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Every terrorist atrocity is followed by days of analysis over the question `how did we get here?’ And so it’s been with this most recent murderous shooting in Christchurch. The words Islamophobia and far right extremism appear everywhere – as the faces of the 50 victims appear on our screens, there’s anger and pain and renewed anxiety over where next. Personally speaking I can’t say I was shocked - terrorism is our new war whether it’s by Islamist extremists, or white supremacists and the far right – these are wars without rules or borders, wars of hidden anger and apocalyptic imaginings. For years, sporadic Islamist inspired terrorist attacks occupied our minds and resources to such an extent that until recently the growth of right wing violence was largely ignored. As one American professor said about this phenomenon in the US, `the most ascendant risk is the Nazis next door.’ But both forms of extremism feed off each other’s rhetoric and successes and both are grounded in old civilizational tropes. Where the Islamist persuades others that the west is not your home but your enemy, the right wing terrorist roots his ideology in a grand narrative of Western culture in decline, a defence of the white Christian west against a common Muslim enemy. Both sides proselytise and both are strengthened by the indiscriminate massacre of the other. And yet these violent attacks are only the end result – the path to violent extremism is born within the mainstream, its born and nurtured in the language and images of our institutions and cultures, our pundits and our politicians - at the complex bar of freedom of expression, racism, fear and prejudice so often sit alongside words of kindness and community. Free societies are an open marketplace of ideas and convictions but pluralism is fragile and in an age of deception it’s become much easier to dole out division and bigotry to an eager and growing audience. The tragedy in Christchurch saw the Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern quickly pledge to change the gun laws and social media sites like Facebook will come under increased criticism for what they allow to be uploaded and shared. But in the end we can’t legislate ourselves out of hate. Laws can curb the excesses of human behaviour but ultimately it’s our individual moral commitment to human fellowship and friendship which changes relationships and communities. When these are strong then we can have the difficult conversations. It’s true that the scriptural commands to love are much harder to realise than the easy win of hate. But as I watch the floral tributes, the respectful candlelight vigils and the sheer coming together of thousands of people in sympathy and respect, it’s important that we recognise how much this continues to matter – I for one am left moved by the healing power of human solidarity.