Mosque tragedy widows express their gratitude
Women speak from men’s prayer room where their husbands were killed
From the moment planning for this weekend’s commemorative events began, the question was asked at every meeting. How would the six widows left behind, the mothers of the 17 orphaned children, like to take part?
At first, they agreed any sort of public outing would be too overwhelming, their mourning still too raw.
Then they decided one would speak for all of them. Then another said she, too, had something to say. Then another. And another.
So Saturday night, in a first for most of them, they addressed the media, expressing gratitude and calling for togetherness.
The location was also their choice. A hotel room was discussed. Maybe somewhere neutral, like one of the conference rooms that had already hosted events this weekend.
But they wanted to speak from the men’s prayer room at the mosque. They wanted people to see, and feel, the small room where bullets flew and their husbands died one year ago.
And they wanted people to witness the resulting good that came from it — for the occasion, the room’s walls were decorated with thousands of messages of support the Islamic Cultural Centre received in the last year.
Idiatou Barry, Mamadou Tanou Barry’s widow and mother of their two young children, spoke first.
The speech she had printed out trembled in her hand as she did. She stopped often to gather herself, lowering her head into her palms.
“I want to thank everyone,” she managed to say, “from close or far, who has supported us since this tragedy.”
Safia Hamoudi, widow of Khaled Belkacemi, was flanked by two of her children, Amir, 26, and Megda, 28, as she spoke. They rested their hands on her shoulders when she struggled, and she squeezed them in return. Her 14-year-old was too overwhelmed to be there, she said.
The hardest part since the shooting, Hamoudi said, has not been the political debates and social issues that have dominated the conversation in the year that’s followed. Nor has it been the often-raised question of the Muslim community’s place in Quebec. She’s felt at home since the day she set foot here, she said.
“The hardest part is the void. The person’s absence,” she said simply.
“Survivors of a tragedy like this one can find a way to move forward, they receive help, signs of solidarity. But the emptiness left by the person will never be filled. That’s the hardest part. Knowing that the person will never be there to see their children grow up.”
She expressed thanks, as every widow who spoke did, for everyone’s continued solidarity.
At the last minute, three decided it was too difficult, asking friends to read prepared remarks instead.
“We must do everything we can to defeat hate and intolerance,” Hamoudi said.
“We must do everything we can to build bridges and go toward each other. To look for what we have in common, rather than look for our differences.”
Asked how they hope the date of the shooting, Jan. 29, 2017, will be remembered moving forward, Hamoudi’s son, Amir, stepped forward.
“I think it’s just very important for us to make sure this date will always be remembered as something tragic and something that really happened,” he said.
“Most importantly for us, it’s a day that marks a before and an after. That’s the most important, regardless of any political whatnot. Those things are not important to us,” he added. “We just want to make sure that Jan. 29 will always be remembered as a tragic day and a lesson for each and every one of us.”
The widows spoke moments before the mosque opened its doors to the public Saturday evening. As people filtered in, they lined up to embrace them and other survivors, praising them all for their courage.
They also took in the thousands of messages — on cards, post-it notes, heart-shaped cutouts and posters — displayed on the walls and across tables all over the room.
The notes came from all over the province and country, from elementary and high school students, from religious orders and politicians. Mosque officials estimated they made up only a fraction of the support the community’s received since the shooting.
“I wish you an endless amount of light for this dark,” read one note from a young student. “I wish you love and happiness in this time of need.”
“Religion does not define anyone,” read another. “We all support you as part of our community, and together we will stand.”