. I think that’s interesting because they are probably suffering slightly more and they feel more in a position of power to do something about it. I’ve also been remarkably surprised at how few lawyers have jumped at it, even those who would call themselves creative mediators and problem-solvers. I think the support for the legal system we have can be explained, in part, as one of our addictions to certain thought-forms or certain ways of perceiving things. First, there is the addiction to the thought-form of the external processes which become entwined with inner processes. Second, restorative justice asks us to connect with each other through deep dialogue and authentic presence; to work toward forgiveness, reconciliation, transformation. These are new topics to lawyers. Different skill-sets may need to be fostered if restorative justice is to take root because anything that we have thought about for 20 or 30 years as a way of operating in the world is very hard to change. Another obstacle has been the devaluation of what I would call more of a feminine approach, the nurturing of relationships. And restorative justice is about healing relationships.

Fortunately, there may be larger shifts happening in the future because of the increasing numbers of women entering the legal profession. We can make a big difference. Twenty- five years from now it will be very different. Much of what restorative justice does reflects a way of being that has traditionally been the domain of women. Emotional intelligence has not been encouraged. Imagination has not been encouraged; in a way, the grip of the adversarial model on the mind has stolen our imagination.

PM: Does this also relate to one’s spiritual outlook?

CC: Oh yes. I ran a program last year called “Re-imagining the Legal Profession.” I don’t want to sound negative when I describe the changes that are necessary. I want to be totally positive about how we can change and heal the legal system. It’s my wish, my calling to promote this kind of change in this life. But having said that and knowing how hard it is to change our minds, you have to take a very, very long view and you have to encourage people to use their imaginations because the pressure not to do so is so entrenched. Lawyers need time to reconnect with their intuition and their creativity and, yes, their spirituality.

A California judge named Ron Greenberg in California wrote a piece that was published recently in the California Law Journal. He is a man who is trying to re-imagine the courtroom. He’s a practitioner of meditation and he wrote an article about how he suffered and was drained in the courtroom and felt demoralized most of the time. He was in power in a conventional way, but experienced a disempowered spirit. Now, he meditates an hour before he goes to the courtroom and then all day long he brings himself back to his breath and to his awareness. In this way he can stay present and aware. He may see 50-100 people in the course of a day so he has to do a lot of breathing! But this enables him to stay in what Kaethe calls the “aware and empowered position.” It takes courage and imagination, but there is some hope.

PM: I’d like to close with a final question to both of you. Do you see points within our current system of justice where there are opportunities for healing to enter the process and contribute to a deeper sense of justice? We are aware of the problems. We’d love to hear your thoughts on some positive paths to change.

KW: I actually was going to take the question in a different direction, which has to do with reiterating how important I think it is for justice to be linked to healing. I spent this weekend re-reading a book by Boston Globe correspondent Elizabeth Neuffer, The Key To My Neighbor’s House: Seeking Justice in Bosnia and Rwanda (Picador 2002). Elizabeth was killed recently in a terrible car accident with her translator in Iraq. She’s a heroine of mine. She’s someone whose coverage I’ve tremendously valued. I see her as a courageous, compassionate witness. She covered the rape trials in Bosnia and also in Rwanda. The heart of her book is really about the importance of justice at all levels and what it means to communities when there is and is not justice. For me, restorative justice is closely related to social justice, to the questions of who has access to witnessing and whose stories are received with compassionate witnessing. One of the things that I feel is part of my calling is to really care about the equitable distribution of witnessing in the world—who does it and who gets it. We do not equally witness violence, nor do we equally receive compassionate witnessing. This is a matter of social justice.

CC: Kaethe’s remarks dovetail beautifully with concerns of my own, even though we come from quite different starting points. My wish is to re-fashion legal education and judicial education completely. My wish is that a component of justice education would be training about emotional intelligence and how lawyers and judges can use it to work more effectively with others working with others in the courtroom, or in the office, or in the legislature. Second, is my wish to understand how we are all interconnected; witnessing could be a part of that. A lot of what that witnessing will entail has to do with what I was speaking about earlier, about what I see as the over-arching violence of the legal system based on that broader definition of violence. Witnessing must be done with the skills of awareness and understanding of how our conventional ways of being with each other—through our speech and our practices and the law—have violence in them. The witnessing is really one category of those skills that need to be re-fashioned by this perspective of understanding the impact of our thoughts, words, and deeds on each other.

PM: Thanks very much to both of you.