First of all, we should not let well alone. It usually means that something’s being covered up in the interests of the colonial powers. There is, after all, something called “history written by the victims.” The first item of my manifesto is: don’t let well alone.
Secondly, we must listen out for murmurs, hints, quiet echoes. We should watch out for doubles, and for deja vu. There are very few direct paths for a ghost to go down, especially if it’s locked away in a crypt somewhere, behind thick walls and a keyless door. This means that communication is likely to be roundabout, enigmatic, elusive and transient. We must treasure this communication if it chooses to go through us, and enjoy the shivering that it causes.
Thirdly, we should seek out ceremonies of reparation, rituals of recovery. We will know their insufficiency, but acknowledge that engaging in them will be all we can do. Understand that if a ghost keeps troubling you, it may mean that you have missed the point. But it also might mean that you’re the only hope that the ghost has left.
And finally, we must recognize that we are ghosts, too. There is little distinction between the haunted and one who haunts, the former turns into the latter, soon enough. Perhaps our capacity to recognize ghosts is what determines the likelihood that we too will be recognized in our struggle to be heard and seen. It’s not obvious that there is any other way to do it.
Image from John Akomfrah's Transfigured Night, a HD video installation at the Haus der Kulturen der Welt