A Reply to Hate: Forgiving My Attacker

I started doubting if my approach to finding the love of my life would ever work. A short while later I received a phone call from my sister who said yet again “We found somebody”, and I thought here we go again, but she was determined and very excited, saying “No, we really found someone. Get on a plane right now.” This must be July or August 1993. Considering how my sister sounded on the phone, I was again very excited, but I had to keep my hopes in check. I sorted out a flight and arrived in Damascus on a Wednesday, early September, to find my sister still very excited. She told me about the girl that she met, speaking very highly of her, and that she lived in the neighbourhood just a few houses away from my aunt’s house. She kept saying that there was something special about this girl, called Syrsa. So, on Thursday I went with my aunt and sister to meet the girl’s family. Syrsa, wearing her headscarf, came in briefly to serve us the coffee and then stepped out. She looked absolutely gorgeous and I politely smiled and said that the coffee was very good, only for her to say it was her mother that made it! When we reminisce about our first encounter, Syrsa tells me that she was in fact not very excited about our visit. It is traditional that when meeting a suiter, on the first visit the girl will come in for a few minutes, and then step out. The rest of the family, especially her parents, will get to know as much about you and your family as they can, and then you hope that they will get back to you should their daughter decide that she would be happy to speak to you! Friday we were all waiting for her mother to call and hopefully say that we could come back for a second visit. We waited and waited, and finally we received a call late in the afternoon where her mother informed my aunt that Syrsa was happy to meet with me for another chat. I was over the moon.

The following day I went alone and knocked at the door. I don’t remember who opened the door for me, but I ended up sitting with Syrsa in that same room on our own for about three hours. It did not feel awkward to either of us, and we just kept on talking about ourselves; well, mostly about myself. I think I fell for her straight away and I could see why my sister was so excited about this girl. When I met her that day, my heart was pounding so hard but somehow, I managed to keep it together. I went again the following day and we chatted for over four hours before we parted company. I suppose she had heard enough by then and both of us had a decision to make, but I had a deep feeling in my heart that this was going to be the one. I could not describe it, but something about her felt exceptional and I was hoping and praying that she thought I was the one for her as well. On the Monday, just a few days after we first met, I asked my father and my aunt to formally request Syrsa’s hand in marriage and on Tuesday the answer came back as yes, Syrsa has agreed. Wow! I was absolutely beyond myself.

The following few days were extremely hectic as we needed to sort out the necessary paperwork for the registry office. We were officially married a week later. I remember it was a difficult day because we had to find an office that could register the marriage, but that day was a public holiday and everywhere was closed. We eventually found an office that agreed to register the marriage in a nearby little town. My father, Syrsa, her brother and I all went to register the marriage on 14 September 1993, after which we had a modest family gathering. I was in a desperate hurry because as soon as we got married, I needed to start a visa application for her. By then, I was a British national, but Syrsa was Syrian. It was tricky convincing the British Consulate official that we were truly married having met just over a week ago. Just like me, they were having some difficulty believing that this had really happened. It was amazing, it was like a wonderful dream, I was married, and it was all a whirlwind. When Syrsa asks me about those days I tell her that I honestly cannot remember much of the detail and everything still feels like a dream. In fact, she is the one that reminded me of what took place.

When I look back at that fateful week, I cannot help but be grateful that Syrsa saw something in me that convinced her to take such a decision. Financially, I was not fully on my feet yet, but she later said to me that what struck her about me was honesty and humility. She had many suiters before me, but she felt comfortable and safe with me. Now and again, she teases me about who her suitors were before I came along, saying she married me because I needed looking after! We did eventually manage to sort out the visa application and everything felt as if it was falling nicely into place. Having only taken two weeks off work, I had to get back, and sadly there was not enough time to arrange a proper wedding. In next to no time, I was on a plane back to Manchester, by myself but married. Syrsa arrived a couple of months later. She had her previous commitments too, of course, such as completion of her MSc in Microbiology and she needed to sort out many things because she had never expected in her wildest dreams that she would be leaving Damascus for good. She did actually manage to have what one would call a ‘girl’s wedding’ with all her friends and family, but I was not there. In fact, we never actually had a wedding, and our ‘wedding’ photos were taken when we returned to Damascus together. I had promised Syrsa’s mother that we would travel back within three months, and we had a mini celebration then. When Syrsa joined me in Manchester, she completed another MSc in Microbiology at the University of Manchester before starting to apply for a training post, but she couldn’t get anywhere. After a number of applications, she decided that she was probably better off putting her energy elsewhere. In fact, her struggle finding a training post brought back painful memories of my own journey. When I speak to her about that decision, she tells me that she was happy with it and that she never felt that her role was compromised.

I passed my speciality exam in 1997 and received my certificate of completion of training, and I became a consultant in 1998. Four years later we moved to Hale Barns, where we have been living since. Within a few months of moving here I got to know many of the people at our local Islamic Centre. As I became more involved with the community, I eventually joined the committee of the Altrincham Muslim Association, where I later served as chairman. I started taking the time to learn more about Islam, so my knowledge of Islam progressed, particularly when I began teaching as part of a study circle. When we were married, Syrsa’s knowledge of Islam was far better than mine, but with her support I gradually picked up. I started delivering sermons at our centre and over time I gained a good standing within my community. I later became involved in interfaith work, getting to know our local synagogues and churches. I regularly represented my mosque on Remembrance Sunday, for example, first attending the Sunday service at All Saints Church before I would proceed with the vicar to the Hale Barns war memorial. There we gathered with other local vicars and rabbis for an interfaith memorial service. We then all proceeded to a buffet at the neighbouring synagogue. I also had the privilege of serving as the mayor’s chaplain for two years, where one of my duties was to open the council meetings with a prayer. These meetings took place on a Wednesday evening after my clinic. I would dash over there in the car arriving just in time to give the prayer, and I would occasionally stay and observe these meetings as I found the political ramblings invariably amusing. I built a number of lasting friendships over these two years.

I suppose all this is to say that by the time of 2017 when I was attacked, perhaps I was not just some random guy. I was well known in the area, in my community, my local churches and synagogues, from my work at the hospital and with our local council. Still, I had never felt like I was, or could be, a target. Until, of course, that fateful day.

Chapter 2

The Attack

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.