Amin Abdullah, 51, father of eight, the security guard who sacrificed his life to protect the 200 children inside the mosque. His final act was to call to warn the teachers and put the school on lock-down. He is credited for saving many lives.

Nadir Awad, 57, husband of a teacher at the school, the neighbor who ran towards the mosque when he heard gunfire and was killed while trying to distract and delay the shooters.  

Mansour Kaziha, 78, the beloved elder and caretaker who served the community since the mosque was founded in the 1980s. All three are being honored as martyrs for giving their lives to slow the gunmen and save lives.

We hold in our hearts the teachers who kept the children safe, and the parents who waited through hours of terror. We mourn with the families whose loved ones are not coming home. And we stand with resolve and conviction to tell the truth about the climate of hate in America today.

This shooting is not an “isolated incident.”

This act of violence comes at a time of extreme anti-Muslim hate from the federal government — hate speech, extremist propaganda, and authoritarian assaults on immigrants and people of color.

For the last 25 years since 9/11, Muslim, Sikh and Arab communities have endured enormous white nationalist rage. Loved ones killed and beaten in hate crimes. Mosques and gurdwaras routinely vandalized. Surveillance, detentions, deportations, travel bans and family separations. Forever wars and genocidal campaigns abroad keep fueling the hate at home — and those who profit from it have overtaken the highest seats of power.

Now our children, born long after 9/11, grow up in a nation more dangerous for them than it was for us. And a new generation has been trained in white supremacist hate — the two gunmen in San Diego were teenagers who found each other online and shared “broad hate.”

I grieve for all that we have lost. I rage that the violence goes on and on. And I search for signs of hope…

When I look back at the last 25 years, in the wake of every act of hate violence, there were people who did what the nation as a whole did not — they showed up to grieve with us, to offer flowers and letters and donations, to listen to our needs, to share our stories, and to organize with us.

Anytime people who have no obvious reason to love one another come together to grieve, they build new relationships—they power movements.

May we be brave with our love now —

• Honor your grief. It is a sign of how deeply you love.

• Honor your rage. It carries information and energy. It connects you with the power to fight for matters to you.

• Take time to breathe. Your fatigue means that you are awake to the gravity of suffering. Rest. Reach out to someone who can breathe with you. Only then —

• Let’s push together. Choose one brave thing. Scroll down for ways to show up for San Diego.

In heartbreak and resolve,

Valarie

P.S. Send your love letter by midnight next Wednesday!