In the wake of the terrible murders of 50 Muslim worshipers in
Christchurch, New Zealand, I've been thinking and wondering: What can I say?
I realize that when it comes to things like Islamaphobia and anti-Semitism, or hatred
of other minorities, I have little to offer.
Sure, I can condemn and be angered by those things. But as a Canadian Christian,
I have no personal experience with persecution, discrimination, violence, fear
or exclusion because of my religion.
I don’t worry about how I might be viewed or treated for what I
wear or believe, or the colour of my skin, or being lumped together with those who
commit acts of terrorism because they claim to be part of the same faith.
I don’t have to worry about whether or not my religion is
acceptable or “Canadian” enough.
Canadian society—as secular as it is—is set up
to accommodate my beliefs, even giving me days off on Sundays and for special Christian
religious observances like Christmas and Good Friday.
I don’t know what it’s like to worry that a gunman might attack my place of worship, as happened in Christchurch to Muslims, in Pittsburgh to Jews, and in Charlotte to African-Americans.
I never think about needing guards when I go to church, like Muslims and Jews often need to do.
I don't worry my church will be vandalized at night.
I don’t walk down the street wondering if someone will shout at me to “go home.”
These things are simply not part of my life.
So when a mosque or synagogue or gurdwara is attacked, I am alarmed,
angered and concerned.
But since it doesn’t affect me personally, I’m not sure what to
do or say.
So after Christchurch—after all these
things—what can I do?
As it happened, the day after the attack I was at a conference about combating hate organized by the local Muslim community.
When asked what non-Muslims could do, amidst the tears they said we should pray, listen, and acknowledge their pain, fear and anguish.
They also said not to be too quick to
look for answers or try to find meaning in the attack—if any meaning can ever
be found.
Wait a bit, they said. Now is a time
for mourning. Later we can talk about the why.
Those are things I can do.
But I will do other things, too.
Personal things, commitments I have made and will continue to make.
I won’t laugh at jokes about Muslims,
Jews, or other minorities.
I won’t let racist, hurtful and
hateful comments about those groups go unchallenged.
I also won’t vote for politicians who
play on fears of “the other,” who used coded words and phrases like “Canadian
values” to garner support, who stoke anxiety about immigration as a way to
be elected, or who associate with people who speak and act that way—and fail to disavow them when they say hateful things.
To be honest, these things don't feel like
much in the face of what happened in New Zealand.
But maybe it’s enough for
now.
Later, when the tears have dried, we
can talk about ways to move forward together.
But for now, all I can say to my
Muslim friends is: I am with you. I am listening. I am grieving. I will do my
part to push back against hate.
And you can count on me.
