'He’s not one of us': Jehan Casinader responds to terror attack

Saturday, 4 September 2021

Journalist and Sri Lankan Kiwi Jehan Casinader: “I fear that Friday’s attack will inspire and embolden warped individuals like the Christchurch gunman.”

OPINION: Sri Lankans are known for playing cricket and pouring tea. We’re not known for stabbing people in supermarkets.

After Friday’s attack, words cannot describe the anger and despair felt by Sri Lankans across Aotearoa. Many, including my parents, moved here to escape violence. It’s sickening that a member of our own community chose to hurt innocent Kiwis. He’s one of us – but he’s not one of us.

The victims’ trauma and injuries are shocking. I can’t imagine the pain they’re going through. But I also want to highlight another consequence of this incident: it reinforces the toxic narrative that ethnic minorities pose a threat to national security.

In 2013, NZ First MP Richard Prosser wrote a magazine column claiming that young Muslim men – and those who simply “look” Muslim – should be banned from Western airlines, because “most terrorists are Muslim”.

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I chased Prosser around Parliament. I wanted to ask whether he thought I “looked” Muslim. And if so, why was he afraid to sit next to me on a plane?

Prosser refused to be interviewed, but his comments reflected fears shared by many New Zealanders. Where are all these brown people coming from? Do they really share our values? How can we trust them?

I have encountered these questions in unexpected places. When I visited Waitangi in 2015, a protestor asked me, straight to my face, if I was a member of Isis.

More often, these conversations happen in private – in hushed tones, around water coolers and dinner tables in heartland New Zealand. Many Kiwis view ethnic people with suspicion, especially those who are recent arrivals.

I was born in New Zealand, but for most of my life I felt my Sri Lankan heritage was an inconvenience. As a child, I pronounced my own name wrong, and suppressed my culture in order to fit in. It took years to become proud of my identity.

That’s why I’m angry, because Friday’s attack makes me ashamed to be Sri Lankan. I’m especially angry that one of our own people – a man who is the same age as me – caused so much harm.

You might say, “Well, you don’t need to feel ashamed, because the attacker acted alone, and does not represent you”. That’s a kind sentiment, but it doesn’t reflect reality.

Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern says the attacker was a known terrorist threat and under 24/7 surveillance by police. It was the surveillance team who shot him dead at the supermarket.

When a European Kiwi commits a crime – which happens every day – other European Kiwis are not judged or held responsible for it. But when someone from a minority commits a crime, it has a ripple effect across their whole ethnic community. If there’s a public backlash, we all face the consequences.

I’m in a privileged position. The fact that I can openly share my views in the mainstream media is proof of that. But I worry about all the ethnic Kiwis who have no voice. The doctors, accountants and engineers. The Uber drivers, rest home workers and office cleaners. The refugee families living in community housing, while trying to build new lives.

I worry for the Sri Lankan kids who will go to school on Monday and hear the words, “You’re a terrorist”. I worry for Muslim Kiwis who will likely face increased hostility from the public.

Most of all, I fear that Friday’s attack will inspire and embolden people like the Christchurch gunman – those warped individuals who look for any scrap of evidence to confirm their theory that ethnic minorities pose a threat.

In the wake of Friday’s attack, we must ask the right questions. Understandably, people want to know why this man was in the community, and why he could not be detained under existing law. That’s important.

But by focusing on the attack itself, we may overlook some equally important questions. How was this man radicalised? What social factors contributed to this? Since he came to the state’s attention in 2016, what attempts have been made to rehabilitate him?

Last year, I reported on the case of Asha Abdille, the Somali woman who tried to hijack a plane with a knife in 2008. Abdille had come to New Zealand as a refugee. Despite carrying significant trauma, she did not receive appropriate mental health support or rehabilitation, and became isolated and increasingly desperate in the lead-up to her offending.

Some details about the New Lynn attacker are yet to be made public. On Saturday, the Prime Minister said the attacker recently refused a judge-ordered psychological assessment.

But what efforts were made to engage him in a meaningful, constructive way in the previous five years? There’s no point spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on detention and surveillance if state agencies are unable to provide culturally-responsive treatment for an individual at high risk of offending.

Radicalisation happens to people from all cultures and backgrounds. The Christchurch terror attack reminded us of that. Friday’s incident should spur us to deeply examine the causes of radicalisation, and invest more money in efforts to deradicalise those who have already been identified by authorities, regardless of their ethnicity or faith.

The LynnMall attack tells us nothing about Sri Lanka or its people. Having spent years reclaiming my cultural identity, I refuse to surrender it simply because one man picked up a knife – even though I’m disgusted by the hurt he has caused his victims.

There has never been a better time to be a Sri Lankan Kiwi. Plenty of us are working in the public sphere, including author Brannavan Gnanalingam, playwright Ahi Karunaharan and politician Vanushi Walters – New Zealand’s first Sri Lankan MP.

But most Sri Lankans avoid the spotlight, including my parents, who migrated to New Zealand in the 1980s.

When I was a child, my dad worked as a sub-editor at The Dominion at night, and studied law at Victoria University during the day. He worked hard, endured discrimination, and sacrificed a lot to provide for his family – and make New Zealand a better place.

He has spent years learning how to speak Māori fluently. The text on his 60th birthday cake was written in te reo. And my parents’ house is filled with Māori phrasebooks.

Today is Father’s Day. If there’s one man whose actions should represent the values of the Sri Lankan community in Aotearoa, it’s this man.