Living with terror

Alexis,

I really don’t know how to go about writing this letter.
It took me a while to even really be sure that I wanted to write about this to you.
There is a part of me that really doesn’t want to write it, while there is another part that knows the importance of it.
I think my biggest frustration with this letter is that once again I struggle to find the answer to the problem.

The first western mass shooting that happened in your life when you were only 4 months old… It wouldn’t have actually been the first as they happen daily all over the world, but it was the first one televised that I recall.
You were so small and innocent.
The world was so big and corrupt.
Sandy Hook Elementary School was all over the news. A man went into a primary school in America with a gun and he shot 20 children aged between six and seven. The same age that you are now.
It’s hard to write about this and not be brought to tears.
Right now, as I write this letter, you are fast asleep.
Earlier tonight, we laid comfortably on the couch together. You laid your head on a pillow between my legs as we watched a movie.
You clutched my leg tightly and said, “You’re the best mumma ever!”
In December 2012, a man decided to take those moments away from so many families.
How could he do that?

I can still tell you about the first terrorist attack that I remember.
I was lying in my bed, in my bedroom that backed onto the back yard.
I heard loud, fast footsteps and dad yelling out to my mum. “Liz, turn on the TV!”

My heart began to race.
I knew something was wrong.
I had only heard my dad yell like that once before – when a car jack broke and sliced half of his finger off.
I had also never seen (or heard) my dad run.
Emily and I landed in the lounge room at the same time (Clare was living in Tasmania). Mum had already turned the TV on. Emily and I sat next to each other on the floor, looking up at the TV. We were just in time to see the footage of the second airplane crashing into the twin towers. I watched as people jumped out of windows and I was filled with a new sort of fear. One I hadn’t known before.

That night, Emily and I shared a room. Dad came in and prayed with us.
We pleaded with God to bring comfort, love and peace to every person directly or indirectly impacted by this horrendous event. I remember the softness in Dad’s voice, a tremble that demonstrated his inner strength. He prayed for not only those destroyed, broken or killed in the attacks, but also for those who led the attacks.

Alexis, a few weeks ago there was a shooting that took place at two mosques in New Zealand.
And my heart is still hurting.
I want to wrap you up extra tight in bubble wrap to keep you safe. I want to hold you that much closer and tell you to be extra careful. I want to tell you to enjoy life as much as you can, because at any point, in any place, there could be someone who takes it from you. From me.

And I want to cry for those lost, for those hurting and for those in anyway touched by this.
I want to cry for the people who will never recover, who will never feel safe again, who will dream about that day, every night, for the rest of their lives. I want to sit with them, feel with them and love them because they need this to help them to heal.

We will move on from this. Society will move on. But they, the victims and the survivors, will never be granted that luxury. That grace will never be offered to them. The world will keep moving, even though theirs has stopped or stalled. And at some point, someone else will come forward with a gun, or a plane, or a bomb. And we will stop again to mourn the brutality of the world in which we live.
But the survivors of the mosque attacks and their families, they will never ever move on. Just as those who were affected by 9/11 haven’t. Or those affected by the London bombings. Or Columbine. Or Port Arthur.

I must be honest.
When I was told about what happened, I wasn’t shocked. I wasn’t at all surprised. It was only a couple of weeks ago that I was saying that there hadn’t been a shooting or terrorist attack for a while. And Alexis, ifI’m being even more honest, I had to stop and force myself to process what had taken place. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, because I knew when I fully understood the gravity of what had taken place that I would be overcome by emotion. So, I made myself react to it. I don’t want shootings and terrorism and hate to be a normal part of my existence. If I’m not shocked by these events, if I’m not brought to tears by something so hateful, then there is something wrong with my heart. I will always choose heartbreak over indifference.

Alexis,
When this first happened, I was asked, “where was God in this?”
And the truth is, I don’t know. I remember asking myself the same thing.
God, where were you?
Why didn’t you stop this, change this, redirect this?
Why didn’t you act?
Was this just another opportunity for people to rise up?
God, why couldn’t you rise up? Why couldn’t you, just this time?

My faith was shaken by this one…

I have stood inside a church so many times in my life. Church has been the place I’ve gone to when I have been struggling with my issues. It’s a place where I’ve sat and cried in silent prayer to God. A place where I’ve let my walls down to seek guidance from my maker. It’s where I’ve gone when I am vulnerable. I know that a church is more than its four walls. There is a peace and stillness which comes over me upon entering a church; it is a place of safety, a sanctuary.

These people were at their stillest. They had silenced their voices and settled their minds to fulfill, seek and meditate on the greatness of their God. And in those moments of complete vulnerability, their lives were stolen. Their safe place became a killing field. They weren’t causing harm, they weren’t impacting anyone, they were just being.

