Reflecting On The Manchester Airport Assault

Yesterday, I came across a 14 minute clip of the press conference by the Amaaz family, presented by their lawyer.

It had been a while I’d thought about this case. I remember sitting in India, when I first came across the news report. I remember scrolling the internet and seeing the words ‘Manchester Airport’ popping up everywhere. My city? I wondered uneasily. What happened there?

I knew something had gone horribly wrong, but no amount of preparation could have prepared me for the video. The young man lying on the ground, his head against the floor. The aunty in her salwar, her slippers strewn as she knelt besides him, desperately trying to pull him away. The police officer, standing tall. I remember clenching my eyes tight after the young man lying on the floor got the first kick to the face, unable to watch anymore. But the video continued, and my eyes were not clenched tight enough. I watched in horror as the boot of that police officer slammed in to the head of this young man, stamping his head intot the cold hard floor.

I sat there dazed for a bit that day.

I had no clue what the young mans name was, no clue of his ethnicity or what had caused the police to come after him that day.

All I knew was, that should have never happened. Nothing justified it.

But then a few days later, the Southport killings happened. And along with it, the UK turned upside down (a post for another day).

So it had been a while since I’d thought about that young man.

Until today.

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The real story

In this 14 minute clip, I learnt the young mans name, his ethnicity and what had led to the days events. About his mother's painful journey from Doha to the UK, sitting on a plane subjected to a tirade of racist abuse for the duration of the flight. About the unnecessary aggression and violence displayed by the police from the very beginning. About the injury the mother faced at the hands of the policemen too.

By the end of those 14 minutes, I sat there even more dazed than last time, tears running down my face.

Because this no longer was the story of just one young man and a policeman. And this definitely wasn’t the story of a ‘violent’ attacker that needed taking down, like we’d been told.

This was a story of a family — of a mother, her two sons and her 6 year old grandson.

A story of unchecked racism, a hurting lady and her outraged sons.

—

I sat there dazed, yet again. Inside me are a turmoil of emotions building up from my chest to my throat.

My mind starts relaying the incident again. But now, I see myself standing in the arrivals lounge, eagerly waiting for my mum. I see my mother walking through the arrival doors, her shoulders slumped, her eyes sad. l feel my heart clench, as she tells us about the hours of racial abuse she faced on her trip back from Doha. I feel my breath quicken, my fists tighten as she tells us of how alone she felt, of how there was no support from the cabin crew.

I see my own father, my brother heading to confront the man, fuelled by the feelings of pain and powerlessness. Nothing hurts more than watching the person you love the most hurt so bad.

I see my own brother, my husband, my father going to pay for parking and being grabbed from the back like that. I see their faces being kicked and stamped on.

It hits too close. Too close to my reality — to the reality of my loved ones.

Justifying a crime

I want to take a second just to clarify here, I’m not trying to justify the young men confronting the racist man in the airport. Little information has been provided about this confrontation. All we know is that an altercation took place. Just like the young men themselves said, if they need to be held accountable, they should. But still, nothing justifies the actions of that policeman that day. A man lying defenceless, his head pressed to the floor, is not a threat. There was no ‘split second decisions about safety’ that had to be made there.

The misinformation, the justification, the lack of transparency from the police and people in power is what fuels my emotions about this case. It’s one thing for this to happen, it’s another to try to justify it.

—

I wondered why I so wanted to write about this today. There is an urgency in me to post this, to share this with you all.

I think its because it hits too close to home. I keep seeing the faces of the people I love in the faces of this family. And I worry how easily this case can be forgotten. In a world of war and terror, it’s easy to forget the injustices that happen every day.

I want to write so I don’t forget. So we don’t forget.

I want to write so we raise our voices to ensure this family get their justice. And make sure something like this never happens again.

Thank you for reaching till the end of this reflection.

I hope we get to meet each other in that post. Until then, if you have any thoughts about what you’ve just read let me know (in the comments or any other way). I’d love to start a conversation!

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Until next time,

Thasneema 🌻