When Terror Caused Kindness

Being “ride or die” took on a whole new meaning

Lott, tell me you’re not hideously early today.

I smile at the message.

Stevie was notorious for running late. No matter how much stress being late seemed to cause her. Time was elusive and then seemed to hit her all at once — often approximately five minutes before she was meant to be at any given destination.

I, on the other hand, am the type of person who tends to run early. Make plans with me and it’s almost a guarantee I will be there at least fifteen minutes before the agreed time. Often far earlier than that.

I took the message to mean that Stevie was, once again, running late. She was also right, I was rather early. We’d agreed to meet at the Lindt Café at 11 am and, save for any unforeseen delays, I was on track to arrive at least half an hour early.

Dropping the phone back into my pocket without a second thought. I figured the response could wait until I was no longer fighting for space on a train packed with Christmas shoppers and teens enjoying their school holidays.

On any normal day that one action would not have sent my friend into a spiral of panic. This was not a normal day.

I emerged from the train into a world of chaos.

Shock and alarm were etched onto every face I saw. Police and security guards attempted to bring order, redirecting people and shouting instructions. Amongst the cacophony of confusion, single words struck through the noise and reverberated around my brain like a hammer hitting a gong.

Terrorist. Gun. Hostages.

These were words that belonged to events in faraway places. Not here. Not in Australia. We were ‘the lucky country’, and yet these words carried another message; your luck’s run out.

I wove my way through the crowds, ducking and weaving as people scurried to determine their paths to new, undecided destinations. I just needed to get to the street. The fear was palpable, a thick fog of disbelief and despair that forced its way into my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs and winding tightly around my heart. This was no time to have a panic attack. I just needed fresh air.

Not long into the ascent, my phone started buzzing again as it found signal.

Lott? Lottie? Tell me you’re not there. Please. Don’t be there

The messages flew in all at once, delayed pleas from the friend I had unknowingly sent into a tailspin of dread.

As I attempted to shoot back a message of reassurance, the phone was knocked from my hand and flying back down the stairs. I watched as it skidded under countless feet trying to make an exit. By the time I had looped back to retrieve it, the screen was a tie-dye of colours bleeding into one another.

The phone continued to buzz away in my pocket, each alert an electric shock of guilt at being unable to soothe her fears.

Finally, reaching street level, I took a deep breath and tried to get my bearings. I knew the city better than the back of my hand, and yet it seemed different somehow. As though whatever events had occurred somehow changed the landscape itself.

Hugging the wall as I inched past the bus shelters, jumping the short ledge and heading into Wynyard Park. I knew there was a pay phone on the other side, I just needed to reach it, then I could call Stevie and figure out what was going on.

I didn’t make it to the pay phone. I didn’t need to.

There, in the middle of the park, hair still wet and pushed haphazardly into a messy ponytail, clothes slightly askew and makeup not yet applied was Stevie. The moment I saw her time seemed to stop, my breath catching in my throat. In an instant, I realised she had done something I’d never known her to do. She’d left the house without getting completely done up, and she’d done it for me. I’d never felt so cared about.

This was not the time to get wrapped up in my — at the time — unrequited love and sentimentality though. The moment passed as she typed furiously on her phone, her brief pauses corresponding with the incessant buzzing in my pocket.

“Stevie!” Calling out to get her attention as I jogged the short distance between us.

“Lottie!” She said my name as both a sigh of relief and an accusation. I’m greeted with a punch on the shoulder before a hug.

“Sorry, my phone’s broken, long story. What on earth is going on?”

As we walk the few short blocks back to her apartment she explains that a gunman had entered the Lindt Café, barricading the doors and taking all who had been inside as hostages.

It was Monday the 15th of December 2014. Over the next 15 hours, we would watch the event evolve from a lone gunman taking hostages, to a terrorist attack, to a siege.

Back in Stevie’s lounge room, we watched the attack unfold across live news coverage, as another series of threats began to take over social media. Terrorist attacks may have been previously unthinkable, but the same could not be said for racism and Islamophobia.

The news captured hostages being forced to hold up an Islamic Black Standard flag, incorrectly reporting it to be the flag used by ISIL. Twitter and Facebook captured a call to arms fueled by hatred, fear, and ignorance, incorrectly reporting these events were indicative of the entire faith.

Terror was being weaponised everywhere we turned, but then something amazing started happening.

First, on Facebook, a woman shared a story of how she had seen a Muslim woman quietly removing her hijab on public transport as they approached the city and urged her to keep it on, promising her they could travel together if she needed to feel safe.

Then people started taking to Twitter, posting their bus, train and ferry routes with offers to ride with anyone wearing religious attire who didn’t feel safe travelling alone.

The #illridewithyou (I’ll Ride With You) hashtag was born. Within hours it was trending worldwide.

While the siege continued to unfold within the Lindt Café, Stevie and I called our friends together, made makeshift signs from cardboard saved from recycling, and took to the streets.

We headed to the main train stations near the site of the attack. Walking from Wynyard to Town Hall holding our signs tagged with #illridewithyou.

We walked with two young women from their office to a bus stop, where they were met by other strangers taking the same route and who would ride the rest of the way with them.

We waited with another woman while she waited for her brother to pick her up.

For as long as the buses and trains were running, we were there. Accompanying anyone in religious dress who needed us to walk, ride or wait with them.

At 2 am a small group of us traipsed back into Stevie’s apartment.

At approximately 2:15 am the police stormed the café. Three people, including the attacker, died.

For the few weeks that remained in the year, we continued to ride with the local Muslim community in solidarity. As did many others.

It was two days after the attack that I met Mae, who I remain friends with to this day. She had put up a post asking if anyone could travel with her into the city from a suburb approximately an hour away by train the following afternoon. I responded that I go out to meet her and travel back in.

The moment we met, it was like we were old friends. We spent the trip discussing her studies, my work, books we were reading, and sharing memes. She explained that she was travelling to the city to meet with her brother, who was visiting from interstate. We talked about how she was nervous to be meeting him in the city while tensions were still high.

By the time we had reached our destination and waited for her brother's arrival, we’d swapped numbers and made plans for the weekend. When he did arrive, looking at me somewhat quizzically, Mae made the introduction.

“This is Lottie, she’s my new ride or die.”

Almost a decade later, I still have a jacket hanging in my wardrobe, on the back is written #illridewithyou. Forever waiting, and ready, to fight hate with kindness.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read and show your support. I hope this article has found you and your loved ones well. Sending you all my best wishes, and my thanks again.

~Lottie