now there was clear panic in our office. I headed downstairs to Liz Vickerie, our manager and director, and asked if she had heard the news and whether she had any briefing for us. She was famously calm, but right now you could see she was battling fear; she fixed a smile and said she had just heard the news and was discussing the situation with other managers. With a dry voice I asked whether I could visit my mosque. She knew about my role in the big Muslim religious centre nearby but asked whether I could wait – she needed further instructions. I ran back upstairs and tried, without success, to work; the texts and calls kept coming in. Finally Liz called and told me I was free to go.
Sirens and smoke filled the air and the roads were full of confusion; people were standing around and talking, looking furtively at each other, as if to guess whether their neighbour was somehow involved in this chaos. It was not far off noon by the time I reached the East London Mosque. Dilowar was in the London Muslim Centre, the huge glass and steel community complex that loomed over the mosque next door. When we had opened it, on 11 June the previous year, thousands had carpeted the roads outside, praying. With Dilowar was Alan Green, an unshakeable, balding vicar who was head of the Tower Hamlets Inter Faith Forum. Other senior community leaders were crowding around them, anxiety and concern growing as they shuffled nervously. I'd never seen them like this; I guessed my own face probably reflected theirs.
There had been four explosions now and the collision theory had gone out of the window; London was under attack. Three bombs had exploded on the Underground and one on a bus in Tavistock Square, close to the headquarters of the British Medical Association. Explosions had taken place on underground lines between Liverpool Street and Aldgate; King's Cross and Russell Square; and at Edgware Road tube station. The Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Sir Ian Blair, confirmed that these were coordinated 'terrorist attacks'. The number of casualties was not yet known. The phrase 'terrorist attack' was very startling. Who would do this and why?
Dilowar took me through to the Centre's foyer, where a number of walking wounded were sitting or standing with shocked, dazed looks. They were visibly traumatized: ashenfaced, soot or burn marks on their clothes; faces, heads and hands often streaked with blood. Volunteers were talking to them, calming them, giving them tea, biscuits and water. It was not much, but it seemed to help. Some were then getting up and walking home; others were being escorted to the famous Royal London Hospital, just a few hundred yards away. I did my best to reassure the wounded.
We came back to the office to discuss what to do. Huddled around the radio and TV set, we listening attentively to the midday news. Facts were dribbling in frustratingly slowly and we were desperate to know more; the number of casualties was still unclear. Sirens continued to wail outside and a helicopter droned overhead. The Prime Minister, Tony Blair, was hosting a G8 summit in Gleneagles, Scotland, and he broke from the summit to issue a statement, calling the bombings a coordinated series of 'barbaric terrorist attacks'.
In the meantime, Alan Green told us that the Bishop of Stepney, Stephen Oliver, was on his way to our mosque. It was a wonderful gesture from a senior bishop and very timely. He came and we sat with him, trying to work out what we should do. Everyone feared that if it was terrorism, this could be 'our 9/11'. We swiftly agreed a public statement, should we need one, saying that: 'We Muslims, Christians and other faith groups stand in solidarity with one another. Whoever perpetrated these heinous acts – they do not represent any community and cannot divide us. Terrorists are terrorists and they do not have any religion.' But would it be enough? I swapped messages with Sir Iqbal Sacranie, the Secretary- General of the MCB, and we voluntarily divided our tasks: Iqbal would coordinate our responses nationally and I would handle London.
The lunchtime prayer at 1.30pm was approaching. But, instead of worshippers, journalists were starting to pour into the foyer and I could see camera crews pointing their lenses up and down the streets outside. I was nervous and tried to convince myself that their interest was purely linked to geography, as one of the bombs had gone off nearby. Or were they sensing that Muslims were behind this? I tried to bury that thought. I was out of my depth, I was just a normal, middle-aged guy who had volunteered for a small but growing band of Bangladeshi people, and was now leading a diverse and expanding Muslim community in the largest city in the country. I prayed silently that Muslims were not involved. If they were, as a community we would start paying for their crimes.
I had quick words with the bishop and we decided to visit the wounded at the Royal London Hospital. It was the least we could do, I suggested. After walking to the hospital, we weren't allowed in to meet the patients, so we talked with the Christian and Muslim chaplains who had been serving them. As we did so, someone came up and whispered to me that there was a large number of journalists waiting outside who wanted to hear from us. I was struck by fear, I had no media training nor any media exposure before. I was just a silent community activist and teacher and at that moment I desperately wanted to be somewhere else. Sensing my trepidation, the bishop laid his hand on my shoulder and said: 'Muhammad, now is not the time for hesitation.' He encouraged me with an assuring smile. He was right.
I made up my mind, asked him to speak first, and walked out into the glare of the spotlights and camera flashes. On that bright summer afternoon, Stephen and I stood side by side in front of dozens of microphones in the open space at the western corner of the hospital. They were journalists from our national news media, TV stations and print media; TV crews from a few overseas countries such as Australia and Japan were there as well. Stephen introduced himself and said how as a bishop of the three boroughs he had been working closely with all the communities, including Muslims, how he valued his friendship with Muslims in the area and how the East London Mosque was contributing towards the social fabric of the ever-changing East End. With a determined voice he concluded: 'We don't yet know what the casualty figure is, but whoever carried out these heinous acts in the transport network of our beloved city today cannot divide our communities. We, as people of faith and no faith, must now multiply our efforts to make sure we remain united.'
Then it was my turn and by that time I had decided what I was going to say. I introduced myself and briefly mentioned how the East London Mosque had been serving all communities and working for a better understanding between the peoples of the East End, where people of diverse backgrounds lived side- by-side and had enriched the area for generations. 'Terrorism is a depraved act of criminality,' I said. 'It has no religion, no nationality. Terrorists are none but terrorists. As proud Londoners and East Enders our job is now to collectively keep peace in our communities.'
There were a few questions on who we thought the perpetrators might be and whether we feared any backlash. I took the questions and expressed my confidence in our police and security services that they would soon find the perpetrators behind the attacks. Whatever the cause or motivation, the carnage in London would fail to frighten or divide us. Stephen added by assuring that London, especially the people in the East End, had always been united against race hate. 'Sanity will prevail,' he said confidently. Stephen thanked me for my performance, though I didn't then realize that this would be the beginning of a new journey – and the start of a very public life for me.
I returned to the mosque and spent the rest of the day talking with people and gathering more information as to the number of casualties and possible implications for Londoners and the rest of the country. The journalists were gradually leaving the ELM complex and the mosque management turned to discussing how best to reassure the local community. I was also constantly in touch with the Muslim Council of Britain office. The Secretary-General had issued a statement that the MCB: '... utterly condemns today's indiscriminate acts of terror in London. These evil deeds make victims of us all. It is our humanity that must bring us shoulder to shoulder to condemn, to oppose and to overcome those who would spread fear, hatred and death.' A Joint Statement from the Muslim Council of Britain and Churches Together in Britain and Ireland declared: 'The scriptures and the traditions of both the Muslim and Christian communities repudiate the use of such violence. Religious precepts cannot be used to justify such crimes, which are completely contrary to our teaching and practice.'
There was one
