Bus Stories 6: Suspicion of Terror

-Ride on the 168 Bus through London, August 2005-.

(UK) I was on the 168 bus in London that morning and was pleased to have managed to get my favourite seat at the front of the double-decker bus. On the way to the shops, I used to enjoy watching London’s houses go by and pondering my thoughts. Sitting so relaxed and lost in thought on public transport, and even going shopping in the city centre, was no longer a matter of course in London since 7 July 2005.

On that day, exactly four weeks ago, a series of four coordinated suicide attacks were carried out by Islamist terrorists in London. The attacks, triggered by mobile phones, had targeted commuters travelling by public transport during the morning rush hour. Three underground trains and a double-decker bus had been targeted in the terrorist attack, which killed 70 people besides the terrorists and injured more than 700.

After this attack, the thoughtless use of public transport was suddenly no longer possible.

We Londoners reluctantly but stoically resumed our routines and travelled to work by bus and train. But now we considered carefully which carriage to board. It should not be too crowded so one could better keep an eye on the passengers. The risk potential had to be assessed. Bearded men with backpacks certainly put you on alert. But not every beard was equally suspicious. Moustaches, three-day stubble beards, goatees or trimmed beards were nowhere near as alarming as the primal and curly full beards worn by many devout Muslims. Nevertheless, one could hardly escape this hysteria and eyed the people on public transport suspiciously before boarding the bus or train.

But what was the point if you had carefully considered the risk potential of the carriage or bus when boarding, and then at the next station, a bearded backpack carrier got on and took a seat next to you? Not aware of the shockwaves and panic attacks he would trigger.

And that’s precisely what happened to me in my favourite seat on the 168 bus.

With the 168 Bus through Camden, London

So I was driving through Camden, lost in thought, when someone sat down next to me, someone from the at-risk group: dark full beard, dark complexion and large backpack.

I was immediately tense to the core. Should I move away? How could I slip away inconspicuously? Nervously, I planned my rescue.

But it seemed too late because my neighbour took his mobile phone out of his pocket and fiddled with it.

So that was it! In a moment, he would press the trigger, and the bomb in the backpack would explode!

I could only close my eyes, say goodbye to my life and my loved ones and wait for the bang, which would be the last thing I heard.

But instead of the bang, I heard the dark voice of my seat neighbour blaring quickly, harshly and angrily into the phone.

Because I couldn’t let go of my terror hysteria so quickly, even this unfriendly phone call made me panic. After all, an acutely angry terrorist is even more dangerous than a more relaxed suicide bomber!?

But wait a minute! I know and understand this language! It’s Spanish!

Of course, I listened to the conversation, understood, relaxed and felt ashamed at the same time.

On the other end of the line was the wife of my terror suspect. She had forgotten some ingredients for the dinner invitation that evening and wanted her husband to come home early from work and get the ingredients on the way.

For his part, the husband found this an imposition, for whatever reason, and resisted this request tooth and nail.

Actually, this incident was hilarious. But what had become of me? I had suspected so many innocent people in the last few weeks because they were bearded, dark-skinned and wore backpacks. With the fear, crude prejudices had crept into my mind. A frightening realisation!

(LL.)