London attacks: Remembering 7 July 2005

From the archives...

Today 7 July 2006 is the first anniversary of the devastating terrorist attack on London that pointlessly claimed 52 innocent lives. As on that bright summer morning a year ago, millions of Londoners boarded their trains and buses exactly as they did on that fateful day that changed so much; and yet so little.

The memories are still vivid. That Thursday morning was like any other. My morning commute from Queens Park to Marylebone first hinted that things were amiss with the flickering of the carriage lights. Held at the platform for several minutes, the train driver mumbled usual apologies that Londoners so grudgingly accept. This selfish intent could not have imagined the horror unfolding two stops down the line and further into the city.

Exiting Marylebone station there was no sign of what would soon take hold of our attention and emotions for the days and weeks to follow. In the office loose conversations made light of a problem with the underground.

A "power surge" had caused an explosion disabling parts of the network. Totally plausible, managers accepted that staff would be coming in late by the calls from those stranded on the underground network. In some parts of the city, some would never make work again.

A typical news junkie, my first port of call was the Sky News website. The news has to be right? The office became animated with an unusually high number of mobile phones springing to life. Working in relative silence, I could not help but notice. My own mobile rang. For some reason I had not turned the phone to silent mode as per usual. The call was from my mother in Botswana.

A concerned voice asked if I had heard the news about the bomb blast in London. "Don’t be ridiculous!” was my first reaction. “It was only a power surge on the underground." I should have known better. Listen to your mother.

A disjointed conversation made realisation that my youngest sister works in Holborn, a block from the site of the bomb blast that ripped through the number 30 bus. One can imagine the fear of a parent at such a time, and thousands of miles away. I reacted like any mature adult. I panicked.

With the mobile phone networks overloaded, and switched off in areas for security reasons, repeated calls from both landline and mobile phone proved fruitless. It was frustrating and scary. All in the office were doing the same. We all had someone to worry about, or someone to let know that we ourselves were all right. I managed to contact my sister. I felt like I had won the lottery.

The extent of the atrocity slowly became clearer. Groups were huddled in front of computers searching the news in disbelief. Animation was replaced by solemnity. Was this really happening? Sadly, we all knew it would. Nothing can however describe the feeling that this was real. Flashbacks of September 11 were common. All can remember exactly where they were on that day.

The mood changed. There was genuine concern. One could feel it and see it on people’s faces. We had to account for everyone as a matter of urgency. Hastily drawn up lists provided a sense of relief as each member of the team was accounted for. A place of business had turned into a place of refuge. This day the individual mattered, not the corporation.

The streets of London in the aftermath were eerie. Bar the wailing of sirens, a normally bustling city was dead quiet. My office block is directly opposite Marylebone Station, a couple of hundred yards from the site of the second bomb blast at Edgware Road. By police instruction Marylebone Station and the surrounding streets were closed off.

Confined to the third floor we viewed proceedings on the street below. The obvious lack of movement was unsettling, made even worse by several ambulances perched on the street corners like vultures. It made one feel ill.

This attack on the innocent is cruel and pointless.

One year later the resolve against terror is greater than ever; yet fear is still a very tangible part of daily life. Iraq, Afghanistan and Palestine still remain quagmires of divisiveness and death; their stability remaining a far-fetched ideal in many eyes.

Questions still remain. How is it that four men, born, raised and educated in Britain could turn on their own so ruthlessly? What motivates such drastic action in a country where social and political representation, and discussion, is within the reach of every individual?

Is the Nirvana that these suicide bombers seek the fuelling of growing division between nations, people and religion?

Communities, religions and governments all have to take a long look inwards, stop pointing fingers and start asking the right questions.

People died at the hands of extremists, in the name of causes these perpetrators have only further marginalised. Terrorists resort to killing the innocent without prejudice because of their self-imposed ignorance, intolerance and depravity. They worship ideals that are intellectually and morally without substance.

Terrorism creates doubt, spreads hatred and mistrust, and ultimately aims to divide. In London, and elsewhere, it will not achieve that final goal.

The IRA held London to ransom, and failed; as did Hitler’s Luftwaffe and V1 rockets in an attempt to break London’s spirit. This new breed of inhumanity is also going to fail.

This year, on July 7, Londoners use the underground as a matter of principal. They are not cowed by an extremism that uses death and destruction to prostitute warped ideals on a free world.

Today I join many who purposefully exit the underground at Edgware Road and King’s Cross, remembering those who were denied the right to do so and continue their lives as normal one year ago.

At noon we gather outside, reclaiming the streets where ambulances once waited, in the knowledge that this is our city and that it is in the greatest adversity that human spirit will always prevail.

Published EP Herald and reporter.co.za