February 10, 2015 – three young Muslims were murdered in execution style in their home in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Within minutes the local media got hold of the news and within a few hours’ time the national and international media was abuzz, speculating and prying into the lives of the three victims.
Today marks the first death anniversary of Deah Barakat, his wife Yusor and her sister Razan Abu-Salha. To the world they are known by the hashtag, #OurThreeWinners, but to me they were my friends. They were people I grew up with. I shared many a memory and milestone with them.
We all tried to believe that life goes on. Many of my friends and I even attempted to resume our regular university classes. But the university campus was barely a distraction.
Instead what we saw were reminders of the tragedy of the night before; recognition etched in each other’s eyes. Our hearts ached. Even non-Muslim students felt it, sensed it. And they tried their best to console us, to ease us, and comfort us, with kind words, with a hug. But there was little that could be done that day.
Walking to classes and seeing my friends with pale, sulking faces and unavoidably glancing in each other’s eyes with that look of recognition of the fresh, aching wound in our hearts, was inevitable. The day following the murders passed by as we all burst into tears and embraced on our way to classes that meant little in the moment. The hustle and bustle of university life faded insignificantly into the backdrop.
Despite the trending hashtag, and the overwhelming press coverage, barely anyone can now recall the events at Chapel Hill. The Islamic Community of Raleigh, North Carolina, however suffered a wound permanently engraved in the hearts of its members.
We have moved on, and we have healed, but we will never forget Chapel Hill. In memory, our community made many efforts to preserve the legacy of these three exemplary individuals’ lives by in humanitarian projects and spreading awareness about Islam, the religion they lived their lives by.
Since I came back to Pakistan, I have unfortunately witnessed tragedies much worse. From assassinations, to attacks on minorities, to bomb and gun attacks at public places, and of course the cold blooded murder of young school going children.
The 1st anniversary of the Army Public School Peshawar Attack was observed with vigils across the country. A special ceremony was even held at the APS campus with the top civil-military leadership in attendance.
I wonder if it was enough. I wonder if it was enough to distribute cash to parents. To intensify aerial attacks on anonymous targets?
I wonder if it was enough to post a handful of underequipped security guards outside of Bacha Khan University.
The Bacha Khan University could very well have been a tragedy at the scale of APS.
But because it wasn’t, the Prime Minister only made the necessary amendments to his standard “condolences to the bereaved families” speech, and shared the grief of the nation from abroad. He instead preferred to apply himself to the crisis in the Middle East between Iran and Saudi Arabia, and focused on the World Economic Forum in Switzerland.
In developed countries, smaller scale incidents, such as the Chapel Hill murders resonate nationally, and even internationally, popping up in social media feeds the world over.
In Pakistan, however, we are all too eager to move on with life. The trivialization of personal tragedies into political real estate is enough to dispel empathy for any travesty within a matter of a few words, and over a day of news headlines.
Which begs the question: have we merely become desensitized to cope with widespread violence or are we simply unlearning the value of human life?