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***************
There are lots of lessons here for us all, and perhaps much importantly
for our sons or little brothers and OUR relationships with them.

Poor man, he just tried so hard to belong, and look at where it led him.

I hope we all learn something from it.
Regards
Manneh
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     CHANNEL 4 NEWS
     SPECIAL REPORTS
     At school with Reid

     Broadcast: February 28, 2002

     Reporter: Keme Nzerem













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            Links:

            The Guardian

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      Channel 4 News producer Keme Nzerem took a while to realise that the
alleged "shoe bomber" Richard Reid  was the same Richard Reid he went to
school with in South London.

      He investigates how the feisty  teenager he knew grew up to become an
alleged international terrorist:

      When, on Saturday December 22, a lone vigilante allegedly tried to
down a flight from Paris to Miami by detonating explosives stuffed in his
trainers, it seemed like just another twist in the new world order.  Like
many journalists, since September 11, I had become inured to the previously
unthinkable.

      Come Sunday, I was at work, trying to find an "expert'' who might help
us unravel the shoe bomber's identity.  Was he Sri Lankan Tamil Tariq Raja?
French dissident Abdel Rahim? Or possibly Richard Reid from south London?

      It was then that I thought, what a coincidence - I had been to school
with a Richard Reid. As the first pictures appeared - a sinister figure
huddled in the back of a car - somewhere Richard's battered face registered
as familiar, but it was a fleeting glimpse and I thought little of it.

      The following day I bumped into an old school friend. "You've heard
about Richard Reid?" he said matter-of-factly, as if Richard had a new job,
or girlfriend, or moved house. "He's the shoe bomber".

      I remembered the pictures of the day before, the shoe bomber scowling
at the camera, clearly in discomfort, his eye puffed, his nose swollen.

      And I was then sure that this was the same Richard Reid I had been at
school with. We were never close, but I remembered him clearly. His
mannerisms, his lanky gait, his feisty attitude. He was someone everybody
knew, but he was never one of the crowd.

      The Richard I remembered was a typical south London teenager. But as I
read the first reports and digested the speculation, it became harder to
separate the lexicon of the assumed al-Qaida terrorist - the loner, the
weirdo, the outsider - from the gangly teenager I remembered from school.

      My first thought was of Richard mugging two of my friends on a train
when he was 17. He was clearly as terrified of the ringleader of the gang as
my friends were - he turned and mouthed "sorry'' as they fled up the
platform.  I imagined a gullible young man, confused, desperate to belong,
and out of control.

      Richard's father, Robin - mixed race, working class - was in jail for
burglary when Richard was born on August 12 1973.  His mother, Lesley -
white, daughter of an accountant and magistrate - began divorce proceedings
within weeks.

      Robin rarely saw his son, leaving him to be brought up by his mother
and her new partner. A mixed race kid in a white family.  According to
Richard's closest friend at school, that was the genesis of his problems. He
was trying to sort out where he was from -  his roots.

      It is now too late for Robin to be the father and mentor Richard never
had. His mind addled by years of alcohol abuse, he does not recall dates,
only vaguely remembers places. I asked him what Richard was like before I
knew him. "Just like any other six-year-old. Inquisitive," he replies.

      Robin is engaged, animated. His words sluice out, in the wrong order,
but full of emotion. He impersonates Richard. "'Who's that? Are you my
daddy?' It's heart rending, man. 'Yes son, I'm your daddy.' 'Where you
been?' How can I answer that? I couldn't, I just cracked up."

      At Secondary School Richard's confusion deepened. Thomas Tallis is a
good school, but has its share of difficult kids.  Richard - uninterested in
work - was made to report to Jane Green, a senior teacher, at the end of
each day.

      "He was sent to me by someone who despaired of him ever doing
anything," she says. "He was never that organised at school. He never had
anything. No pen, no paper, no books. Just a passenger."

      Thomas Tallis lies between Eltham - largely white in 1989 and the kind
of place black kids did not feel comfortable - and Lewisham - which is more
mixed race.

      The school bred sharp young guys with attitude. The racial politics of
the playground changed with each year's intake and in our year, if you were
black, you were meant to be "part of the club".

      Like many adolescents Richard was not sure what being black meant.
That was not the problem - the problem was Richard was not good at being
good - but he did not know how to be "bad" either.

      "He seemed to identify with the other black boys," Jane recalls. "But
they didn't seem accepting of him. He always walked behind - bringing up the
rear. I don't think he had attitude. He didn't have the edge. He just didn't
belong."

      It is clearly not easy for Jane to talk about Richard. I am not sure
how much of the hesitance in her voice is sadness, or if talking about
Richard's problems simply feels like a betrayal of his trust.

