Armed Police escort as Hussain family forced out of Bradford

I’ve been quite reticent recently concerning my family situation, yet as news emerges daily of Christian persecution, murder and coercion from their homes and countries; drawing parallels between anti-Christian treatment in Muslim hubs across England and Muslim countries is very apt.
In spite of the immediacy need to leave our home in Bradford, directly after Dad’s attack on 17 November 2015, this wasn’t possible on account of the fact my sister needed to finalise her A-Levels.
It wasn’t until October 2016 that armed guards swarmed our home randomly on a quiet autumry afternoon. It was surreal – men armed with guns, conversing into their hand-held devices as they descended upon the front and back of our property. Once my Dad’s identity was verified, they began to debrief my parents to confirm their belief that they’d received credible death threats to our lives and emphatically stated we would have to move as they couldn’t guarantee our safety.
October 2016 went by in a flurry as we packed up as many of our belongings we could, whilst police protection stood to the front and back entrances to the property every time we loaded up a removal van to transfer our belongings. Should the known and unknown perpetrators realise our plans to move, the higher the likelihood of being attacked and given the attempt on my father’s life last year , nobody – not even the police were taking any chances.
Our final trip back to Bradford in November 2016 was caught on camera via ITV news. Although I am unaware how they came to be there, it was hardly suprising given the media interest in the documented persecution of my family since my childhood.
We have been living out of Bradford for the past 6 months now and remain unable to return to Bradford without the aid of armed police protection.

The Eve of Christmas 2015

Since Christmas essentially celebrates God’s gift to mankind, every day is Christmas to the believer, as they carry this precious gift every Monday-Sunday every week of the year. December 25th is not the technical date of the birth of Jesus Christ as many already know, we continue to be unaware of this exact date. Yet I see nothing wrong with the festivities that come with the Christmas period, however commercialised they are, so long as we remember that Jesus is the reason for the Season.
Christmas Day for me is a time of humble reflection and gratitude and this year has been a real wake-up call for me to truly count my blessings. I typically don’t invest in presents – I see nothing wrong with it – I just don’t need flashing lights, a bauble-draped fir tree and stories of Santa Claus to fill me with joy and excitement.
Last Christmas was a sombre period for me, away from my family for the first time in an alien, Muslim country, which gave me plenty of time to think about the suffering of the minority Christian sects throughout the Islamic world. I failed to recognise last year how privileged I was, to know the saving grace of Jesus and appreciate his birth (whatever the date) in a nation largely unaware of the hope Christ has given us.
My position this year couldn’t be further away from last Christmas. This year has truly been a test for my family, as indeed has the past 15 years. Yet we stand bold, unashamed survivors of the gospel, living proof of God’s grace and mercy on our lives. This year I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long while. My blessings outnumber any words I could possibly pen to paper. Fundamentally, as our fellow persecuted brethren bleed for Christ- particularly during this Christmas period where oppressed Christians are subjected to heightened attacks let us be grateful for the simple, yet powerfully beautiful of things. Whilst the world gets carried away in their eating and drinking, in their partying and materialism, remember to focus on Christ as the centre of our celebrations.
As our fellow believers are languishing in jail for lack of freedom of their beliefs, let us be thankful for the ability to openly proclaim God’s gift to us this season. As we sit in our Church services, let us remember those Churches in particularly Islamic nations, subjected to bombings and targeted assassinations. As we reach for our Bibles let us remember all those Christians who have had theirs confiscated from North Korea to Saudi Arabia, or those who have longed to touch the pages of Scripture yet the law of their lands forbid the very presence of a King James.
In essence, we remain so very blessed, so very privileged and so very free and during this joyous period where we get together with our families and friends, let’s remember not to forget this.
May God continue to bless you as He continues to bless and safe-guard the Hussain family and I’ll leave you with the following verse of Scripture that I find to be very encouraging and up-lifting:
Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them: because greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world  1 John 4:4
The birth of Christmas represents the coming of the Son of God as man, in order for man to become sons of God.
Happy Christmas!

