Month: June 2025

The Untold Story of the 7/7 Bombings by Dan Biddle is one of those rare ones. It’s not just a survivor’s account of one of the darkest days in British history; it’s a brutally honest, deeply human story of pain, resilience, and ultimately, hope. Reading it made me confront not only the horror of that day but also my own past, and the dangerous path I once walked.

Dan Biddle was on the Edgware Road train when a suicide bomber detonated his device just feet away. Dan lost both legs, and one of his eye, and endured life-altering injuries. But beyond the physical scars, what stands out in his story is the psychological and emotional toll, something he shares with incredible vulnerability and courage. He doesn’t hide from the darkness he’s faced. Instead, he invites you to walk through it with him, step by step.

His story had a profound effect on me, not just as a reader, but as someone who used to stand on the opposite side of empathy.

There was a time in my life when I used 7/7 as fuel for my own anti-Muslim hatred. I would bring it up to justify my views, to validate my anger, and to push a narrative of division and fear. The pain and trauma of those affected by the bombings didn’t cross my mind. I didn’t consider the survivors. I didn’t think about the families who lost loved ones or the long shadow that day cast over their lives.

I was so consumed by my own hatred that I dehumanised others to the point where their suffering became a tool for my agenda.

That all began to change when I left that world behind and, eventually, I met Dan and his wife Gem whilst working with Local screenwriter John Hales.

Meeting Dan was like holding up a mirror to everything I had ignored. Here was a man who had every reason to be filled with hatred himself, yet what I found was someone who had chosen a different path. Someone who, despite being a direct victim of Islamist terrorism, didn’t let it consume him with bitterness or vengeance. His strength, humility, and willingness to share his story shook me. For the first time, I saw 7/7 not as a symbol of ‘us vs them’, but as a very real, very personal human tragedy.

I think Back from the Dead isn’t just a memoir of survival. It’s a call to reflection. It’s a reminder of how easy it is to get caught up in hatred and forget the individuals behind the headlines. It’s about grief, trauma, and healing – but also about the choices we make in the aftermath of pain.

Dan’s story made me confront the reality that for years, I had been exploiting other people’s trauma without any thought for the cost. It forced me to take responsibility and to feel genuine remorse.

Since 2017, I’ve made it my mission to educate others about where that kind of hatred comes from, and how easy it is to be swept up in it if you’re not careful. Part of that work has involved encouraging people to see past the stereotypes, to understand the root causes, and most importantly, to listen – really listen – to those who have lived through the worst of it.

Dan’s voice deserves to be heard, not just because of what he endured, but because of the light he continues to shine in the darkness.

If you want to understand what happened on 7/7 beyond the headlines, if you want to understand what real strength and humanity look like, read this book (link below). It might not only change how you see that day – it might change how you see yourself.

@Newdaystarts

Click link for Back from the Dead – The Untold Story of the 7/7 Bombings https://amzn.eu/d/bNcMiMJ

When we talk about radicalisation in the UK, certain names come to the fore, Anjem Choudary being one of the most notorious. For years, he played a pivotal role in preaching a hard-line, politicised interpretation of Islam, pushing vulnerable minds towards extremist ideologies. Most public conversations rightfully focus on the impact he had on young Muslims who were drawn into his orbit, some of whom later travelled to Syria or committed acts of terror at home. However, what often gets overlooked is the collateral damage: the people outside of the Muslim community who were affected by the echo of his words, the radicalised ideology he spread, and the wider societal ripple effects. That includes people like me a non Muslim.

It’s easy to frame radicalisation solely in terms of what it does to Muslim youth. That narrative is clear-cut, and the dangers are visible. But the deeper, more insidious legacy of someone like Anjem Choudary is how his ideology, and the widespread attention it received, began to shape how people outside those communities perceived Islam. Worse still, it altered how some of us engaged with it, turning curiosity into obsession, understanding into distortion.

For people like myself, Choudary’s interpretation of Islam became the gateway. We didn’t grow up Muslim. We didn’t learn the faith through family or community. Instead, we encountered it through headlines, documentaries, and online forums. And often, the figure standing centre stage was Choudary, preaching a warped version of Islam, heavy with political grievance, historical revisionism, and calls to a confrontational form of jihad. He became the lens through which we viewed the religion. And that lens was cracked, dark, and ultimately dangerous.

