It goes without saying that the mass murder in Mumbai is beyond awful.
I can't imagine how terrifying it must have been for people. And once it's over, those involved lucky enough to survive now have to live with what they've seen for the rest of their lives.
But what makes me a bit mad is the coverage in the press here.
A few weeks ago, a tiny news story ran about Pakistan being bombed by the US. Ordinary citizens were killed then - but, hey, 'only' Pakistani people, no British, so, well, who really cares?
And then with coverage of Mumbai, all we're really hearing is how many Jewish/ British and American's were killed or injured - which of course we should be. The people that lost their lives, those that survived, and their families should all have a voice.
But what about the Indian people? Those that weren't there on holiday or business, those that live there who were just minding their own business when the attacks happened? Those that can't get on a flight straight out of Mumbia, but who have to remain regardless of past, present and future threat?
Of the 172 people killed, 30 were foreign i.e. British, American etc. The vast, vast majority were Indian, but are we really hearing about them?
Here's an account forwarded to me by a friend, by someone from Mumbai whose father was injured in the attacks. I'm not trying to be all political here and I probably don't know what I'm talking about, but it's only right to hear all sides of the story - not just the 'Western' perspective:
First, I wanted to thank you all for the incredible concern and support that you'll have given me over the past few days which have been among the most emotionally and psychologically draining of my life.
By the grace of God my father was rescued from the Oberoi on Friday with two (minor) bullet wounds and is now speedily recovering. He did however lose the two best friends he was dining with that fateful night (who are like godfathers to me). We also lost a lot of other friends and colleagues and have watched our beloved city reduced to a war zone and brought to its knees.
On Wednesday night, my father and his two friends arrived at the Indian restaurant on the first floor of the Oberoi Hotel for dinner at about 10pm. They had barely sat down when they heard gun shots in the lobby of the hotel. The terrorists, armed with AK-47s, grenades and plastic explosives, had entered the hotel and were executing everybody sitting in the ground floor restaurant. Realizing the situation, the staff of the restaurant my father was in asked them to quickly exit through the kitchen. As the guests tried to rush into the kitchen, one terrorist burst into the restaurant and began to shoot anyone that remained in the restaurant. At this point my father was in the kitchen and along with his two friends rushed to the fire exit. They had barely descended a few steps when they were trapped from both ends by terrorists.
The terrorists then rounded up anyone alive (about 20 people) and made them climb the service staircase to the 18th floor. On reaching the 18th floor landing they made the people line up against a wall. One terrorist then positioned himself on the staircase going up from the landing and the other on the staircase going down from the landing. Then, in a scene right out of the Holocaust, they simultaneously opened fire on the people. My father was towards the center of the line with his two friends on either side. Out of reflex, or presence of mind, he ducked as soon as the firing began. One bullet grazed his neck, and he fell to the floor as his two friends and several other bodies piled on top of him. The terrorists then pumped another series of bullets into the heap of bodies to finish the job. This time a bullet hit my father in the back hip. Bent almost in double, crushed by the weight of the bodies above him, and suffocating in the torrent of blood rushing down on him from the various bodies my father held on for ten minutes while the terrorists left the area. When he finally had the courage to wiggle his arms he found that there were four other survivors in the room. They communicated to each other by touch as they were too afraid to make a sound. My father moved just enough to allow himself room to breathe and then lay still. The survivors passed over twelve hours lying still in the heap of bodies too afraid to move. They constantly heard gunfire and hand grenades going off in the other parts of the hotel. They feared that any noise would bring the terrorists back. After approximately twelve hours, the terrorists returned with a camera and flashlight and joked and laughed as they filmed what they thought was a pile of dead bodies. They then moved to the landing below where they set up explosives. On their departing, my father decided that it was too risky to remain where they were due to the explosives. Along with the other three survivors he climbed the rest of the stairwell, where they discovered a large HVAC plant room in which they decided to take shelter. They passed the rest of the siege hiding in this room trying to get the attention of the outside world by waving a makeshift flag out of the window. They drank sips of dirty water from the Air Conditioning unit to survive. Finally on Friday morning they were spotted by a commando rescue team that was storming the building and were evacuated to safety and taken to the hospital.
This is just one of the countless horror stories that unfolded in those two days. There are many stories of entire families being wiped out while eating their dinner, or young kids losing both parents, or pregnant women being shot while pleading for their lives, or hostages being beaten to death with the butt of a rifle so that their faces were unrecognizable. The terrorists attacked on every level. They killed middle class workers when they shot up the railway station, they killed the elite in the hotels, they killed tourists and kids as they ate in a café, and they killed the sick and dying when they stormed three hospitals. They shot people in the roads, in stations, in hotels, and even entered an apartment building. They killed Indians, Americans, Britons, Israelis, and several other nationalities. They killed men, women, children, policemen, firemen, doctors, patients. This was systematic, cold-blooded, slaughter.
We have lost a lot of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. Every person who lives in South Mumbai has a story about how either they or someone they love either died or had a narrow escape. The true extent of the horror will only make itself clear over the next few days.
Mumbai is a proud city and we pride ourselves on bouncing back from any adversity. We survive and prosper despite all the difficulties placed on us. We are no strangers to terror and have had to pick up the pieces and move on after several attacks. This time however, the sheer scale and audacity brought the city to its knees. The openness of our society, the bustling hoards in our train stations, the vibrancy of our news media, and the thousands of tourists, diplomats, and business leaders packing our hotels was used against us to devastating effect.
In the end one tries to make sense of all this. Barack Obama said about the killers of 9/11: "My powers of empathy, my ability to reach into another's heart, cannot penetrate the blank stares of those who would murder innocents with such serene satisfaction."
Unfortunately, this is becoming an all familiar scene in today's world. While I cannot understand, I recognize again and again the hatred, anger, and desperation of the terrorists and the cold blooded, targeted, ruthlessness of those that dispatch them. They respect nothing but their own twisted beliefs and to achieve them have declared war on an entire way of life. India now finds itself as a major front of this global war.
How do we fight such hate? How do we inject humanity into such monstrosity? How do we convince those who think they kill in god's name that no God would condone such barbarity? How do we maintain our own values and humanity when faced with such hate and provocation?
Over the next week as we say goodbye to those we lost and help those that survive, Mumbai and India will ask themselves these questions. I hope the rest of the world does too.
I will remain in Mumbai for at least a week to help out with various things, after which I will probably return to complete P2 at INSEAD. Right now, though I miss all everyone at INSEAD, I cannot fathom sitting in a classroom.
Thanks again for all your thoughts and prayers.