Bradford Attack: 17/11/2015

I thought I had become too battle hardened, too desensitised to our situation. I thought I had mastered the art of pain. A lifetime of battling with the opposition governed by their hatred of us had generally rendered me unable to express my emotions, whenever asked to by my assigned child social worker back in the early 2000s. My sister’s phone call that Tuesday evening broke into that psyche, penetrating into my usual rigid state to absolutely devastate me; to evoke a rushing pain I had last experienced in the wake of my grandmother’s murder back in 2011.
The 17th November marked the fulfilment of every earlier threat by the same Muslim family, who had repeatedly asserted in the year and months up to the attack that they would get us girls, my mother and father ‘fucked by the Pakis’. Indeed one of those threats materialised. Casting my mind back at the sobbing girl huddled in the corner of her university library I would’ve told her that this attack had long been in the pipeline, by way of comfort I suppose – to counter the shock of the news. In that moment though, nothing would’ve provided me with a sense of security. How do you possibly articulate the despair and anguish that courses through you when the safety of the protector of your family can’t be guaranteed?
My 17 year old sister made the call. Before she alerted me she had spent the last hour watching re-runs of the attack on our cctv system before handing it over to the police. I heard the severity of the ordeal in spite of her downplaying of Dad’s condition for the sake of my sanity. I’m the worst person to convey tragedy on the phone. I become inconsolable and irrational. My mother was on the phone to her own mother back in Pakistan one fatal day in Feburary 2011 and heard the gunshots that eventually took her life. I’d prefer to see heartbreak than hear it through the phone. My sister’s phone call was well rehearsed but even she had failed to prepare for a messy conversation in which my screaming of ‘is he alive?’ became the constant; culminating in her giving up her brave front. Weary and subdued she assured me Dad had been in a fit enough state for his 7 year old son to stand by his side, stroking his hair for a full 20 minutes before the ambulance arrived. The trauma in her voice was evident and I couldn’t believe that it had finally come to this despite the previous threats forewarning an attack.
Not content with my sister’s assurances I continually bombarded my father’s phone until he finally picked up. We both knew he was in no state to receive a manic phone call from a panic-stricken daughter but we also know I have a very persistent nature. Sensing my urgent need to hear his voice he picked up his phone and after listening to my sobs for a few seconds, proceeded to lecture me on my inability to control myself – before conveying to me in a very matter-of-fact tone the extent of his injuries. His left knee-cap had been split into two in addition to a fractured left hand and severe concussion. He was to be pumped with anaesthesia before his surgery so the phone abruptly clicked off. My head was reeling with amazement at this father of mine – too tough for his own good sometimes – and who had felt the need to dismiss the pain he was clearly in, in order to lull me into a sense of security. Typical Dad. The man could be bleeding to death on the floor yet still find the time to assure his children of his well-being -even crack a joke -the very characteristic that brought a smile to my face in an otherwise overwhelming time of uncertainty. As you can imagine it’s impossible to express the extent to which my father is loved, admired and respected by us. Which leads me to something: I don’t like to be called brave. I have always maintained that my parents’ example of resilience and deep faith, their refusal to back down despite the cost, has created no place for fear in our household. I’m not the brave one. You lead by example and the example of Nissar and Kubra is all I’ve ever known. They never, ever flap.
