Читать книгу A Reply to Hate: Forgiving My Attacker - David Tucker - Страница 6

It was Sunday, 24 September 2017. We had a committee meeting at the Islamic Centre I attend which was scheduled to take place immediately after Asr prayers, the mid-afternoon prayers, at 17:30. As it was towards the end of September, there was a fair bit of gardening to be done, and that meant being home for longer on a Sunday doing what was necessary with the garden. Consequently, I was running slightly late, so when I got into my car and saw the time was just short of 17:30, I knew I would be a couple of minutes late. I drove along Hale Road, down Delahays Road and onto Grove Lane, a short journey of only a few minutes from home. Along Grove Lane, as I approached the Centre, I looked for a place to park but by then most places were already taken. I drove further up the road, turned back, and eventually found a place on the opposite side not too far from the Centre, probably about a hundred yards or so. I locked the car, went to cross the road—I parked on a narrow strip with a bend so had to look carefully as I crossed—and walked past a few houses before entering the mosque. We don’t normally refer to the Centre as a mosque as essentially it is a community cultural centre, with just part of it used for prayers. Originally, it was a church known as St. David’s. Built in 1915, it is already past its centenary and probably it is well beyond its sell-by date, so to speak. The centre has two buildings: the daily prayer hall on the left-hand side as you go up the entrance path, then towards the end of the path is the larger back building; our activity hall. For the five daily prayers we routinely used the smaller left-hand hall. At the front of the Centre there is a set of waist-high iron gates, a number of iron fence panels and a few mature trees. The two buildings are set on a slight elevation, so you have to walk up a slope between the entrance gates and the hall doors. We had CCTV cameras installed a few years ago following several racially motivated attacks.

Having crossed the road, and as I was walking towards the Centre, I spotted someone on the other side of the road no more than 50 yards away. At the time, this seemed innocuous, and probably the only reason I noticed him was because he was the only person around on that quiet road. Perhaps if there had been more people then I might have been distracted by them, but I clearly recall he was the only person I saw. I do not remember if he looked back at me, but everything seemed entirely normal. From that glance I recall noticing that he was tall enough to have his head above the car he was next to. As I turned away from him, I remember sensing that he was about to cross the road. It seemed that as soon as he saw me walking towards the centre, he crossed the road and walked towards me. I do not remember at what stage he passed me, and I only vaguely sensed that someone was there. It was just something normal that you do every day walking down the road. You sense people walking towards you and past you but there is no eye contact, and you don’t stare. In any case, I was focused on rushing to the mosque, knowing I was already late.

But then I recall a silly thing that I did as I passed the last house before the Centre’s gates. Because of my newly acquired interest in gardening, I had started looking at other people’s gardens to get some ideas; I would look to see what they had planted and how the garden is landscaped. As I passed the front garden of this house, for whatever reason I remember being critical of some brickwork that had been done. Basically, it was just a very ordinary Sunday. Eventually, I entered the front gate which is invariably kept open during prayer times, and I started walking up the path, a clear path with little of note. But then out of the blue, and this is one thing I have never really been able to articulate, it still seems somewhat indescribable, but I felt a sudden, massive pain. I described it once as seeming like somebody had put a hammer drill into the back of my neck. I do not know why, but it was as if the pain had a sound and that is perhaps the best way I can describe it. At the time, in that instant, and I do not really know why, I imagined I was hit by a baseball bat. It seems to have been an instantaneous rationalisation, probably a reflection of watching too many films and crime series. Whatever it was, there was no doubt that it felt extremely painful. I also recall that as the pain struck, I was thrust forwards, but still with no clue what the hell just happened to me. It was not so much frightening at that point; it was simply extremely painful and nothing else. I did not even notice the presence of someone who had snuck up behind me, and I think on reflection I was somewhat fortunate. Fortunate because if you experience a horrendous event, some of the lasting emotional and psychological trauma can come from events leading up to the physical pain, from the anticipation of harm, from seeing the weapon and from the experience of helplessness and fear, for example. Perhaps if I had experienced such emotions leading up to the stabbing, they may have had a lasting impact on me. In that sense, I was lucky, it was sudden, but nevertheless I was thrust quickly into a different world.

With nobody immediately in view, in all my naivety my next thought was that a tree branch had fallen on me. I looked around to see where the tree was, where the branch was, because this surely was the only thing that could have hit me, but there was nothing there. Then as I turned, there was this man, and I saw his face. It had been a couple of seconds, but I still could not figure out what had happened; even when I saw him, I still had no idea. Despite the horrendous pain in my neck and this man appearing just behind me, it did not occur to me that he had struck me. It took me probably another couple of seconds, the two of us just standing there, me still looking for a tree branch, but, of course, there was nothing, just him. I wasn’t yet sure, but I was starting to realise it must have been him just because there was nothing else around. All I was looking at was his face, and I remember from the corner of my eye I glimpsed something metallic under his right arm. I later realised that this was just the frame of the iron gate and not what I instinctively thought, which was that he might have hit me with an iron bar. Throughout these few seconds, I never noticed his hand and never saw the knife held there. Again, perhaps that was a blessing because if I had seen a knife my reaction might well have been different.

