This week’s siege in Sydney will, at least for Australians, be one of those events for which we remember exactly where we were when we heard that a gunman had taken hostages in a café.
I was buzzing around at home — the laptop was up and running, the printer was humming, morning TV was chattering away in the background, and I was halfway through hanging up a load of washing. I leaned over my desk to peer at my computer, checking whatever it was supposed to be doing. Suddenly I realised the morning-show banter was different; the tone had changed.
Something was wrong.
At first, I didn’t get it. But as I took in the images, those poor people standing calmly with their hands against the windows of the café, I froze. It was surreal. It was beyond comprehension. As the TV hosts struggled to find out what was happening, and to make sense of it, you could hear the tension in their voices. They, too, were terrified. Oddly, having those familiar voices telling me what had happened brought it home. This wasn’t a movie. This wasn’t happening half a world away. This was here. This was real.
I will always remember that day. I will remember the tension, the terror, the confusion. The faces of the escaped hostages, their expressions moving from panicked and terrified to relieved as they fell into the arms of waiting police. That two people died, because an unbalanced man believed he had the right to take their lives for his own ideological ends. But I will choose to remember the good, too.
I will remember the courage shown that day, by the lady who saw something very wrong and alerted police. The immense courage shown by the people trapped inside that café, especially the two who lost their lives. The courage shown by police and emergency services. Sure, the latter were just doing what they had trained for, but it takes tremendous courage nevertheless.
I will remember the swiftness with which police responded. Within moments they were everywhere, trying to bring a peaceful resolution to this terrible event. We can never know when people will inflict horrific pain on one another but we can be assured that an entire team of highly-trained professionals is always on our side.
I will remember that the country embraced the Muslim community with open arms. We acknowledged their concern and fear of reprisal attacks against them, and started a movement — #iwillridewithyou — so that they would feel safe. So that they would know they are an equal part of our varied community. We wanted our voices of support to drown out the misinformed and ignorant hate. I hope we succeeded.
I will remember that the country united in hope. We can’t possibly know what those hostages experienced nor understand how their families were feeling during those many, endless hours. But we sat, glued to our screens, with them in spirit. We hoped that these families would be reunited safely with their loved ones. We hoped against hope. My hope now is that these hostages and families, especially those families whose loved ones were stolen from them, can still feel that love and support from the whole nation. We will carry them through their darkest days. We will catch them when it all becomes too much to bear.
In the face of terror, pain, confusion, and betrayal, I will remember love, and hope.
Image via Pixabay — a snowdrop, to symbolise hope for a friend during their time of need.