It was my mother who advised me not to return home the same night, as she sensed my shock subside into anger. The orchestrators of the attack live two doors away from us and she demanded I calm down and return after doing so. Realising I wouldn’t be able to see Dad for another 36 hours anyway I relented. Anger eventually subsided into scorn upon every news update regarding the attack. How very convenient for the police to not only register our case as a ‘hate crime’ but now a ‘religious hate crime’. Interesting that prior to the Daily Mail article which pressurised the police to regard the situation seriously, the 8 year struggle had been dismissed as ‘neighbourly issues’. Naz Shah’s appearance on ITV Calendar News was particularly interesting. Our apparent MP came onto the scene to condemn the abhorrent act of heinous violence. I haven’t actually bothered to recall her exact words, am merely paraphrasing the usual politically correct drivel that is uttered from the mouths of so-called authority. Authority that has otherwise and consistently dismissed and denied the facts of our plight. We have been subjected to terrorism and had that been accepted and acted upon, it would have unequivocally prevented the hospitalisation of a 50 year old man.
However, as has been demonstrated in the case of Rotherham whereby the police, over a ten year period, had been aware of the rape/sexual grooming of predominantly white English young girls by predominantly by Pakistani Muslim men; the vile nature of the crime was finally recognised at the expense of substantial, irrevocable trauma and pain. Avoidable and unnecessary pain. Let the police handle our case with the severity and concern it deserves. It makes no difference to me what the outcome will be as the outcome will always be too little too late. My father holds the West Police force personally responsible for his attack. I too have no faith in the police. The refusal to arrest or bring to book key members of this family who have on a daily basis made life utterly miserable has directly resulted in a smashed knee-cap, fractured hand, concussion and the blatant deprivation of life. The most recent altercation occurred last Saturday where the family in question took offence at the Bradford vigil held in light of Dad’s attack. After the event, the participants came back to the house and as my brother parked up, one of the family members thought it appropriate to challenge him, trying to provoke him by mockingly inquiring the state of Dad’s health. Moments later he was joined by other male members of the family, dancing provocatively in front of my brother , goading him into a fight by cursing, jeering and using the state of our father against us. We continue to deal with a demonic family, a mentality sick and shameless to the core. The very sister who witnessed the attack and subsequently phoned me was followed to school 2 weeks ago by a car full of the same men related to this family of perpetrators, as they shouted out ‘how’s your dad?’ in jest before driving off. Every single incident to date has been reported to the police, who still have yet to arrest those responsible and for the life of me I can’t understand the lack of police patrolling in our neighbourhood.
This notion of ‘burden of proof’ is something I despise, the police have enough reel of cctv footage to construct a film, yet it is precisely this lack of action that has emboldened the perpetrators of the very animalistic and cowardly event of November 17. This parasitic fear of being labelled as ‘Islamophobic’ has prevented the upholding of the rule of law on the streets of Bradford, giving birth to the notion of impunity and this is being enacted and exploited on a daily basis. I’d be interested to hear from those newspapers who labelled the attack as ‘racist’ by nature when all those involved are Pakistani. The existing framework of Bradford’s corrupt political system is a real cause for concern. Speaking of corruption, I don’t understand how local MP Naz Shah gets away with scot-free. My stomach churned as I watched her spew lies on regional television, as I watched her feign concern for the welfare of Dad and the family. I took note at her aptness to claim she was fully aware of the situation and was particularly fascinated by the imaginary support system she’d conjured up for the purpose of TV dramatics. Apparently she had been notified by support given to the Hussain family and she herself had played a role during this ‘neighbourly dispute’. Naz Shah needs to do my Dad a favour and admit she never returned his e-mails, in which he asked for her assistance in this matter of religious hatred dating back to 2008. She needs to own up to the fact that despite agreeing to set up meetings, would fabricate excuse after excuse and never attend such scheduled meetings organised by Dad. All these e-mails and meetings can be accounted for and there is nothing more than Dad could’ve done to try to rectify this ongoing suffering. But it takes two to tango. It’s a shame the spotlight of the camera she so boldly lied under cannot expose her for the inept, indifferent politician she is. Is she refusing to show solidarity and take a stance with a family who happen to live in the very Muslim electorate that voted her into office? Corruption knows no bounds and neither does my disgust at this stage but I use this platform to unashamedly scribe my real and raw experience, however brutal it comes across.