      She is quick to dispel the myth that Richard was a lunatic waiting to
be explode. "He was never rude, or disruptive, or aggressive. And always
polite. He had a sense of humour. Although he was quiet, you could get him
to laugh. I felt he needed more of that really."

      Richard's ordinariness is a common theme. Colin Yardley, our head
teacher, describes him as "unmemorable". But by the time that Richard's
teachers knew his school career was to amount to nothing, he had a life
outside school, away from the ignominy and isolation.

      A generation of south Londoners grew up admiring the handiwork of
taggers - graffiti artists - who scoured the city looking for walls and
windows to make their mark.

      Richard named himself Enrol. I went to Brockley to meet Marcus Graham,
Richard's best friend. He wants to show me an "Enrol" that has survived 10
years.

      Marcus peers carefully at the wall - but it has been sandblasted by
the council graffiti team - leaving just the faintest trace of ink on brick.

      It feels tragic, like watching Marcus and Richard's friendship fading
away. We drive to Deptford and stop at a rusty brown gate. He gazes at a
tangle of white spray paint, traces the flow with his eyes - I get the
impression he has not been back to see it for a while. I can just make out
the letters: "Enrol''.

      Back at my house Marcus talks of happier times, when Richard was not
just a memory on a wall. But it is hard for him to reconcile Richard Reid,
his friend, with Richard Reid the shoe bomber.

      "I can't believe that somebody I knew, who'd eat rice and peas and
chicken with me, would go that far. From listening to rap music and
everything together, that he would go that far.''

      As they grew up the pair dabbled in the usual teen vices - smoking
weed, checking girls, tagging buses and trains.

      But once Richard left school, his mother moved to the west country
with her partner and Richard's younger brother. Living in a hostel off
Lewisham Way with no money, Richard was easy prey for local rude boys.

      "Certain gangs around the area would hold him at knifepoint, tell him
to do this robbery. He had this hard man image he wanted to portray. But he
was soft on the inside. He was quick to follow the crowd, if it would give
him status. He was overwhelmed. It was that which caused his downfall.''
Marcus chooses his words nervously - clearly anxious they absolve Richard -
but blame no-one in particular.

      Crime soon turned from hobby to occupation. In spring 1992 Richard and
Marcus were returning to Richard's hostel when the police pulled up in an
undercover car. Richard knew they were after him. He had graduated from
shoplifting to mugging, but he was lazy, and did not bother to cover his
tracks.

      He had left a stolen handbag in a bin outside his hostel. Richard was
convicted of four robberies. He admitted another 24 robberies, 22 thefts and
one attempted theft and was given a   five-year sentence.

      According to Marcus, Richard only had one thing to look up to inside -
God. The Imam, Abdulghani Qureshi, says for black prisoners in a notoriously
racist institution, the mosque offered "escape in many ways - spiritual and
practical. There's no authority there, there's a friendly figure sitting and
talking to them, telling you to do something constructive."

      Inspired in part by his father's brief dalliance with Islam, Richard
began to attend prayer meetings. But his conversion did not deliver
immediate dividends.

      In September 1994 he assaulted another inmate in Brixton prison and
had his sentence extended by 28 days. But by 1995, when he had been
transferred to Blundeston, fellow prisoners noted Richard carried himself
with an unusual calmness and peace.

      Richard struck up a close friendship with Neil Smith, an inmate on his
wing. "Blundeston was an intense place with violent incidents taking place
almost every day. So much so that you had to be 'firmed up' to survive in
the place, especially if you were a youngster, as Richie was, but he wasn't
into that 'gangster' lifestyle."

      A shrewd operator, Richard used his job in the kitchens to figure out
who he needed to know to get by. "He wasn't a hothead. Even though he was
one of the youngest people on his spur, he was really calm, and avoided all
the trouble that was always kicking off.

      "He was a smart kid - I can understand why some people haven't seen
that - because he thought before he spoke, didn't just start running off his
mouth regardless."

      Richard's interest in Islam deepened. Neil says he never touched
drugs, and gave up smoking. He began to corral his intelligence to challenge
the world around him.

      The privations of prison life focused his attention on the world
outside. It is clear Neil has very fond memories of Richard. In their prison
environment where knowledge was restricted, intellectual companionship was
sacrosanct.

      "He was a questioner and a listener. He wanted 'to know'. We talked
about stuff that no-one else would; Richard talked about Africa, and places
no-one knew about. Libya, the Congo - 'no go areas'.

      "He wanted to know why governments do what they do. I remember him
talking about Saddam once, about how he reckoned he'd been set up by the
West and then let down when he wouldn't toe the line.

      "We talked about the Iran-Iraq war. He was taken by the time a million
Iranian women and kids went into war - it was suicide basically - armed with
nothing. He asked me 'what must you go through to get there? Where life
doesn't matter any more?'"

