We are the world

Jeremy Elwood

There is no good place to be when something like what happened last Friday, happens. We happened to be at Womad. Many big events around the country were cancelled in the wake of the Christchurch atrocity – with good reason, and completely understandably. Womad decided to go ahead, and their reasoning was just as sound. As Chris Smith, the director of Womad international, said at a low-key press conference on the Saturday afternoon: ‘‘The heart of Womad is about the fight against racism.’’ As Andrew Little said in his admirable speech, filling in for the Prime Minister at late notice: ‘‘This weekend, in this great place, let’s not concede to the haters. Let us celebrate what Womad stands for: diversity, tolerance and love.’’

What then occurred was, in turns, cathartic and confronting. There were moments where it felt like Nero fiddling while Rome burned. There were times where just as you thought you’d put everything out of your mind, someone would mention Christchurch, and the surrealness of it all would overwhelm you. But then there were musicians from around the world, including numerous Muslim nations, putting on a three-day celebration of both their own cultures and our world-wide connections. Almost all of them acknowledged what had happened in various ways, from a passing mention, a song dedication, or an (at times ill-advised) political statement. Around them, thousands of people dancing, singing, or just absorbing the mix of cultures, rhythms and tones that make up our world, our wider global community.

We are inextricably a part of that world community now; whether we like it or not, for better and for worse. What this… I have to pause here to consider what to call him. In my mind, he’s not a man. He’s a coward, an imbecile, a deranged wimp... let me try that again… What this Thing who caused so much pain on that dark day has done is multi-faceted. It has brought us into a fight we thought, naively, we weren’t part of. But we are not alone. It has also shown us that we are connected to a much wider world than we perhaps thought. As tributes flooded in from around the globe, from a darkened Eiffel Tower to a silver fern on the Sydney Opera House, it was apparent that the world was watching us, and they were on our side.

I have one more quote to share with you. A good friend named Mark Barry, an Irish citizen living in Vancouver, Canada, posted a heartfelt thought on the evening of the event. It included this line: ‘‘One leaf doesn’t define the fern.’’

It’s lovely, it’s poetic, and it’s true. And it comes to us from the world.

Michele A’Court

There is advice for people feeling traumatised by atrocities. The theory goes that humans are such communal creatures we can have a physiological response to an event even if we weren’t there. Maybe our connection is a shared faith, or a shared place, or maybe we see something of ourselves in the victims – they are the same age, or have children our own kids’ age, or they work alongside us. We can’t help but empathise – and I’m glad about that.

The advice goes something like: gather together, talk to each other, don’t drink too much, take a break from news updates when you need to. Plus remember who this is really about by putting the victims at the centre, and be a helper.

My ability to follow the rules is a work in progress.

Friday at Womad felt like the vigil we needed – standing with each other, checking that humans still look like humans, knowing that other people are feeling this, too. Then I found the wine and turned a vigil into a wake.

Billy Bragg said that if music was going to save the world, it would have happened by now. But what it can do is nourish our souls so we can continue to try to make the world and ourselves better.

People at Womad were endlessly polite. If an eftpos machine stopped working, a stranger in the queue would offer to pay cash. If a child looked even slightly lost, you’d check to make sure their people were nearby.

The police presence was obvious, as were the guns they carried – a familiar sight at Australian and American festivals, but a jolt here. I watched an officer play an enthusiastic game of peek-a-boo with a toddler and wondered if it was a way to make amends for what they are carrying now on their hip.

I am thinking as little as I can about the killer, except to reject the description of him as a lone wolf. He had an online community of supporters who agreed with and encouraged this atrocity, and they are all still somewhere among us.

Sitting on the grass, I read a powerful piece by Anjum Rahman, a spokesperson for the Islamic Women’s Council of New Zealand. She was not shocked by this mass killing. For five years these women have tried to alert the SIS, the government and many of its departments about increasing discrimination against them, the rise of New Zealand’s alt-right, and escalating vitriol both online and in person. They saw this coming.

On Monday, my daughter sent a photo of the award her 5-year-old received on that same dark

Friday afternoon.

‘‘The Helping Hands

Award – for being willing to help and being kind to others.’’ We should celebrate everyone who deserves one of those.