'I don’t have hate, I don’t have revenge' – stricken mother of Christchurch massacre victim forgives killer
Her son’s bullet-riddled body was sent home to her on Mother’s Day. On Monday, a year and a half later in a New Zealand courtroom, Janna Ezat came face to face for the first time with the terrorist who murdered her son. Ezat, delicate-featured with short, dark hair, had written down what she would say in the courtroom. But when the moment came, she went off-script.
“I have decided to forgive you, Mr Tarrant, because I don’t have hate, I don’t have revenge,” she told the Australian terrorist who stormed two mos
ques in the city of Christchurch, killing 51 Muslim worshippers at prayer. “The damage is done. Hussein will never be here.”
Hussein Al-Umari, 35, died at Al Noor mosque on 15 March 2019.
Brenton Tarrant, 29, the self-professed white supremacist who gunned down Al-Umari and dozens of others, had sat – blank and impassive – in the dock as family after family had told a court due to sentence the gunman this week of the scale of their loss and grief. He had broadcast his attacks live on Facebook, posted a racist manifesto online, and often smirked throughout his earlier court appearances – at which he had appeared on a video screen from jail.
Tarrant, pale and thin, was in court on Monday. He often listened intently and returned eye contact when bereaved relatives or survivors offered it. But at Ezat’s words, he appeared for the first time to show a response, blinking rapidly as she spoke directly to him.
“I have only one choice: to forgive you,” Ezat said, looking straight at the gunman. Their eyes met, and he nodded his head. Ezat’s hand shook as she lifted a cup of water to her mouth. Tarrant wiped his cheek with one thumb.
Later, Ezat’s daughter told the Guardian her mother had believed the gunman, in that moment, had felt something.
It was the only response Tarrant offered any of his victims in a hearing that is due to decide whether the perpetrator of New Zealand’s worst peacetime massacre will ever leave jail. He faces being the first person in New Zealand, under current laws, to receive a term of life without parole.
Many families appearing in court were uncertain about what to expect. When a graphic account of Tarrant’s actions was read at the beginning of the sentencing hearing on Monday morning, the police statement described a man who had planned the attacks for years and intended to do even more damage than he had, citing anti-Islamic political views.
A prosecutor, voice flat and emotionless, read aloud a statement outlining how Tarrant had returned to shoot again those who were injured, hiding, calling for help or running away. He had shot a three-year-old child in cold blood and when caught by the police as he fled from the second mosque he admitted what he had done and showed no remorse.
So it provoked surprise when, in March, Tarrant abruptly pleaded guilty to all the charges he faced, averting the need for a lengthy trial. Instead, after firing his lawyers last month, he will be permitted to give an explanation for his actions after more than 60 of his victims give their statements.
The prospect has generated strict reporting rules to prevent him from using the hearing as a platform to spread his views. The security is unprecedented for a hearing in New Zealand with armed police patrolling the court, snipers on the roof, and a wristband system that allows the families affected, and reporters, to move between rooms at the court.
In seven additional courtrooms, bereaved families and survivors are watching the hearing on video screens. Another houses about 30 reporters who could not fit into the main courtroom.
But in courtroom 12 the mood – so far – has been tense and emotional at times, but calm. Due to physical distancing rules imposed by a Covid-19 outbreak, only up to 20 of Tarrant’s victims sat in the courtroom at a time on Monday, with about 10 reporters.
When they rose to speak, the victims stood just metres from where Tarrant sat behind glass surrounded by five police officers.
Temel Atacocugu, a New Zealander who was born in Turkey, recalled the moment he had locked eyes with the gunman at Al Noor mosque. An army veteran, Atacocugu had known right away the cause of the unfolding chaos. He was shot nine times – including in his arm, leg, and mouth – and told the court his army training had saved his life.
He had realised he should play dead to avoid being shot again.
The “strong and proud Turkish man” has been a familiar fixture at each of the gunman’s hearings since last March, including an early appearance where he arrived directly from a nearby hospital, pushed in a wheelchair. Then he was ashen-faced with a far-off stare.
On Monday Atacocugu dressed in a salmon pink shirt and black wool vest – a little different from his usual, preferred sportswear, he told the Guardian – and combed his hair neatly. Flanked by his two teenage sons he stood to lock eyes with the gunman for a second time.
Atacocugu had been forced to sell his beloved Turkish food business because his injuries stopped him from being able to work.
“However, I am determined to find a positive way to overcome the pain … cope with assistance from family and live with my disability,” he said. “I will think about and be proud of all that I have overcome.”
‘You failed miserably’
Maysoon Salama, whose son Atta Elayyan – an app developer, father to a toddler, and indoor football goalkeeper with a wide, winning smile – was killed at Al Noor said her family was “determined to hold tight to Islam”.
“You killed your own humanity and I don’t think the world will forgive you,” she said. “You transgressed and you thought you could break us. You failed miserably.”
Her sentiments were echoed by Mazharuddin Syed Ahmed, who was not injured but saw friends die.
“You were a tragedy. You did not help anyone, you did not comfort any,” he told Tarrant. “You were a saviour to none. No one will remember you with joy.”
Each family who stepped up to the witnesses’ table, or whose statement was played in a video, had a lifetime of loss to report: birthdays that had before been celebrated one day apart; a father who had been “the happiest man in the world” at his son’s wedding; a personalised car number plate bought for a mother by her son who she would never see alive again.
“My heart rips, millions of times,” Salama said. She was flanked by her husband, also wounded in the shooting, and her two surviving children who gripped her shoulders as she spoke.
Tarrant is due to be sentenced on Thursday after two more days of victim statements, and some are anticipating a sense of closure. But for others the effects of the gunman’s actions are still pressing. Atacocugu had given his statement early, ahead of surgery on Tuesday morning to repair bullet damage to his shoulder.
For all who spoke – many facing sleepless nights and startling at loud noises – the attacks are never far away.
Saira Bibi Patel, who spoke in a video statement from Melbourne, lost her husband, Musa Vali Suliman Patel, at Linwood mosque. As the bullets rang out, she believed the pair would die together and called her son to say goodbye. Later she was forced to leave her husband’s lifeless body after trying to staunch his wounds.
“I am still searching for my beautiful husband’s face in crowds,” she said. “But it is nowhere to be seen.”
I will think about and be proud of all that I have overcome
Temel Atacocugu