It’s a strange thing to admit: being radicalised by watching someone you inherently oppose. But that’s exactly what happened to many. Watching Anjem Choudary wasn’t just a passive experience. For some of us, it sparked a deep, often obsessive, need to understand “what makes these people tick.” We read the same sources, studied the same texts, dived into theological and political history. We learned his talking points, watched his debates, and began to shape our worldview in opposition to him. But in doing so, we unknowingly adopted many of the same premises.

It was a form of radicalisation by proxy. His black-and-white worldview infected ours. The idea that Islam was fundamentally political, that it sought to dominate, that Muslims could not coexist peacefully in secular society, these weren’t just Choudary’s claims. They became our assumptions. In a twisted irony, we mirrored his rhetoric while claiming to fight against it.

What made Choudary so dangerous wasn’t just the content of his message, it was the framing. He didn’t preach Islam as a spiritual faith but as a total political system. Every verse had a law, every hadith a policy prescription. There was no separation of mosque and state, no room for plurality or cultural nuance. It was Islam stripped of mysticism, stripped of diversity, stripped of humanity. What remained was a rigid, aggressive ideology rooted in conquest and division.

And this was the version that gained traction in media coverage, internet forums, and among people like me. For years, when we thought of Islam, we didn’t think of prayer, compassion, or community. We thought of ideology. We thought of political manifestos masquerading as scripture. We thought of Choudary.

That mindset does lasting damage. It shuts down the ability to truly understand the religion on its own terms. It breeds mistrust, fuels hate, and polarises communities. It pushes people to see Muslims not as neighbours or fellow citizens, but as foot soldiers in some imagined war. And it gives rise to reactionary movements, conspiracy theories, and deep social divides.

Choudary may not have wielded weapons, but he armed minds and not just within his intended audience. He radicalised two generations of Muslims, yes. But he also played a role in radicalising generations of non-Muslims, including angry white men with no faith background, who absorbed his message and responded with fear, hostility, and sometimes violence. His rhetoric didn’t just stay within the walls of mosques or on obscure Islamic websites. It bled into the wider culture, shaping how entire communities saw each other.

This is the part that rarely gets discussed. We talk about “Islamophobia” or far-right extremism as if they sprang from nowhere. But for many of us, our journey into suspicion, hostility, or counter-radical ideologies began with watching people like Choudary. He was the first introduction to Islam for many, and what an introduction it was: provocative, angry, divisive. His aim was to create conflict, and in that, he succeeded beyond measure.

In the years since Choudary’s peak influence, the UK has done much to curb the spread of radical content. He has been imprisoned, his network dismantled, and his followers monitored. But the damage is already done. The ideological seeds he planted have taken root, not just in Muslim minds but across entire segments of British society.

For those of us who followed his every word out of morbid curiosity or a desire to understand the threat, we now have to confront what we became. We have to acknowledge that we too were drawn into his world—not as followers, but as unwilling participants in a culture war he helped ignite. And we have to ask: what now?

Moving forward means rejecting the simplistic binaries that Choudary and others thrived on. It means recognising that Islam is not a monolith, and that the loudest voices are not the most authentic. It means seeking out real Muslim voices, spiritual, intellectual, cultural, and listening with humility. It also means understanding our own radicalisation, however indirect or unintended it may have been.

The fight against extremism isn’t just about deradicalising Muslims. It’s about deradicalising society. It’s about healing the fractures created by men like Anjem Choudary. And that healing starts with honesty, about what we believed, why we believed it, and how we can unlearn it.

Because the truth is, many of us are victims too. Not in the traditional sense, not in ways that warrant sympathy or headlines. But victims nonetheless—of a narrative war we didn’t know we were part of. A war that left us suspicious, angry, and far from the truth,

Let’s not forget the full scope of the damage. Let’s not forget the silent victims. Let’s not forget ourselves.

@Newdaystarts

Anjem Choudary, the leader of the banned group al-Muhajiroun, has been jailed for life and may never leave prison alive.
Anjem Choudary: Radical preacher jailed for life – BBC News