Back Towards The Locus

In December 2001, Mahmoud Abu Rideh, a Palestinian-born British resident with a British wife and six British children, was arrested, and imprisoned in Belmarsh. His eldest daughter, Ala’a, describes the arrest…

It was the second day of Eid when they came and arrested my Dad. We were all sleeping. It was a bout 5 am, then we heard a big crash, then all we see is lots of police coming inside our bedroom, then all I see is my mother crying and telling us to get up and wear some clothes because we are going to leave the house. We all got ready than after we got ready we went downstairs and we saw policemen in our house sitting and smoking. They took us to a hotel to search the house.

We didn’t even know where our Dad was, all we could do is just wait and wait and wait till one of the police came and took us back home at the night time.

When we got to the house it was very messy and very untidy. We kept waiting for our Dad.

Under the Anti-Terrorism, Crime and Security Act, Abu Rideh could be held indefinitely, and all grounds for suspicion withheld. Thus, he endured three maddening years, with only infrequent, miserable visits from his family. His wife, Dina al-Jnidi, explains…

The visit was a closed visit, which means that neither I nor my children could touch him. The children were unable to hug or hold their father. Even shaking his hand was not allowed. On many occasions after travelling long distances in difficult circumstances we were sent away without being allowed to see him.

Eventually, with his mental condition in bits, he was transferred to Broadmoor. There, he was allegedly “attacked by staff, nurses and other prisoners” and “began to self-harm. He drank detergents, he used pens to dig deep into his arms“.

In 2005, he was released under a control order. His wife describes the conditions…

We were pleased to have him back home, but did not know the full extent of the conditions that would be placed on him. I did not know what a control order was. He had to wear an electronic tag around his ankle. He had to report in several times a day (including the middle of the night) using special equipment that had been placed in our home. We were not allowed to have a digital camera in the home, nor other basic items such as USB sticks, memory cards or MP3 players. Our children were not allowed to use the internet or have a computer. We were not allowed visitors unless they had been cleared by the Home Office after a rigorous vetting procedure. Many would not even call for fear of being harassed by the police or worse.

My husband was a wreck, a shattered man. He could not sleep, he would sweat and shake, he would have nightmares and flashbacks. It was almost impossible to deal with him. He was ill and had complex psychological needs — I am not a trained nurse and he required specialist help. One week later he attempted suicide by taking an overdose of his depression and anti-psychotic medications. I found him on the floor unconscious, in a pool of vomit foam coming from his mouth. He was taken to the hospital and remained unconscious for three days.

Faced with a life of disruptions, deprivation and misery, Abu Rideh’s family travelled to Jordan. Only now, after seven years of torment and imprisonment, is he free to live with them, peacefully.

After all these years of senseless agony and disorientation – that of his wife and children, as well as his own – there’s bewilderment. Why did they arrest him? What gave them the right to keep him?

Andy Worthington puts it superbly…

…everyone who believes that no one should be imprisoned or otherwise deprived of their liberty on the basis of secret evidence – and, essentially, on the whim of government ministers who have turned the clock back to 1214 — must continue to insist that the control order regime is brought to an end, and that the use of secret evidence has no place in a country that claims to uphold civilized values.