Part of the healing process in the North requires us to listen to and collect the untold stories of its victims, writes Paul Murphy, Secretary of State for Northern Ireland
For anyone who lives in Northern Ireland or who cares about its progress, this is an important week. Its significance comes not from any political development or even the current election campaign, but from the publication of a large hardback volume: the new edition of Lost Lives.
As I meet those involved in dealing with the past here in South Africa there has scarcely been a conversation which has not touched on this extraordinary book.
When Lost Lives was originally published in 1999 I suspect that even David McKittrick and his co-authors were surprised both by its impact and its popularity. What at first sight appears to be a chronological catalogue of those killed in the Troubles is an unlikely bestseller.
But its many readers will agree that it is so much more than a research work. The quiet dignity afforded to each victim and the acute sensitivity with which each story is told allow the force of these terrible tragedies to burn all the more intensely.
In these pages are accounts of unendurable suffering and courage, of evil and of redemption; by turns the entries inspire anger and admiration, tears and gratitude.
But the collection of these "ordinary" tales of a 30-year tragedy has a wider significance for all who want a better future for Northern Ireland.
These stories remind us of just how much we lost through the conflict. They are more than the deaths of cherished individuals: they represent lost and shattered families, broken communities, lost childhoods, lost opportunities, lost futures.
We are used to assessing the economic costs of the Troubles and celebrating the prosperity that has returned in recent years, but here is the full scale of human loss to society in Northern Ireland and to all who live in these islands. In a part of the world where language itself can so easily become the cause of conflict, Lost Lives was an inspired title.
In short, this book reminds us why the process of healing matters. It maps out for us the reservoir of pain and bitterness that exists in Northern Ireland and the scale of the reconciliation required. We owe it to future generations and to those who died not to repeat the mistakes of the past.
To anyone who is tempted to find the political process in Northern Ireland wearisome or frustrating I would simply say: open this book at any page and begin reading.
Last week I announced the beginning of a consultation process on how best to deal with our divided and divisive past in Northern Ireland.
I do not underestimate the difficulties, and Lost Lives would remind me, if I needed it, that this is an area where we must tread softly.
I know that we cannot be prescriptive and offer easy answers. But we have to facilitate debate and begin the process if it is to get off the ground.
I set out in The Irish Times on Good Friday what seemed to me to be the prerequisites for dealing with the past.
First, the conflict must truly be over. There must be no more additions to Lost Lives, no more young people mutilated in "punishment" attacks by loyalist and republican paramilitaries.
Second, whatever methods are finally adopted must come from the whole community and enjoy a consensus of support.
Finally, we must focus on a shared vision of the future as our goal. Dwelling on the past for its own sake would be, I suspect, destructive and ever more divisive.
The importance of this shared purpose has been emphasised to me repeatedly here in South Africa.
For all the doubts and reservations about the Truth and Reconciliation process, what held the project together was the belief that it was helping to build a new society where injustice and violence would be a thing of the past.
The process made great demands on victims and was only bearable to many because it held out the promise of a better future.
I suspect we are some way yet from this stage in Northern Ireland, but I am clear that we will need to recapture the generosity of spirit which existed at the time of the Good Friday agreement if we are to make real progress.
That spirit has been dissipated by political disagreement and continuing paramilitary activity over the past six years. The time has come to revive it.
I hope that the process of storytelling - of which Lost Lives and the BBC's Legacy series are fine examples - will help to revive that spirit. This may seem paradoxical, but reminding ourselves of what we lost is also a way of pointing to what we stand to gain in a new Northern Ireland.
I have been struck here in South Africa by the importance of collecting information, of hearing the stories of those who suffered as a way of showing respect for victims and for each other across traditional divides.
The District Six Museum in Cape Town, like the Holocaust Memorial, offers us an example of a cathartic collection of stories which transcend the mere apportioning of blame.
Of course, hearing the stories of the Troubles and collecting them, perhaps in a single building, is not a substitute for reconciliation, let alone for justice. But it may be a starting point. Not all victims will want to take part, but I have met many who would like their voices heard.
At the very least, hearing the stories of the Troubles, like reading Lost Lives, will be a call to conscience for all those involved in 30 years of bitter conflict.
How we all respond to that call may then determine the pace of progress, not only in dealing with the past but in building a new Northern Ireland.
I suspect that the consultation now beginning may be difficult and lengthy. But I hope it will not only be constructive in finding a better way of dealing with the past but may actually become part of the healing process itself.
Talking about how to talk about the past should not be underestimated: it was, after all, how we began to negotiate the agreement.
Paul Murphy has been on a fact-finding trip to South Africa where he looked at the work of its Truth and Reconciliation Commission