Chapter 57 - Reaction
“The Muslim community needs to look at itself. Parents and neighbours should have been keeping an eye on their kids.” This is one of the first comments I hear on my first day back in the office since the 7th July attack. The comment came from a Hindu lady in her early thirties, born in India, but raised in Britain. As she said this, she pointed her finger at her intended audience, a young Muslim boy, just nineteen, born in Britain. His parents were born in Pakistan. “Hang on," he said. "You're placing a lot of blame on a particular group's door here. The Muslim community is quite large and you’re assuming that we are a tight-knit group in this country. I don't think this is the case. I mean it sounds like most of these young men were from Leeds, not London. How can the Muslim communities of London keep an eye on what's going on in Leeds?"
I tried to contribute, but my colleagues just looked at me condescendingly, and moved to another room. They did not need my input. They reminded me of an elderly woman, I had met many years ago. She belonged to an organised religion, and felt compelled to tell me that she pitied me because I am from two races, and had not been raised and guided by religion. I deduced that she thought that being mixed race was impure. I also sensed she believed I was a philistine, and therefore lacked structure in my life. Perhaps I am reading too much into what was said so many years ago, and too much into the actions of my fellow employees. I will never know, for I doubt they will ever communicate with me directly, on a matter such as this; a very private matter.
The discussion between old enemies continued in the room next door. I heard them —both very proud of their communities— remark that some of the boys —not the black Jamaican— were university graduates. So, some were successful within British society —to a point. I then heard the old enemies repeating. "We're the same, we're the same — the same people."
After my first day back at work, I took the train home, awash with vain fears of death. As I sat on the bench waiting for the train, I noticed the sun was shining directly on us, the London commuters. It was lowering, but still provided a beautiful, comforting warmth, altering my troubled mind. Despite being a crowded platform, it was very quiet. A beautiful young lady wearing a Hijab, perhaps from the Middle-East, was sitting next to me on a bench, reading what was possibly the Qur'an. A white, middle-aged, British lady, with short auburn curly hair sat on the other side of the lady in the Hijab. The white lady looked at the delicate pages of the Qur'an and said to the reader, "What beautiful writing." I could not help myself, I had to look. And the white lady was right, the writing was simply just that. It was beautiful.
Over a short period of time, the media and people within the workplace, make references to the ethnic cleansing during the Bosnian War. There are claims that this could have triggered a sense of injustice amongst some—most of us? I hear other explanations. Did these young men come from deprived areas, much like certain areas of London, where life expectancy is lower than average? Are opportunities for social mobility scarce in certain parts of Leeds? Could this be a horrific product of disengagement, disenchantment and frustration? Disconnection, combined with fomentation towards the West, has facilitated a transition from despondency to loser to killer. The actions of these boys are unjustifiable, but I suspect an assessment of institutional and interpersonal elements of their lives could provide an insight into why this has happened. To understand why, should surely assist in the prevention of further atrocities.
