Media’s Jekyll and Hyde Moment in the Sydney massacre: The convenient plot twist no one asked for

Terrorist Joel Cauchi Googled “knives” and “how to kill” before he stabbed six people to death at Bondi Westfield in Sydney a few days ago. Cauchi reportedly had a “fixation with killing” and a “fixation with knives”.

However, in the grand theatre of media reporting, the plot is familiar, the characters are typecast, and the scripts are as predictable as a rerun of a 90s sitcom. The curtain rises on a tragic scene: a violent incident in a public place. But wait, before you jump to conclusions, let’s spin the wheel of fortune to see the background of our lead role – because that, dear readers, will determine our storyline for the evening.

If our character, let’s call him “John Smith”, hails from the sun-kissed wheat fields of America or Europe with a name like apple pie, then brace yourselves for a heart-wrenching saga of mental health struggles. You’ll see childhood friends paraded on the 6 o’clock news, tearfully recounting that John was always “the quiet one”. The high school yearbook photos make their obligatory appearance, and somewhere in the subplot, a kindly old neighbour will muse on how he “just snapped”—the poor soul.

On the other hand, if “John” prefers chai over coffee and has a more melodious name, possibly passed down from generations along the Silk Road, the plot thickens. No sooner does the suspect’s heritage hint at a more aromatic blend of spices and a probable subscription to Islam, than the narrative gears shift. Suddenly, it’s less about the “who” and more about the “what” could possibly have indoctrinated such a soul. Now we’re in the midst of an international thriller featuring Islamic radicalisation, clandestine networks, and where “brainwashing” is served as the day’s special. The media, with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, will leave no religious stone unturned, no stereotype unused. We all know the drill.

And let’s not forget the delightful Professor of Literature, Edward Said. He was among the founders of post-colonial studies, and is probably rolling in his grave as Orientalism becomes less of an academic theory, and more of a daily crossword puzzle clue for media outlets. His definition and explanation of the West’s patronising representations of “The East” as exotic, backward, and violent now seems less like critical scholarship and more like a blueprint that got into the wrong hands.

It’s almost as if the media’s magnifying glass enlarges what it wishes, and dims where it deems fit. This selective zooming can foster a skewed public perception, turning individuals into caricatures based on their faith, rather than their actions. But truly, who needs the nuances of socio-economic contexts, geopolitical complexities, or the myriad root causes of crime when we can paint with broad, unyielding strokes? After all, nuance doesn’t get clicks, nuance doesn’t play into fear, and nuance doesn’t sell.

So, as we play our part in this masquerade, toggling between “deranged loner” and “radical zealot” based on the religion of the perpetrator, let’s give a standing ovation to the media for their unwavering commitment to the status quo. For reinforcing the comforting yet dangerous binaries of us vs. them, civilized vs. barbaric, the known vs. the feared other.

Let’s be clear: highlighting mental health issues is essential, but so is equitable reporting. Amidst the pool of skewed narratives, it becomes glaringly clear why it’s essential for Muslims to take the helm of their own stories. For too long, the absence of a potent voice from these groups in media has left a void eagerly filled by the sensationalist and the speculative. The pen might be mightier than the sword, but it seems to have written reams at the expense of the Ummah, drawing lines that constantly punish us.

In Islam, there’s a powerful emphasis on the duty to stand up for justice, to correct what is wrong, and to protect the integrity of the faith. This duty is encapsulated in the concept of ‘Amr bil Ma’ruf and Nahi ‘an al-Munkar’, which translates to enjoining what is right and forbidding what is wrong. As such, Muslims have a religious obligation to engage proactively in shaping narratives that affect them. It is a matter of faith to defend against misrepresentations that can erode the dignity of individuals and the community at large.

When the media perpetuates dehumanising stereotypes, it risks desensitising the public, potentially leading to a chilling indifference when tragedies befall the Muslim Ummah. It’s a duty, both Islamic and humanitarian, to foster narratives that affirm our shared humanity, ensuring that when any individual or group suffers injustice, it is met with universal empathy and a resolute demand for justice, not averted eyes.

By writing our own stories, Muslims can offer a more nuanced portrayal of our realities, one that encompasses the breadth of our experiences beyond the monolithic depictions often favoured by mainstream media. Funding organisations like MPACUK that strive for accurate representation, volunteering to support media literacy, and nurturing platforms where their voices can resonate are not just acts of rectification; they’re necessary strides toward empowerment.

In the end, words have a huge amount of power, and the person who writes the headline is just as responsible as the person who gives the verdict.

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