Cry The Beloved Country.

I have taken the liberty of using the title of Alan Paton’s wonderful novel as the headline for this piece as in many ways it is appropriate for the subject matter that follows.

Like millions of others around the world, I was deeply saddened by the events of last Friday in New Zealand and part of me will perhaps never be the same again. I was not shocked by the events, as these sort of atrocities seem to happen on an all too frequent basis for a shock to register.

Shameless politicians, some world leaders and the unscrupulous media go a long way to providing the fuel for the misguided anger that seems to simmer in the souls of some white men who somehow feel threatened by those whose religious beliefs and skin tone does not match their own. New Zealand’s tragedy, however, felt a lot closer this time around as I have, and always will have strong ties to the “Land of The Long White Cloud.”

A while back I was seconded to New Zealand to open an office for the advertising behemoth Ogilvy & Mather in that nation’s capital, Wellington. It was a surreal experience to arrive at the doorstep of a small country that ostensibly clings to the very bottom of our planet, far, far away from the rest of the world.

My welcome could not have been warmer from the moment I set foot on New Zealand soil as I was made to feel instantly ‘at home'. Her people are a friendly lot and treat visitors with unimaginable kindness inviting me into their homes to meet family and other like-minded ‘kiwis.’

During my four year stay, I made lifelong friends, explored the breathtaking beauty of both the North and the South islands and my partner and I produced a ‘kiwi’ of our own, a daughter who, to this day wears her New Zealand heritage with great pride.

It was a wonderful time in our lives and, when it came time to leave, we did so with a great deal of sadness. However, we have never severed our ties with that place and re-visit whenever we can to re-kindle old acquaintances and to explore some of those areas that we missed on previous visits.

One of my favourite cities in New Zealand has always been Christchurch, a quintessential outpost of ‘Mother England.’ With its classic architecture and parks, festooned with hundred - year old oak trees bisected by the slow flowing Avon River where, like Oxford, citizens punt the river on sunny afternoons. Close your eyes and its almost like being back in the U.K.

It is a picturesque place with a small population of some three hundred thousand souls who, I always found, go about their daily lives secure in the belief that life there is as close to perfect as it could get.

Life, however, as we all know is never quite perfect as this beautiful place discovered that it can be equally cruel. In November 2010 a severe earthquake struck the city causing major damage and some loss of life. The citizens, resilient as they are, merely brushed off the dust, got back on their feet and set to repairing the damage.

That earthquake was unfortunately merely a prelude for a far greater event that happened just a few months later in February 2011 when a magnitude 6.5 earthquake struck the city at 2.30 pm on a weekday afternoon. The damage this time around was cataclysmic with much of the historic centre of the city destroyed and hundreds of its citizens killed, trapped inside buildings that had been reduced to rubble. The magnificent stone cathedral, which had watched over its citizens for well over a hundred years teetered and finally collapsed into a pile of stone in the city square.

This tragedy claimed the lives of 185 souls many of whom had made new lives in this fair city from twenty other countries.

Yet again it’s hardy citizens set about the task of rebuilding their homes, offices and general infrastructure. They do it with good grace and ‘get on with the job,’ never losing one of their greatest attributes, their sense of wry humour. Since that time the city is once again beginning to take shape and life is slowly returning to ‘normal’ 

That was until just last week when the region  had to endure yet another catastrophe, this time brought about by a deranged, young white supremacist who shattered the peace and tranquillity by entering not just one, but two places of worship during prayers and massacred fifty men, women and children in a vile act of hate.

I shall not dwell on the horrific events here, for the media has feasted on those details in all its graphic horror, sparing no tiny detail.

New Zealand was suddenly in  a state of shock, asking themselves, “How could this senseless act of terror happen in their peace-loving country?” In many ways they are right to question the senseless motive, for they are proud of the fact that they have, and continue to welcome immigrants and refugees from all parts of the world with open arms, offering sanctuary and friendship, far from the ravages of war and famine that has beset the new arrivals.

In times such as these perhaps the famous text that is engraved on the Statue of Liberty should be stripped and repositioned on a suitable monument in New Zealand; 

“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!

I began this piece saying perhaps callously that I wasn’t shocked, saddened yes, but not shocked. One only has to look at other parts of the world where similar atrocities have occurred; Dunblane in Scotland, Port Arthur in Tasmania, Otoya in Norway, Sandy Hook in America and many, many other ‘sleepy’ hollows where its citizen’s lives were forever changed by a few minutes of sheer madness.

Atrocities like this one it seems are not confined to places where we have come to expect events like this to happen.

And so Christchurch and all of New Zealand my thoughts and prayers go out to you and, as a former citizen, I grieve and mourn with you.

However, stay strong in your belief that like previous disasters that have befallen you, you will rise once again, for you are all a truly remarkable lot.

Paul v Walters is the best selling author of several novels. When he is not cocooned in sloth and procrastination in his house in Bali he occasionally rises to scribble for several international and vox pop journals.