On 15thMarch 2019, fifty people woke up. They dressed. Perhaps they ate breakfast, perhaps not. Perhaps they took their coffee black. Or added an extra sugar to their tea. On the 15th March fifty people stepped outside their front door. Into a car. Bus. Perhaps they walked. Perhaps they wore make up that day. Perhaps they’d just finished their stick of deodorant. Maybe they added it to the bottom of their shopping list laying crumpled in their bag, pocket, jacket. Some may have listened to music. Taken a selfie. Snapchat filter. Called their mother, brother, friend or lover. But perhaps not. On the 15th March fifty people woke up for the very last time.
We know why, we know what happened. And whilst our hearts bleed for their loss we will not discuss their attacker here. This is no place for him. But how do you begin to express the ripple of heartache felt across an entire world? How do you address such loss? Where do you put the anger that burns at the unjustness of it all? It is a topic I have tried writing about countless times over the past three weeks. Only to rip out the page. Scribble over the words. Delete the text on my screen. How can I speak about this, what right do I have? The truth is, I have none. I have no right to try and understand the heartache of the families. I have no right to mourn and cry and write poetry about this. And so, I won’t. Instead, I can only write simply, what I know.
What struck me the most, and what is continually striking me as I navigate my way through Wellington, is a profound sense of unity. The unity of an entire country. When I notice the street art, graffiti, posters and stickers that constantly appear across the city, I feel the power of a country healing from this awful, awful, attack. I have been deeply moved by the strength and love of such a vast community coming together. Beautiful messages written in pink, purple and orange across a university wall, hearts drawn with chalk along the harbour, the vigils, the one minute silences that stretch on for two, three, four, five. When I watched as two men embraced for four minutes and neither moved a single muscle. When Muslim girls laughed and smiled as they helped others try on hijabs. When I heard the call to prayer and it was mournful and beautiful, and no body moved as we all listened. Somehow, amongst all the fear and heartbreak, the most overwhelming part of the weeks that followed the attack in Christchurch, was New Zealand’s uncanny ability to fight back with so much love and peace.
There are no words I can write that can give any sense of an explanation as to why this happened. There are no words to express the loss felt. There is nothing I can say to bring those fifty people back home. But I am humbled to see the glimmers of hope and humanity found within the silence.
Te rangimarie ki runga i to maatau whanau.
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