Put away your digital knuckle-dusters
Taking stock, I was forced to acknowledge that the impulse to call folks out all over the internet is the same poorly controlled impulse that drives the other end of the political spectrum to post the galling things they do. It’s frustration, it’s fear, it’s always fear.
I’ll always believe it’s my duty to make like Taika and Give Nothing to Racism (hot tip: it’s everyone’s duty), and not all at once in a frothing rage, not fuelled by shock, distress and that sickening full-body clench of helplessness.
Bickering online is a pointless, disrespectful response to that emotion.
It’s disrespectful to people like Abdul Aziz, who fought the gunman off with an eftpos machine and the shooter’s own spent weapon, throwing it at him ‘‘like an arrow’’.
Instead of running for it, Aziz tried to lure the killer away from his mosque into the carpark. He probably saved dozens of lives.
And it’s grossly disrespectful to Farid Ahmed, who said he can’t hate the man who killed his wife, Husna.
‘‘I have compassion for them [the killer],’’ he said. ‘‘I hope and pray that they will learn, listen and they will be turned as better humans and they will care for people instead.’’
I couldn’t even find it in me to have compassion for some stranger on the internet.
I watched our PM step up. First she called it what it was, without flinching or prevaricating: terrorism. Then she, respectfully, faced down the so-called leader of the free world before comforting the grieving at mosques around the country in hijab, an ultimate mark of respect for their faith.
And here I’d let my feelings get the better of me. I was utterly humbled.
The 13th-century Muslim poet Rumi wrote about how to deal with big, uncomfortable feelings in The Guest House.
‘‘This human being is a guest house,’’ it begins. ‘‘Every morning a new arrival, a joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.
‘‘Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still treat each guest honourably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight.’’
You can’t shut your feelings up, even the nasty ones like rage and anger and grief. So you might as well invite them in and see what they’re on about. That’s the only way you’ll get any space to move on.
So, I took Rumi’s excellent advice. I greeted my feelings, explored what they were telling me to do. Then I did it.
On Monday I spent time with my family. Like so many other Kiwis, we took flowers to our local Islamic centre and read the beautiful cards and signs on the walls. ‘‘As-sala¯ mu alaykum,’’ they said, which means ‘‘peace be with you.’’
I applied to become a volunteer English language teacher and made contact with a community group near me that’s planning informal Arabic/English conversation groups.
I tried to mend the bridges I burned. I’m still working on that. And I put away my digital knuckle-dusters.
I can’t say I won’t share any more #Eggboy memes, because that would be a bare-faced lie. I love that kid. And I can’t say I won’t call you out or lose my temper. I’m only human. But I won’t go looking for any more arguments.
New Zealand, you have made me more humble and more proud than I ever imagined I could be. There’s more to do, so much more. I’m exhausted now, I know you must be, too.
But a terrorist thought he could make us hate each other. Let’s show him how bloody wrong he was.