The Islamist by Ed Husain

Author:Ed Husain
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

We spoke about jihad, but we never anticipated real violence. Not yet, anyway. Recently there had been skirmishes between Muslims and Sikhs in Slough and Southall. Hizb activists from Newham and Redbridge had gone there to lend a hand in the fighting, but that was in a personal capacity. It was not ‘party policy’ to engage in violence before the caliphate came about. We believed that fighting as individuals was futile - our aims were greater. An army would fight entire nations with the military force of the Islamic state, not by vigilante gang warfare.

With A-Levels pending, and under Faye’s spell, I spent whole days studying. I was fortunate that my halaqah had been cancelled for about two months during that time owing to an organizational restructure between Newham and Ilford. There was also a shortage of halaqah instructors as membership swelled. I was allowed a short break before resuming halaqah and a new book by Nabhani. It was an unexpected respite. I was no longer distributing leaflets, disturbing meetings of other groups, or shouting down our opponents in gatherings.

One afternoon as I sat in the library, buried in my books, I heard voices outside. On the other side of the street a small crowd had gathered and Dave Gomer, the student affairs manager, was pushing people away. Within minutes an ambulance arrived and from where I stood, I could see a boy lying on the ground next to a pool of blood - one of the Christian boys who had been involved in the row over the pool table.

Something terrible had happened and the library was no place to be. I sent Faye home. Majid arrived and we went outside, where police officers were speaking with Dave Gomer. No doubt our presence was duly noted.

I asked everybody to disperse, to go home and stay in contact by telephone. Majid and I left the scene with heavy hearts. We both knew that whatever had happened at college, as Hizb activists we were responsible. It was we who had encouraged Muslim fervour, a sense of separation from others, a belief that Muslims were worthier than other humans. And those ideas had been inculcated in us by Hizb ut-Tahrir.

Majid had seen the whole thing. Apparently the boy, a Christian student of Nigerian extraction, had been throwing his weight around and being generally offensive towards Muslims and about their attitudes. Someone had phoned Saeed, who, as he had done previously, turned up within fifteen minutes. The pair confronted each other outside. The black boy drew a knife.

Saeed remained calm, looked the boy in the eye and said, ‘Put that knife away or I will have to kill you.’

The boy did not respond. Perhaps he thought Saeed was bluffing. Saeed walked closer and warned him again. Exactly what happened next is unclear, but within seconds Saeed had pulled out Abdul Jabbar and thrust it into the boy’s chest. This was murder. And had I not been with Faye in the library, I would probably have been somehow involved.

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