Is there a lesson in Virginia Tech massacre?

Receiving a telephone call from South Africa is very rare for me here in Milwaukee, because of the high and unreasonable Telkom rates. But when loved ones do call one is faced with emotions of excitement and trepidation. To hear a familiar voice from the other side of the Atlantic makes the heart leap with joy.

The thrill, however, is short-lived as such calls normally deliver sad or bad news. So-and-so is very sick or has passed on.

In April the calls I received included these magic words: So you are alive. It is Easter; what did you expect? I responded, with my tongue in cheek. Oh we just heard there was massacre at a university in America. (Oh! America is a huge country. But some Americans are also ignorant about African geography. Sometimes I am told to greet someone they have met who is in Nigeria). They thought I was either dead or wounded. Oh, people of little faith, I said, didn’t you know I will survive America?

All of us have been thinking about the tragic events at Virginia Tech University. Seung-Hui Cho, a Korean immigrant, opened fire in a Virginia Tech dorm and then, two hours later, shot up a classroom building across campus, killing 32 people. He apparently committed suicide, bringing the death toll to 33.

Healing will come with time at Virginia Tech. The tragedy has bonded the school community beyond limitations of race, country of origin, creed, gender and academic excellence. One of the professors encapsulated the spirit of the university in her poem: We will continue to invent the future through our blood and tears and through all our sadness We will prevail.

All the students and professors who knew Cho agreed that he was lonely, quiet and alone in a community of 25000 people. Chors sister said: My brother was quiet and reserved, yet struggled to fit in. We never could have envisioned that he was capable of so much violence. This guy clearly felt unloved, alienated and rejected. Others said they tried to reach out to him but felt discouraged when he did not respond.

The media reports emphasised that Cho, who came to the US as an eight-year-old, was of Korean origin and a holder of the US Green Card (by law he was still considered a foreigner). Foreigners take time to adjust to another culture. They see themselves as outsiders. US Korean Christian churches organised prayer services to support the victims families and friends. Yet while Koreans have expressed their sympathy over the deaths at Virginia Tech, many are also afraid they will become targets of revenge attacks aimed at the Korean community.

I know that living in a foreign country is not easy. Contemporary US culture promotes and rewards individualism which is expressed through independence, assertiveness, competitiveness and personal achievement. It is survival of the fittest.

South African priests studying in Rome have created their own support group in a sometimes hostile environment. Some of them feel rejected by the Rome-based motherhouses of religious orders (and missionaries) who previously worked in their home dioceses in South Africa. When they try to reach out doors are closed in their faces. Our occasional desert experience is overcome by the knowledge that there are people who are awaiting our return.

One may never justify murder, but we must try to understand why murder happens. Seung-Hui Cho was one of us, and we failed to save him, and thus his victims.

May the Virginia Tech tragedy lead us towards greater compassion and understanding of the immigrant experience, class struggles, racism, environmental hazards, and mental illness. May we remember that we belong to each other, and when one suffers, so do we all. We are called to reach out to those who are lonely.

Even though people cannot always afford a telephone call, the thought that I am remembered makes me alive. Ascension is not necessarily a distance but a deeper presence.