I don’t go to the mosque often. I have probably been to a mosque a handful of times in my adult life. It wasn’t part of my upbringing. In fact, I’ve probably been to church more than I have been to the mosque. Yet after the tragic events that unfolded in Christchurch New Zealand, I felt like I needed to.
I wanted to say a prayer and reinforce my faith in light of the hate-fuelled attack that resulted in the loss of 50 lives and 37 injured. I went to the Yarralumla Mosque in Canberra. It was my first time there. When I arrived, a few cars were pulling up and people were jumping out with flowers in their hands.
At the entrance many had gently placed bouquets, some with notes attached. Against the floor tiles the flowers formed an assortment of colour, symbolising solidarity and shared grief. It was heart-warming. A lady with tears in her eyes asked me if I was Muslim. I told her that I am.
‘Would it be okay if I came in and said a prayer?’
‘Of course,’ I replied. She knelt down quietly sobbing and said a few words. I also knelt down and recited a few verses from the Quran. We were complete strangers sharing a unique and emotive moment, right here in this mosque.
That instant connection and sense of unity or togetherness with other human beings is what mosque attendance and Islamic prayer is all about. That’s why people gather at a mosque or places of worship—to feel connected in a disconcerting world.
I personally don’t get caught up on differences in doctrine or dogma. I would pray in a synagogue if I had the chance.
I have done it many times at church and Buddhist temples myself. For me, all houses of worship can be places of prayer and reflection. I personally don’t get caught up on differences in doctrine or dogma. I would pray in a synagogue if I had the chance.
So, reading about people like for the attacks on Muslims is extremely worrying.
After I finished my prayer, I sat down in the hall and wondered what it would have been like for those who lost their lives yesterday--the fear that rushed through their bodies, the screams and echoing shots they heard, those last moments as a merciless assassin methodically massacred them for being Muslims. It was uneasy thinking.
Like many Australians I was diligently following the news and Twitter feeds on Friday, in particular focusing on the kind of language used around the attack. It was reassuring to see that most media outlets were referring to it as terrorism and denouncing Islamophobia.
The fact that the attack happened closer to home and at the hands of an Australian might be the watershed moment we need in Australian society
However, some mainstream media outlets still put the word terrorist in quotation marks. It was as though the status of such an attack was in doubt.
The Middle East has suffered from terrorism for many years. In my parent’s country of birth, Lebanon, such mosque attacks almost became so routine that they weren’t even reported on in the Australian media. If they were reporting it, it was rarely called terrorism.
Rather bombings and attacks on religious places were portrayed as part of the ongoing conflict that has kept the Middle East in chaos for decades. We need to call this hypocrisy out and reaffirm that all lives matter, that terrorism doesn’t stop being terrorism based on the colour or creed of its victims.
The fact that the attack happened closer to home and at the hands of an Australian might be the watershed moment we need in Australian society. It might finally get people to listen to our pleas advocating against Muslim vilification and demonisation. It might lead to better laws and protections.
My reasons for going to the mosque initially were to find solace and comfort in the eyes of God—to reflect on good and evil. The mosque in Canberra sits next to the Norwegian Embassy—a country that, in 2011, had to find the strength to deal with its own white supremacist terrorist.
As I left, I noticed more Canberrans pulling up and placing flowers at the entrance door. Their empathy and sense of decency left me with a resounding and reinvigorated belief in human goodness.
Daniel Sleiman is a freelance writer and journalist based in Canberra.
