It was Monday morning; Aitzaz was getting late for school whiles on his way with the friends and one of his cousin someone asked them for directions to their school. Before they would have helped him one of them noticed the detonator and all of Aitzaz’s friends stepped back with terror. The suicide bomber wanted to enter the courtyard where all of the children were in assembly. But Aitzaz threw a stone at him and tackled him. The Bomb went 150 meters from the gate, killing both of them.
According to an interview on BBC, Aitzaz’s cousin said that we warned him not to mess with the bomber and run away but he told us I am going to stop him he is going to kill my friends.
"My son made his mother cry, but saved hundreds of mothers from crying for their children,” said Aitzaz’s father.
Aitzaz’s family stands tall. Despite the sorrow, they hold onto the belief that their child did not die worthless, he has made the greatest sacrifice, that his blood bought life by stopping a beast who walked with and worshipped nothing but death. But for how long? The world will move on, the focus – what little there is of it – will shift and they will be left alone in empty rooms, waiting for a voice that will never be heard again.
We don’t need more Aitzazs’. Not one or one million. What we need is to be worthy of the one we lost. What we need is for those who claim to lead us to show the courage that this boy did. Perhaps, that is too much to ask from those who roll out apologies and obfuscations with such unerring regularity, but stammer and shake when it comes to naming those responsible for mass murder.
Those who can pray for and praise killers before the blood of their victims has even dried. We need those men and women who can look Aitzaz’s family in the eye, hold them in their arms and tell them – in all honesty – that their son did not die in vain.
And until you can do that, dear leaders, keep your hollow words to yourselves. Leave us to our silence.
It was Monday morning; Aitzaz was getting late for school whiles on his way with the friends and one of his cousin someone asked them for directions to their school. Before they would have helped him one of them noticed the detonator and all of Aitzaz’s friends stepped back with terror. The suicide bomber wanted to enter the courtyard where all of the children were in assembly. But Aitzaz threw a stone at him and tackled him. The Bomb went 150 meters from the gate, killing both of them.
According to an interview on BBC, Aitzaz’s cousin said that we warned him not to mess with the bomber and run away but he told us I am going to stop him he is going to kill my friends.
"My son made his mother cry, but saved hundreds of mothers from crying for their children,” said Aitzaz’s father.
Aitzaz’s family stands tall. Despite the sorrow, they hold onto the belief that their child did not die worthless, he has made the greatest sacrifice, that his blood bought life by stopping a beast who walked with and worshipped nothing but death. But for how long? The world will move on, the focus – what little there is of it – will shift and they will be left alone in empty rooms, waiting for a voice that will never be heard again.
We don’t need more Aitzazs’. Not one or one million. What we need is to be worthy of the one we lost. What we need is for those who claim to lead us to show the courage that this boy did. Perhaps, that is too much to ask from those who roll out apologies and obfuscations with such unerring regularity, but stammer and shake when it comes to naming those responsible for mass murder.
Those who can pray for and praise killers before the blood of their victims has even dried. We need those men and women who can look Aitzaz’s family in the eye, hold them in their arms and tell them – in all honesty – that their son did not die in vain.
And until you can do that, dear leaders, keep your hollow words to yourselves. Leave us to our silence.
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