50 people dead.
50 people who had family and friends.
50 people who smiled and laughed and lived their lives.
People who belonged in a community.
People who were loved and gave love in return.
These people had dreams for their futures.
These were faithful, beautiful, kind, gentle, loving people.

But where was their God?
Where was our God – the God that we pray to every night? The God we constantly seek out with his boundless, ceaseless, unending, always-and-forever love?
Do I still believe in him? Of course. But I am confused.

Alexis,
In moments like these, do not – please, do not – throw your religious views around.
“Well Christians have been persecuted for years at the hands of extremists.”
This is bullshit. Don’t tear someone down because of their beliefs. Or because of yours.
Alexis, they believe – just as much as you do – in their God.
They would die for theirs, just as you would for yours.
They are just as convinced as you are.
This is not a battle of religions.
This is a fight for humanity and fight for peace and love.

So where was God in this? I don’t know… But here is what I do know.
Every act that causes terror in the heart of society, any society, is a terrorist attack.
And they’ve been happening since the dawn of time.
Terrorism isn’t based on colour.
Or religion. Or any sort of belief.
The core behind terrorism is hate.
It’s as simple as that. An extreme act of hate.
I am thankful that I don’t know how to feel that sort of hate.

Alexis, the man at the hand of these attacks was “one of us”.
Don’t fall for the anti-muslim bullshit that gets thrown around.
This act was not committed by the hand of a religious extremist. It was at the hand of a very hateful, racist man, with a stained understanding of our world.

Alexis, remember that hate doesn’t always result in someone holding a gun.
Hate uses words too. And actions.
Hate uses ignorance and indifference and inaction.

Those who gun people down, their hate didn’t start with a weapon in their hand, their hate started small. With words and looks and thoughts and actions.
Hate starts at home, with the TV turned on and a politician claiming muslims don’t have a place in our country. Or even better, one disrepecting them in parliment by wearing a burka.
It starts with putting innocent people in horrible detention centres.
It starts when people don’t agree with acknowledging the rightful owners of our land.
It starts when parents don’t take the time to educate to their children on tolerance and acceptance.

The truth is, as a society, we are all at fault.
Maybe we aren’t the person holding the gun, but we aren’t actively fighting against the hate amongst us. The truth is that no skin colour is better than any other. No race is better. No religion is better. No country. No age, job or political view.
Hate is insidious. No religion or race or nationality is exempt from hate. Even Christians hate. Even Christians cause wars. We are all responsible.

I think back to the night of 9/11 and my dad praying to God. I wondered why he would pray to God for those who committed this terrible act.
The answer is that you can’t fight hate with hate. Living life by “an eye for an eye” will not lead you to freedom. It will trap you. Enslave you. Control you.

If the result of love is living, and the result of hate is killing.
It’s an easy decision to make.
If the result of hate is anger, loathing, revenge and fear,
and the result of love is joy, peace and gentleness.
I know which one is the easier load to bear.

We can’t stop people from pointing guns, or planting bombs, or hijacking planes.
But we can love.
We can be kind.
We can show respect.

Alexis, please learn to respect others.
Respect others at school and at work and on the streets. Respect their beliefs, even when they’re different to yours. Respect them, even when you don’t understand them.
Please always remember that there is more that makes us the same, then there is that separates us.

You may even learn a lot from others. I was given a book for my birthday, called The Book of Joy. In this book, the Dalai Lama and the Archbishop meet and talk. The heads of Buddhism and Catholicism meet to learn from each other. Ironically, the book itself was written by a Jew. There truly is space to learn and grow from others.

So maybe, the answer is this, use kindness in the smallest of places. Start small and encourage it to spread. Maybe your love will affect someone who is struggling with their hate.
But know this – love isn’t a heroic act. Respect is not honourable. Kindness is not worthy of mention.
I say this because it should be a common act, a part of our everyday lives.
There is nothing special about love. It is built into all of us.
It’s sad that we live in a world so ingrained in fear and hate, and when someone is kind, we celebrate it.
We should be better than that, love is in the heart of every person.
We are born knowing love.
We grow and learn hate.
Babies naturally love – they respond to touch and comfort. They need love. It is vital to their survival.
No baby is born thinking that someone is better than another.
No babe is born thinking that a certain religion or a skin colour doesn’t belong.
Hate is learned.

Alexis – don’t let an act of hate drive you to hate others. Instead, choose love. Real love – deep, compassionate, world changing love. Love others so much that when you witness an act of hate, love is your response. Not your reaction.

I love you,
Mummy xx