The hatred is out in the open again
Like many, I was left questioning in the days after the Christchurch terror attacks how this could have happened in New Zealand. I wondered how someone living among us could go and kill 51 innocent people. I wondered whether we should have known, whether anyone could have known.
Now we know this ugly underbelly exists. We know, also, that the alleged terrorist’s views are not that of a ‘‘lone wolf’’. His views are shared among a group of white supremacists and would-be fascists, who connect predominantly online.
For years I had believed that type of hatred was best blocked, ignored, or put in the trash where it belongs. But the murders on March 15 made me question everything.
White supremacy, xenophobia and the alt-Right have always been present in New Zealand. After all, anti-immigrant and ‘‘iwi v Kiwi’’ rhetoric has been treated as fair game during elections. Of course, there’s a big jump between the everyday racism we’re all familiar with and the extremism that fuels terror.
Before March 15, I wrote with certainty about the importance of ignoring those individuals who want to divide us. I celebrated Auckland Mayor Phil Goff’s decision to ban two Canadian racists from speaking at council venues. And while I still support anyone wishing to ban racists, the mosque attacks made me reconsider.
Was I blind to how bad race relations really were? By silencing the lunatics, were we missing the warning signs?
Which is why, for the past year, I have made an effort to keep abreast with the types of online communities that hold views similar to the alleged Christchurch gunman. This is not something I advise anyone to do.
Within a week of the mosque attacks, white nationalists in Auckland put posters up across one of New Zealand’s most ethnically diverse universities. More than anything, these sad and hate-filled individuals love to scare. They talk big, and travel around to remind us that they live among us. That they were so eager to capitalise on the trauma of the shootings should disgust us all.
As time went on, they went to greater efforts to be noticed. Last month, I reported that a group called Action Zealandia had resorted to paying Facebook to promote its ‘‘movement’’. Facebook accepted the ad money, before I called asking why. Twitter continues to host pages for the group, and is yet to respond to a request for comment.
In some secret messaging apps, which protect these losers’ identities, they openly celebrate the murders of New Zealanders and follow copycat attacks around the globe. They share photos, videos and rally support.
I write this not to stoke fears, as it’s unclear where these extremists are based. But as a country, we need to know how vital addressing white supremacy is. Extremist communities are easier than ever to access, and yet our politicians – such as ACT’s David Seymour – continue to treat this as a philosophical debate.
In just a few clicks, you can find yourself in a chatroom with the most disgusting humans imaginable. Every app store gives quick access to hate and opportunities to be radicalised, yet people still think we need access to semi-automatic weapons.
While these groups are clearly disturbing, one thing worries me more. The days after March 15 saw us all come together in powerful expressions of unity and aroha. This week, I searched for commemoration events and found the most frightful comments I have seen all year.
These comments were not hidden. They did not come from anonymous accounts. They were not shared on encrypted apps or on the dark web. They were posted in neighbourhood Facebook groups across the country.
Pa¯ keha¯ complained, ‘‘stop ramming this down our throats’’. They were sick of this, bored of these community events, and annoyed with Islamic associations opening their doors.
Poor, bruised Pa¯ keha¯ victims . . . and Brian Tamaki. Wait, they aren’t the victims. They have no right to complain. New Zealand, get yourself together. This ambivalence to what was the greatest tragedy of our time scares me more than anything. As we approach the anniversary of March 15, we need to take another hard look at ourselves. This white-victimhood, which has become so popular, cannot go uncontested.
It’s up to all of us to address the hate that festers, and which starts at home.
My month of trying to live like it’s the year 2000 is almost up. My handwriting is becoming somewhat legible, after a week of scrambling to hand-write lecture notes. In Life magazine next Wednesday, I’ll let you know next week what I’ve learnt, and what I missed. Spoiler: it hasn’t gone well.