We stood there with no more than a couple of yards between us and I remember his face, at least I remember what I started to see in his face. He was angry. There was no doubt about that, he was very angry, almost animal-like as if he was baring his teeth. He shouted at me, he used the f-word I remember, but then he said something else. I wasn’t fully registering what he was saying, I was looking at his body language rather than listening to him, instinctively asking myself what he might want to do. But then I believe he said, “This is for what you’ve done!” I have tried to make sense of that statement since, but I cannot even be sure if that was exactly what he shouted at me, never mind why. Perhaps I will know one day. Nonetheless, it is this phrase that has stuck with me, though in all honesty I could not put my hand on the Bible and swear by Almighty God that this was exactly what was said.

I still wasn’t aware that he had just stabbed me though, only that I had pain in my neck, but then his anger gripped me, and it seemed that he was poised to do something else again. He moved towards me and at that moment it became clear to me that he meant further harm. That said, the phrase “became clear” does not really tell the whole story. It was an instinctive inner sense rather than a logical thought process. In such a situation there is no time for thinking. My instinct told me that something is not right, that this person did something bad, and even though I still did not realise there was a knife, instinctively I turned around and ran away as fast as I could. I think the speed I ran at is something I only realised subsequently because my legs were still hurting three days later from that sprint. I think I must have run at what was for me some exceptional speed, and I just ran in a straight line, directly away from him.

The people who were in the Centre praying, who could have helped me, were on my left-hand side, but I didn’t even think of turning to the left because that would have taken time. My instinct was to run in a straight line, so I ran the 20 yards or so to the back main hall. Not that I was expecting anybody to be there, I was not so much running for help, I just ran. There were a few steps to climb and I think I cleared them with a single jump, whereupon I reached the entrance. The time between me turning from the attack and arriving at that door was probably no more than three to four seconds. The back hall has a large pair of solid wooden doors that are normally kept shut. On that afternoon, fortunately, these doors were open, but then immediately on entering you face another entrance door, a glass door with an upper frosted panel and a self-closing hinge. There is no lock on this door, but it only opens outwards! As I reached this door, I had to stop. I vividly remember that moment of realising that I would have to stop running. I had to pause and take a step back to be able to open the door. The moment that I had to stop running away was the most distinctive for me in the whole scenario. It was probably no more than a split second, but as I realised that I would have to open the door outwards, that was the moment where I actually felt the fear. As I stopped to open the door, even without knowing whether he was following behind me or not, I feared for my life; I was petrified. I still recall the thoughts that raced through my mind: I needed to hide, where could I hide? I don’t remember ever feeling so petrified in my life. I pulled the door back and as I entered I immediately saw two women in the hall.

That was when something amazing happened to me. As suddenly as it had gripped me, in that split second, the fear suddenly disappeared. I have no idea how my instincts took over, but on reflection it is most likely that my instincts dictated that I had to protect these two women. It was not that I felt safe or reassured by their presence, but I believe that I went from being afraid to being protective. To me, the presence of these two women in the hall when I entered was a life-changing moment. It may seem strange to claim that, but I truly believe that I may have ended up as a totally different person if they had not been there. I knew what being petrified felt like and I think it would have taken me a long time to be able to confront and to overcome such fear, if I could have done so at all. I still cannot explain it, but as soon as I saw these two women, the fear simply vanished. All this took place within the space of a few seconds and as far as my experience with running away and with fear went, it was done.

As soon as I saw them, I think I shouted, “Call the police!” and I grabbed a chair and ran back towards the door. I was determined that he was not going to come in. That was the overwhelming issue with the presence of these two women. Perhaps the fact that I felt this way, with that determination, is what completely changed my attitude and took away the fear. I ran out and I saw that he was no longer there. He was gone; a few seconds of my life and that was it, he was not there anymore. I looked around a bit more to make sure he was not hiding, but there really seemed to be no-one around. Later, at the trial, I saw the CCTV footage, and I saw that he had ran after me. But then a few seconds later I think he might have realised that there could have been more people inside. CCTV showed him running out of the Centre’s grounds, back in the direction he had come from.

Once I became confident there was no-one around, I went inside again, I put the chair down, paused, and then that horrendous pain started to really take effect. The two women asked me what happened, but all I could tell them was that someone had hit me. I think they themselves had a look outside and didn’t see anyone and then probably rushed to the prayer hall and called the others for help. Quite quickly, people started to come into the back hall where I was. By then, I was sitting on one of the wooden benches at the back of the hall grabbing tightly onto my neck. The pain was horrendous; I felt that if I were to let go of my neck that my head was going to fall off. I remember someone grabbing my right wrist to check my pulse and someone else asking me what had happened and if I could describe who attacked me. Still, there wasn’t any obvious wound or mark visible. But then someone wanted to have a look at my neck so they asked if I could let my left hand go. It was a struggle to let go. I slowly raised my head and made sure my neck was straight and gradually I was able to take my hand off. It was then that I heard: “You’ve been stabbed in the neck.”

