“When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person that walked in. That’s what the storm is all about.” - Haruki Murakami

What is a Bermudian?

This is the question I am pondering today and I, in turn, pose to you. But first, a story:

The day after Hurricane Gonzalo wreaked havoc on the Island I was out for my morning jog in London with my Bermudian running mate, Melanie. I’m under some illusion (or perhaps delusion) that, having never run an official race in my life, I might attempt the Bermuda Day half-marathon next year. Here in London it was cold, wet and blustery. It occurred to me when we rounded the corner of the park that perhaps the elements were against us, but I gave us figurative pats on the back for braving the weather and kept going.

A few hours later I received a phone call.

“I can’t believe you had us running in this!” Melanie exclaimed down the phone.

“Um, Mel, it’s been hours since our run. It’s a little late for the outrage, don’t you think?”

“Have you not read the news?”

I hadn’t. As it turns out the UK had also suffered from Gonzalo’s wrath leaving three people dead. In fact, a falling tree had crushed a woman a few streets from where I had been later in the day; a cautionary tale that, despite hailing from a frequently battered island, perhaps in the future I should be less cavalier.

During the many hours that Gonzalo hit Bermuda I sat fearfully glued to social media, the port webcam in Dockyard and The Royal Gazette website through the onslaught. How fortunate we islanders were to suffer only the loss of roofs, electricity, water and cable and not that of life.

The week of the one-two punch of Tropical Storm Fay and Hurricane Gonzalo certainly took its toll, but it didn’t knock us out. The resilient spirit of the island community stretched to me across the Atlantic. The appreciation that Bermudians had for the BELCO workers, the Regiment and each other was inspiring. In all the troubles, people reached out to each other offering light, running water, barbecues and compassion to anyone in need.

Only weeks later are we dealing with those who take the opposite to this attitude of gratitude. We, as an Island, are again experiencing the shock, pain and horror of gun violence perpetrated by those who have no sense of community, who cannot grasp that we are all alone, but for each other, on this rock and who have no capacity for love.

I spent ten years of my life living on Mount Hill. It was a neighbourhood of childhood freedom, where we all congregated together in the name of fun. My parents allowed us to wander and if we were having a birthday party and some kids rode by on their bicycles my mother would invite them to join in. I think of the children now living on Mount Hill and how what was paradise for me is now a fear-filled landscape for them.

This reckless disregard for the sanctity of life is outrageous. Yet, even as I write, these words seem empty and hollow because this is a nightmare we have dreamed before. Despite the collective outrage, it is also a nightmare that seems to affect only one part of the community. A storm batters us all, but it’s easy to forget that the same is true of shootings when all we do is say goodbye to young black men. Thankfully, none lost their lives this Remembrance Day.

However, on the day we remembered the fallen, a sad farewell did indeed come due for the Island. Like a reaper, the ocean took home one of the best of Bermuda, Dr Neil Burnie, leaving many in mourning.

With a heavy heart I watch from a distance as memories are shared online and celebrations of his life occur on-Island. For those who knew Neil, you know that words cannot do justice to who he was and what he stood for. For those who didn’t know him, he has left such a significant legacy of love on this Island that you will feel his presence.

Bermuda has taken another double hit this week and following these storms the community once again comes together to mourn, to celebrate and to connect as one after losing one of us and nearly four more.

Neil came to Bermuda from the UK more than 20 years ago. I would like to think I cherish this Island just as much as the next person, but in his life Neil exemplified what that really means. He loved its people, its animals and the ocean that surrounds it and explored Bermuda in ways many of us have never even dreamed. He has reminded me how fortunate I am to belong to Bermuda.

So again I ask, what is a Bermudian?

Legislation can answer this for us in the most basic of terms, but whether we were born this year, came to the Island last century or married in the last decade, none of us originated here. Status-holder. Spouse. PRC. Expatriate. By my definition any one or no one of these could be Bermudian, because I define that by the qualities of compassion, kindness, humanity and goodwill that were exemplified in Dr Burnie. Maybe we can’t call him a son of the soil due to his birthplace, but a son of the sea sounds about right.

He is the nature of us.