When Temel Ataçocuğu regained consciousness in hospital after being shot nine times during a white supremacist terror attack, a friend showed him a video of New Zealand’s prime minister responding to the horror.
“Many of those who will have been directly affected by this shooting may be migrants to New Zealand, they may even be refugees here. They have chosen to make New Zealand their home, and it is their home,” Ardern said, in a speech that reverberated around the world.
“They are us. The person who has perpetuated this violence against us is not. They have no place in New Zealand,” Ardern said.
Fifty-one Muslims were killed during Friday prayers when an Australian man opened fire on two Christchurch mosques. Dozens more were injured.
“She didn’t talk like we were from different faiths or different nationalities,” says Ataçocuğu. “It felt like we were part of New Zealand.”
Ardern soon visited him in hospital and a friendship began between her and the Turkish New Zealander that “feels more like a brother-sister relationship”, he says.
“I could see from her eyes that she was feeling what she said,” adds Ataçocuğu. “She was so sorry.”
Her empathy, rejection of violent rhetoric, and swift action to ban almost all semi-automatic weapons in New Zealand after the 15 March 2019 attack was for much of the world the defining moment of her premiership.
Ardern’s actions prompted a global conversation about the new kind of leader she represented. But for the survivors and those bereaved in the attack, her words signalled something more existential – and simple.
“I felt more welcome even though I’ve been here for a long time,” says Rashid Omar, whose son, Tariq, was killed in the attack. He learned of Ardern’s remarks in a haze of grief, weeks later.
“All I can say is that her compassion and her tears were real,” he says.
For Maysoon Salama, whose son, Atta, was killed and husband injured, Ardern’s easy adoption of words such as shuhada (martyrs) and masjidain (mosques) stood in contrast to other world leaders who spoke of Muslims as terrorists.
“She gave value to Arabic words and allowed us to reclaim those Arabic terminologies,” Salama says. She applauded Ardern’s decision to wear the hijab in solidarity with Muslims and her refusal to ever say the terrorist’s name.
Media reports that single out Ardern as the main hero in the crisis have at times perturbed New Zealanders, who feel it detracts from those who were targeted and gives undue credit to a political leader for a measured response that should not have felt extraordinary.
But many of the survivors say the attack’s inflammatory factors – its far-right motivations, the targeting of a relatively safe country and the fact it was live-streamed on the internet – intensified the global spotlight and the significance of Ardern’s response.
“The immediate aftermath shook us to the core and I was concerned about how worried we needed to be … while juggling the aftermath of my brother’s murder,” says Aya al-Umari, whose brother, Hussein, was killed.
The prime minister’s words were a reassurance that “we are in safe hands,” al-Umari says.
Ardern developed a particularly close bond with the women bereaved in the attack – including 31 widows – and many have written her letters of thanks since her resignation last week.
For al-Umari’s mother, Janna Ezat, a favourite memory of Ardern came after Ezat gave a statement in court at the terrorist’s sentencing, during which she offered her forgiveness to her son’s murderer.
Her remarks prompted a gift from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia: a square metre from the cloth covering the kaaba – the structure at the centre of Islam’s most important mosque, in Mecca.
Thrilled, Ezat took the fabric to a meeting with Ardern, explaining to her that it was a gift usually reserved for diplomats and royalty.
“Jacinda replied, ‘In that case, you are the Queen,’” al-Umari says. “Grief is a very dark journey and these moments just shine a nice light along the way.”
The relationship between Ardern and the families has at times been tinged by frustration when they felt the government response did not align with her lofty rhetoric in the days after the attack. Lingering questions remain for many about how the mass shooting was able to happen and how the devastated community will be supported – and protected – in the future.
“The sense of urgency was there in the beginning but it dwindled,” al-Umari says. “I think it’s primarily to do with the absence of accountability, which was in turn reflected in the public sector’s delivery of answers.”
But she and others say Ardern made time for them and their families in a way that went beyond what they expected. During one meeting with officials, Omar says, the prime minister insisted that she have time just to talk to the families.
“She said, ‘I want to see my friends,’” says Omar. “She had a cup of tea but I don’t think she got to drink any because she was so bombarded with everyone wanting to talk to her.”
The bereaved and survivors must now begin a new relationship with Ardern’s successor, Chris Hipkins, says Omar, a spokesperson for the 15 March Whānau Trust which represents dozens of those affected. “Hopefully the new prime minister can deliver the same compassion and understanding,” he says.
The survivors say they understand why Ardern was too exhausted to continue and that the traumatic stories she heard in her long conversations with them would have taken a heavy toll.
“She’s human and I think she deserves some time off,” Ataçocuğu says. “I hope she comes back because she’s a great leader.”
In the meantime, he was hopeful Ardern might stay in touch.
“I hope she visits me in Christchurch with her family,” he says. “We can go to a cafe and sit and chat, just as two friends.”
