On November 29, 2019, I was released from prison after serving 14 and a half years. The sky on that day was a vibrant blue, and the sun illuminated the city of London. It felt like a stark reminder of what I had missed during my time behind bars. I owe my temporary freedom to Learning Together, an education program for prisoners affiliated with Cambridge University. I had been invited to a conference celebrating its fifth anniversary at Fishmongers’ Hall near London Bridge. Accompanied by my escorting officer Adam, being outside in the real world felt incredible.
At the conference, I was greeted by my mentor Jack Merritt, a 25-year-old Cambridge graduate. Jack had a posh accent and a friendly smile. Despite his intelligence and opportunities, he believed in the potential of lifers like me and was dedicated to helping us. Fishmongers’ Hall itself felt like a museum, with narwhal tusks mounted on the wall as relics of past fishing expeditions.
During a break in the conference, chaos erupted. Screams of alarm echoed from below, and a volunteer from Learning Together rushed into the room, frantically dialing a number on her phone. Without hesitation, I stood up and made my way towards the door. As I approached, Usman Khan, a former prisoner and fellow conference attendee, appeared with knives in hand. In that moment, I knew I had to act to slow him down. A narwhal tusk hanging on the wall became my weapon of choice. I struck Usman, but it seemed to have little effect.
Descending the stairs, I came across the aftermath of his attack. A young woman lay on the floor, blood flowing from her neck, while another girl curled up in the fetal position, surrounded by a pool of blood. Face-to-face with Usman, I continued to defend against him with the broken tusk. The streets were bustling with people, and I shouted for everyone to get back, alerting them to the situation.
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Usman turned towards me, and I made another strike with the broken tusk, only for him to snatch it from my grasp and throw it at me. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I chased after him. Eventually, we reached London Bridge, where Usman began swinging his knives once again. I made a desperate attempt to grab him and take him down.
Amid the confusion, I managed to land a punch on Usman’s jaw, but he persisted. Thankfully, a Ministry of Justice worker named Darryn Frost arrived armed with the other narwhal tusk. Unmarked police cars soon arrived, and armed officers apprehended Usman, shooting him twice. However, the attack had already claimed the lives of Jack Merritt and Saskia Jones, both graduates of Cambridge University.
As I walked away from the scene, my mind raced with thoughts. Had that truly just happened? It reminded me of the violence that had led to my murder conviction and imprisonment 14 and a half years ago. It made me realize that I had broken my vow to never use violence again. Reflecting on my life, I saw the destructive path that violence had taken me down and resolved to make a change.
During my time in prison, I dedicated myself to self-improvement. I prioritized physical fitness, quit smoking, and resisted temptations for substances like hooch. I realized that it was the lifestyle, not the substances themselves, that had fueled my addictions. I embraced studying and pursued my education, earning GCSEs, A-levels in philosophy, and a degree in business management.
While inside, I encountered individuals like Usman Khan, who had planned attacks on significant targets. I witnessed the potential for radicalization within the prison system and became aware of the misguided perception I had of Islamic terrorists. Their intelligence and influence shattered the stereotype I had held. One notable example was Dhiren Barot, serving 40 years for plotting terror attacks, who rose to prominence as an agent for Al-Qaeda.
The incident involving Barot being attacked with hot oil caught the attention of Al-Qaeda sympathizers held at Frankland, including Omar Khyam, who was serving time for his involvement in a bomb plot in London. These experiences further emphasized the need to address the dangers of extremism and radicalization within the prison system.
Looking back on my journey, I am both shocked and filled with clarity. Violence had cost me my freedom and the love of my life, resulting in a murder conviction. It was a turning point that made me vow to never use violence again. I took the opportunity to better myself during my time in prison, and now, as I walk away from the horrific events on London Bridge, I am reminded of the path I have chosen and the need for change.
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