From a Father and a Teacher

I have been putting off writing about the state of the world for several weeks now. The events in New Zealand left me inarticulate. I do not have answers that actually will make a difference. I have felt angry and lost. While there has been much commentary pointing fingers, I know that does nothing but perpetuate hatred.

Today in class, one of my students asked me about the bombings in Sri Lanka. He was so angry. We spoke about it at length or, at least, he and others asked questions and I tried my best to answer them. The only way I could answer them is with what I do know.

I know that when someone feels superior than someone else it becomes easy to treat the other as less. As someone not of worth. Eventually someone disposable.

I know that when people cannot see that there is a future for them, they do destructive things. Either to themselves or others.

I know that often in these cases of great violence like we have seen, there are those, in the background, whispering hatred.

I know that when people are feeling lost, they look for something to hold on to. Something greater than themselves.

I know that all that hatred brings is more hatred. Violence more violence and revenge more revenge.

I know that it is not always the evil person that does the evil thing.

I know that the world is yet again on a precipice. That history tells us that great war comes as those around us tell us and themselves that it is not possible.

I know that if and/or when the next major conflict comes, unless there is some sort of international awakening, it will be the students I was talking with today who will be dying. It will be my boys. It will be my athletes. It will be my rugby team bleeding on a foreign soil because we as a people believe in hatred.

I know that if we keep on treating people, of talking about religions and races, the way we do, the soil may not be foreign. It might be right here in our wonderful country.

I know that I feel helpless. That my belief in words being important is not shared by the majority. That talking about what “they” did generalises evil to whole communities. That we set ourselves up way too often against things rather than for things.

I know that this will not be the last night that I cannot sleep, that I write with tears in my eyes, because my babies, both of my blood and of my heart, face such uncertainty. A world with so much hate. Hate that rises up like it was in the boy that sat before me today. Hate that, like hate does, lashes out – blindly, unthinkingly, destructively – destroying both the source and the target.

On this ANZAC Day morning, I hope that at least some of what “I know” does not eventuate. That I do not have to mourn the loss of my children and students as many have both recently and in the past. Tonight, after the last few weeks, it seems almost too much to hope for. A dream too big, but, hopefully, at least shared.