A neighbourly dispute. Who brings a pick-axe handle to a neighbourly dispute? Disputes subside in the Pakistani culture as elders rally around the relevant parties to mediate and move on from the conundrum. Nissar Hussain is a living example of an ex-Muslim and it is this factor that doesn’t swallow well with Muslim families such as those who attempted to orchestrate his demise. His stance, his desire to fight his Muslim oppressors in a non-Muslim country has gained him enough hatred which culminated in an attempt on his life. If you watch the cctv footage you can see the pick-axe aimed for Dad’s head. I can’t think about what may have become of him had he been unsuccessful in blocking those blows to the head, nor if those two Polish men hadn’t been there to chase off the attackers.
Will the Churches wake up?
This Bradford attack once again highlights the failure of the Church. For too long now fear has grappled the Christian community, explaining the overwhelming silence in the face of Christian persecution, not just in Bradford but throughout the globe and particularly the Middle East. I’ve been baffled to read of supposedly Christian support given to us in Bradford. With the exception of the Barnabas Fund (an organisation that works with the persecuted Church/Christian converts) and a few key individuals who have remained steadfast during our ordeal, such reports of Christian support is largely untrue. The vicarage ten minutes up the road from our residence have conveniently turned a blind eye over the course of these 8 years. Let’s not also forget that the former Bishop of Bradford personally told my father he wouldn’t welcome converts to his Church due to infrastructural constraints. And yet it’s exactly this attitude that has created the underground Christian scene in the West, where many apostates from Islam fellowship amongst other believers in the discretion of their own homes. Precisely the problem with institutionalised religion: strip away dignified titles, high salaries and decadence and perhaps the basic needs of ex-Muslims fleeing for their lives and setting up covert worship sessions will suddenly become more real. I don’t see much difference between the Christian convert situation in Great Britain and Iran for example.
For reasons I cannot fathom, those who choose to be outspoken are seen as risk-takers, as inciters of trouble. The issue of apostasy is not considered a salient one, nor one that politicians dare to debate in the houses of Parliament. Therefore the petition to enshrine an apostasy law in the UK is an excellent and vital movement.
Moving on from Bradford
It has come at a great cost but I think even Dad has finally accepted that one man is incapable of changing a system geared against apostates such as our family. So as we undergo a time of review and reflection as to where to move away from Bradford please continue to bear our family in prayer during the uncertain and uneasy transition. After almost two decades of sustained persecution, every single one of us has simply had enough. We want peace and stability, we want the ability to walk outside our property to a car that hasn’t been smashed, a father that doesn’t get brutally beaten. We need to be able to breathe and move freely. Years of being caged and living in such tension has caused severe psychological issues which we all need to work through. Essentially we want our sanity back.
In this era of terrorism, totalitarianism and territorialism the issue of apostasy is more relevant than ever and the fight to combat it on our part will remain stronger than ever. I encourage as many people as possible to sign the petition below, in order to set a precedent for the passing of an eventual apostasy bill in which the protection of ex-Muslims can be guaranteed.
In 21st Century Europe, I’ve recently been reminded that it really is a matter of life and death.

