The Harrowing Hours And Defiant Aftermath Of The New Zealand Mosque Shootings

When A White Supremacist Livestreamed His Mass Shootings Of A Mosque In Christchurch, New Zealand, A Country With One Of The World’s Lowest Gun-homicide Rates Was Stunned To Silence. But Only Momentarily. The Deaths Of 51 New Zealanders, Mostly Muslim Immigrants, Would Not Be Met With A Tepid Countermeasure But A Swift, Clear Response. Sean Flynn Reports From Christchurch About The Day Of The Massacre—and The Days That Followed.

THE SIDE DOOR where Farid Ahmed wheels himself into the Al Noor mosque opens into a small room adjacent to the main prayer hall. On most days, Farid continues through that room so he can better hear the imam speak. But on a Friday afternoon in March, he sees a man there who he knows is sick.

Farid knows this because he knows everyone, or almost everyone, who worships at Al Noor, the largest mosque in the little city of Christchurch, on the south island of New Zealand. For 20 years, Farid and his wife, Husna, have taught children and adolescents at the mosque how to be proper Muslims and gracious citizens, which are, in fact, the same thing. He is not a credentialed scholar of Islam but rather an exceedingly gentle homeopath from Bangladesh, so the lessons are less religious dogma than practical applications of charity and kindness and respect. When a child understands that to be a good Muslim I have to be kind, he believes, then we don’t have to think about cruelty.

The man Farid sees in the small room has cancer. Farid stops to speak with him, to check on his health and offer a few words of comfort. Husna is already inside, and Farid intends to stay only a few moments. But then the imam is preaching, talking about how people can find strength in communal righteousness. Farid thinks it would be rude to wheel his chair around during the sermon. He decides to wait until the imam is finished, then move into the main hall to pray.

IN THE ALLEY next to Al Noor, an Australian man is jerking through a nine-point maneuver to get his Subaru turned around and aimed toward the street. There are three long guns on the passenger side and a rifle wedged between his right leg and the door. Each is covered in white graffiti, slogans and obscure names, some written in Cyrillic. Fife-and-drum music is playing, an old military song, like the soundtrack to a grade school history lesson.