Les på norsk her.

I would imaginethat the first thing he encountered was a ring binder, a case number, an inkpadand a request for fingerprints. Followed by a reception room for unaccompaniedminors.

Because thatwas exactly what he was.

Unaccompanied.A minor. And completely alone.

A young lad who needed a place to live.

Øivind Holthe

He hadbrought nothing with him except a heartfelt desire for a safer life. A lifewithout fear and persecution, in a small country where even the police do notcarry weapons. He had been deeply affected by what he had experienced whilegrowing up in Iraq but was positive and worked hard at school. The lad was aresource. He quickly learned the language, was in a class of his own on thefootball pitch, made friends and got a place in upper-secondary school and apart-time job. He joined theLabour Party’s youth organisation because he knew – better than most people – thatdemocracy cannot be taken for granted and that the future is a shared responsibility.

And thenit turned out that Norway wasn’t safe after all.

The lad was 19years old, happy at last and on Utøya for the first time.

The lad wascalled Karar Mustafa Qasim. He was shot four times on Friday 22 ofJuly 2011. He was executed on a steep slope near Bolsjevika Bay, defencelessand fearing for his life.

And thenit turned out that Norway wasn’t safe after all.The brutaltruth was too much for his elder brother. He had travelled from Iraq to followthe trial of the man who killed his younger brother. He feared being in court,could not sleep. He cried through the night, did not know whether he couldstand being in the same room as the killer.

Today we knowthat he couldn’t manage it.

It was far toomuch.

After throwinghis shoe at the accused he was seized and led out of court by the police. Theywere dramatic seconds, and many of those who are still living with stronganxiety following their experiences on Utøya burst into tears. Lawyers, journalistsand relatives also cried. Many of us got to feel the fear of the unforeseen.

But where the onlinenewspapers heard only swearing and anger in the following minutes in their huntfor drama and readers there was basically only one sound which really made animpression on me: The sound of an elder brother crying.Heart-rending,stifled cries targeted at an evil which no-one can demand that anyone shouldput up with.

Heart-rending,stifled cries targeted at an evil which no-one can demand that anyone shouldput up with.

Hayder Mustafa cried for his younger brother.The young lad who fled his own country in pursuit of safety.

Those in the court who applauded probably didso mainly out of understanding for a man who couldn’t bear the pain. It must beunbearable and it is certainly not entertaining. I lament my own industry’sattempts to show video of the incident. A video “of great news interest”,according to the application, which was fortunately rejected.

It is a video of an elder brother grievingdeeply. Nothing more or less.

Perhaps we just have to learnto live with the gnawing pain left by the 22 of July.It’s nouse putting a plaster on it. It’s no use throwing shoes.

It’s going to be damned painful.

Perhaps permanently.

Unfortunately.