Many Masks and Manchester
Much as I recognise Ariana Grande as a beauty and a performer, I did not know she was in Manchester last night. Then again, neither was I. So I was rather surprised when I woke to find messages from family in the US wondering if I was there or anyone in my family in the UK was.
Then I found out what happened. I cried imagining the pain of the parents who lost children attending a concert. My daughter, who is an Ariana Grande fan, was shocked that the suicide bomber would choose to leave the world in such a way, murdering innocent children alongside killing themselves. She was angry, finding the act utterly pointless and ‘idiotic’.
She didn’t understand, yet she didn’t blame Islam or general religion or foreigners.
She’s not thirteen yet.
I explained that the dead suicide bomber, whose identity we do not yet know, could have been a young person who never fit into mainstream society. They were likely full of resentment towards a community they felt rejected by. Perhaps they were found and encouraged by an older, charismatic, highly manipulative person to embrace a hateful and violent ideology.
I thought more on this. Perhaps this person WAS a refugee. Perhaps this was a person who was disappointed, disillusioned individual jealous of a stable, wealthy nation and its inhabitants. Maybe this was a person envious of those who haven’t grown up with bombs and constant risk of dying or grieving due to some cruel atrocity.
Perhaps this person was just insane.
Perhaps they condemned Ariana Grande’s sexy music videos and sultry lyrics as sinful and wanted those going to die as a way of sending a message of what is acceptable behaviour.
Perhaps they’ve watched too many biased news programs.
Perhaps they’ve witnessed military intervention in other countries and have seen dead children and thus felt justified unleashing death and misery onto what they saw as a spoiled, corrupt nation full of sinful people who will never care about them. That’s difficult to swallow, I know. And for the record, I respect service people who have volunteered to put their lives at risk in order to defeat the lowest of the low who would seek to murder us all. But I do not applaud or glorify war and its consequences. And yes. I can do both.
At any rate, the suicide bomber is dead. It’s easy to just say “what a *expletive deleted*” but we do need to comprehend this person’s mental state in order to look ahead.
This person died as a result of hate, jealousy, spite, bitterness and maybe even mental illness. The children who died are victims of that person embracing evil. Parents who now grieve in a way I can’t bear to think on, suffer as a result of this person’s warped mental state.
Whatever side you’re on, ‘religion’ and ‘holiness’ have nothing to do with last night’s events at the Manchester Arena. Hate and evil do.
It’s easy to run with anger. It’s fast and exhilarating. It feels good to lay into someone who perhaps ‘really deserves it’. The idea is empowering. Until you realise you’ve done something unforgivably cruel. Until you are dead and no glory or peace await you.
It’s easy to hold onto bitterness like a crutch. Let it seep inside you and poison your humanity. Evil is far cleverer than us mere mortals understand.
How simple would it be, if in order to eliminate all potential murderers of innocent people, we must to get rid of those of a certain faith or ethnicity? Or kill or emotionally bully those of a certain sexual orientation?
Should we get rid of religion altogether?
Will we destroy evil if we make everyone swear allegiance to atheism in order to prove that we are against terrorism? Will that do it?
Patience is slow and difficult. Peace isn’t quite as satisfying if you are feeling aggrieved. Tolerance strikes many as ridiculous. The thought of ‘love’ doesn’t have the same instant gratification as hate. It doesn’t carry that adrenaline rush of violence, of lording loud spiteful words over those whom we do not understand.
But the reality of love’s impact is more powerful than hate.
It’s more stunning than any mask evil wears.
And evil doesn’t wear one mask. It wears many.
So I will pray for Manchester and the grieving parents and children, a community awash with grief for the ones who left this world far too early.
Whether you respond to cathedral bells, a gospel choir, chants and meditation, incense, a call to prayer, or silence, let’s pray together. You don’t do prayer? Let’s be kind, together.
I still will think of Manchester as friendly, witty, down to earth, musical, gritty and loving as it’s always been and always will be.
Fuck you, evil.
Love,
Jess