      There is a lull in the conversation around us. Neil trails off, looks
oddly surprised by what he has just said, as if answering an open question
in his own head.

      Richard left Brixton prison in 1996 and like many ex-offenders found
his way to Brixton mosque, looking for spiritual guidance and practical help
with employment.

      Chairman of the mosque, Abdul-Haqq Baker felt Richard was an
enthusiastic young man happy with his identity. "He seemed at ease, relaxed.
He was a consistent, committed individual. A nice individual to be around."

      Richard was an avid student. The mosque leaders invited him to travel
with them - to Luton, Birmingham, other mosques in London - attending
lectures and religious seminars. "He was exuberant in his pursuit of knowled
ge", says Baker.

      Salafi Islam provided Richard with the guidance he had never had. He
was "revived, answering a lot of the questions he had before he had become a
Muslim."

      Back in Brockley, Richard's religion was greeted with ambivalence. It
meant old friendships would never be the same.

      "He was wearing a robe and I thought, that's different," says Marcus.
"He'd found his path with God and I was happy for him. It was a guarantee he
wouldn't get in trouble with the police - he was on the straight and
narrow."

      Others were more cautious, warning him to be careful, to "not go into
it blind". Baker began to worry Richard's enthusiasm was "being redirected
somewhat".  He became quarrelsome with colleagues and had heated arguments
over what he saw as Brixton's passive stance on the oppression of Muslims
around the world. He started wearing military mufti with his shalwar-kameez.

      Baker says Richard began to find inspiration from extreme elements at
other mosques - Finsbury Park in particular - who would draw manipulate the
liberal teachings of Brixton to lend credence to violent interpretations of
jihad.  "He wanted to act now, as opposed to just sitting and learning,
which he saw as just futile".

      Richard saw what happened to the outspoken Zacarias Moussaoui, who was
asked not to return to Brixton. But unlike Moussaoui, in the presence of
Baker and the mosque committee, Richard remained respectful.

      In 1998, Baker tried to warn Richard that his new path would end in
trouble, but thought - like many over-zealous young converts - that Richard
would come back.

      "He hung his head, he had a soft smile. Not in disrespect. He was
embarrassed. He didn't have much to say. He put his shoes on and went out
slowly.'' Richard never returned.

      Marcus too noticed Richard becoming a firebrand, his conversation
peppered with talk of America being the "belly of the beast''. Marcus went
to see him in at a hostel in Catford - an austere room with just a bed, a
table, and the Koran. "That was his life - nothing else."

      Marcus pressed Richard on why he had become so devout. "I was trying
to bend him back. He didn't take too nice to me about it. He said he was
going to Mecca. Said he was going to go travelling. I never heard from him
again. The only thing he left me was a Koran.''

      Robin received two letters from Iran and Iraq, which he says were
"straight from the heart''.  Richard told his father he had "settled down",
had achieved "inner peace". Peace for Richard spelt relief for Robin. But
Richard crashed back into his life during Christmas 2001.

      Robin was walking to his house in Streatham when reporters dashed up
and harried him with talk of plastic explosives, Islamic terrorists, Richard
Reid, "the shoe bomber''.

      Later, when I ask him if he knows why Richard allegedly did it, his
answer is certain. "It's a shout for help. I know my son is determined
enough to do it if he wanted to. All he had to do was go to the toilet, sit
in there and then boom! Why do it in front of passengers if it's not a cry
for help?"

      I ask Robin if he blames himself. "Of course I feel responsible. I
couldn't give him the love he wanted. I wasn't there - I know I wasn't - but
I could have been."

      I am disarmed by his honesty, I thought he would fudge it, blame
society, blame his mother, blame the mosque. "A part of me said 'he can deal
with it. Take care of himself'." Another pause, as he sifts emotions. "Nah.
That's not the outcome mate. That's not good enough. If I thought killing
myself would appease people, I would. To say "leave my son alone". But I
know it won't do no good."

      But then Robin's guilt is an absentee parent's prerogative. By his own
admission he has no right to feel betrayed. For Richard's friends - not
down-weighed by regret - it is easier to understand the choices Richard made
of his own volition, neater to blame and forget.

      At first Marcus is thrown when I ask him if he feels Richard let him
down. Richard, the victim, bullied and left to fend for himself on the
streets of South London. But he thinks about it for a while. "He's not the
same man I used to know. It's hard to say you'd disown a friend - but then
you have to think about terrorism. 'Cos it could have been someone I knew on
that plane."

      Richard Reid has pleaded innocent to nine charges related to trying to
blow up American Airlines flight 63 to Miami on Saturday December 22 2001.
The court case is expected to start this autumn.

      Some names have been changed. An edited-version of this articles
appeared in the Guardian.

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