I don’t recall clearly what immediately went through my mind when I heard that. I did not experience anxiety or panic. I simply looked at my left hand and saw there was no blood. I was able to move everything in both arms, my fingers, my wrists and my elbows. There was no tingling or heaviness anywhere in my body. My breathing was normal and so was my voice. I remember saying “I am OK”, “Alhamdullilah (praise the Lord) I am OK.” My surgical and trauma training seemed to have spontaneously kicked in, and even though I did not know where exactly the entry wound was, I knew straight away that none of the vital structures in my neck were damaged. I was able to reassure myself and others that there was no need to panic.

I was not aware that during this period someone started filming me on their phone and producing what would later become the short video that was circulated online. The video was no more than a couple of minutes long, but it did capture the moment. I still watch it with a sense of joy and relief as I believe it was a good reflection of me and I am just really glad I did not say or do something too embarrassing. I know I am a fairly level-headed and serious person, but I also like a laugh and I cannot help myself using a cliché now and again. When I realised I had been stabbed, I was heard saying on the video “The bastard got me in the neck.” This was later relayed back to me from a friend who said her little child told her “Uncle Nasser said a bad word.” That was probably one of the most embarrassing moments of the entire event; an Imam using the “B*” word. I remember that I asked ITV who requested permission to air the video to be kind enough to bleep or remove the “B*” word. It was a great relief when I watched the video on TV the following day and true to their promise, the “B*” word was gone.

So, there I was sat on the bench, again grabbing my neck firmly having realised that I had been stabbed. Unbeknownst to anyone, I had just been off work for a week on study leave to attend the annual British Orthopaedic Association conference. This week off meant that I had literally hundreds of emails to get back to. If I end up taking another week off, I thought to myself, I might end up with even twice as many emails on my return. I resolved there and then to not take any time off, silly as it may sound, but by then this is what was running through my mind, the fact that I need to go back to work the following day. I’m not sure if thinking about the next day is a consequence of the shock of what had just happened to me, but I do recall that at some point I started thinking ahead about my immediate future, probably convincing myself that there was indeed going to be an immediate future. I don’t know. Perhaps I was just not looking forward to hundreds of emails.

There was no external evidence of significant bleeding, but even so a few minutes down the line I started feeling a little faint and I knew I needed to lie down on the floor. I was aware that feeling faint was not unusual now that the adrenaline rush was winding down. The most important thing for me was to lie down and get blood to my head before I ended up fainting altogether. So, I was not so much worried about fainting, but I was also feeling a little bit queasy. I did have a minor concern in that I had just eaten before leaving home, and I knew very well that if I didn’t get down on the floor quickly, I might throw up. I really did not want to do that. I untied my belt to get comfortable, I started to breath slowly, I lay down on the floor and turned onto my right side, in a sense doing my own airway protection drill in case I did faint and throw up. In just short of a minute, it was a great relief that the sickly feeling passed and I no longer felt faint. A few moments later, the police and ambulance crew arrived.

Still the magnitude of the event had not really dawned on me. I was in my little bubble and apart from that horrendous constant pain, I was somewhat fine. The paramedic arrived and the time came for them to put a drip in my arm. Of course, it is standard procedure to put that big needle in the arm, but of all things, I hate needles. Anyway, I said to the paramedic “It’s OK”, I opened my right arm and held my breath, and fortunately the paramedic was brilliant, I felt nothing. They wanted to immobilise me like they would do for a suspected blunt neck injury, but I reassured them that I did not have a blunt neck injury and there is no likelihood of me having suffered a broken neck. Anyhow, standard procedure carried on and I was put in a scoop. As they were about to carry me away, I remember people saying they needed to inform my wife, and I said, “Please don’t, please don’t tell her anything yet.” I just could not bear the thought that she wasn’t in a position to know what had happened to me, and to know that I’m physically and emotionally okay. I did not want her to be upset, but I later found out that by the time I was scooped, she had already been made aware of the attack. So, there I was on a funny little trip to the ambulance parked just outside the Centre, strapped into this narrow flimsy scoop, having to cede all control. As we went down those four steps that I earlier cleared with one jump the scoop felt wobbly, and I wondered if I was going to fall out. Soon I was being secured in the back of the ambulance. That drive was not a comfortable ride by any measure. It was an experience; the siren, the flashing lights and flying through the streets with no concept of time or direction, but I was not physically comfortable. Very soon, the back doors of the ambulance were flung open, and I was carried into Wythenshawe Hospital, my hospital.