Apostasy by choice

Obviously, apostasy is an issue close to my heart, my top priority as you know very well by now. It was estimated a few years ago that over 3,000 apostates from Islam currently reside in the UK, yet it still is largely ignored, dismissed and unknown to the vast majority of the population. Current government policy does not address or recognise apostasy as imperative to national security, despite the ever growing figure of apostates. My family are just one example. a recent public case study and I wish to use our recent spotlight to highlight the urgency of this issue, as ex-Muslims stand to lose everything once they abandon Islam, Since there are no measures to accommodate or protect us, the petition below aims to kick-start some form of action.
We claim to be a nation who afford its citizens the freedom of conscious, the freedom of religion. Well now this rather bold claim is being put to the test.
Please take the time to read this petition, sign and get sharing!

Round II : 2008-2015

*Since the release of this article  yesterday-
there’s been numerous speculation, lies and fabrications spread about us on social media by some of the Pakistani community, although much of the response has been positive. This is our story, here is the account.
In 2008 we were approached by a filmmaker company called ‘Dispatches’ who were looking for case studies in their documentary of Christian converts from Islam across Britain. An estimated 3000 converts reside in the UK, many of which are ‘underground Christians’ a term labelled to those practising their faith in secrecy due to the dire consequences and stigma attached to leaving Islam for Christianity. Many converts are ostracised from their families, friends and communities and are forced to go into hiding, living in constant fear of being found and apprehended, beaten up, forced to revert back to Islam. I have personally met and heard of converts who have had to change their identities, national insurance numbers and change their addresses and contact numbers. Abandoning Islam costs you everything.
Freshly wounded from the daily trauma of our last residence, my Dad felt passionately about participating in this documentary. All of us knew and will forever know what it means to be apostates in an apparently Christian country, all of understand persecution at its core. I suppose there was the hope that perhaps, finally, through this documentary there would be an awakening; an awareness of the treatment of Christian converts – especially in light of police inaction and the lack of government policies in addressing and tackling this crisis.
Soon after the documentary aired in 2008 did the second round of persecution begin to unfold. I refer to it as the ‘second round’ since our current residence is the second family home in Bradford under which we’re enduring persecution. We were instantly shunned and faced immediate hostility from the Pakistani families on our street. There are approximately 6 Pakistani Muslim families on our street and upon seeing the documentary, became aware that we were not the Muslim family they’d assumed us to be – worse yet we used to be that Muslim family- and their contempt continues to this day.
It’s simply not plausible to recall or give an account of every incident of persecution from 2008 to present day. That’s a book all on its own. Instead to give an idea of how our quality of life hasn’t improved from the initial days of anti-Christian contempt, I’ll be outlining certain incidents throughout the years to date.
The initial hostile stares, glares and refusal to acknowledge our existence on our street soon became internalised and I personally was relieved at this reaction towards my apostate family. Of course it’s never pleasant, especially come Eid where they would exchange food dishes ostentatiously whilst deliberately ignoring our house. All pleasantries soon stopped, the initial warm exchange of ‘Aslam alikum’ turned into ‘good morning’ as we no longer became worthy of the Islamic greeting. This was replaced with pure indifference by way of their silence and averted gazes. However, given the physical confrontations, smashed car and house windows and a burned house from our past area, this treatment of us paled in comparison and we thought nothing of it. By now it’s to be expected.
We got wind of a planned Telegraph & Argus story, in which a story would be released to say that the Hussain family had been welcomed into our new area, in order to reduce the effect of the Dispatches documentary. We were completely baffled by this news and once Dad rung the newspaper office to inquire more information, it transpired that a family of 7 brothers, 4 sisters and who lived 3 doors down away had taken offence at our participation in the apostasy documentary and wanted to say their piece. This particular family would go on to give us trouble to this very day and I will later be referring to that but at first our involvement in the 2008 documentary needs to be clarified and addressed.  Nothing of offence is said of Islam in the documentary, it was merely a study of apostates in the UK, who have left Islam specifically for Christianity and the documentary merely highlighted the persecution and treatment of such British converts that follows as a result. At the time of its release, it entailed our plight from our former area and had nothing to do with the current Muslim community. Yet for reasons we can’t fathom, this particular family a few doors down took offence and 2008 was the beginning of a vengeful campaign to repeat our experiences from our previous residence in order to drive us from our home once again. I’ll refer to them as the A Family. It should be stated that the proposed counter-newspaper story did not go ahead as my Dad refused to go along with it.
There’s no need to go into detail into the constant maligning of us in the street by this family in question. My father befriended a Muslim in the neighbourhood who remains the only outspoken critic of our treatment and who has refused to partake in this campaign to cleanse us from our home. Through this man we have heard of countless attempts to try and break his friendship with Dad by family A. He became one vessel through which the maligning of us was verified, as he was told numerous times not to mix with a family who were ‘anti-Islam’.
Life at school for my youngest sister became increasingly unbearable. She’d come home in tears, weeping that her Pakistani classmates had turned on her and weren’t allowed to associate themselves with a Christian – something I knew all too well. Dad could never comprehend the hostility in he found himself in the school playground as he collected my sister, nor why he would receive glares and jostles as he walked by certain parents. Until one day when he was approached by one parent to say ‘you haven’t said anything offensive about Islam! I’ve researched you on Youtube’. Seeing Dad’s baffled expression he explained that one of the brothers of family A had many of the school parents convinced that Dad was anti-Islamic and was preaching hatred on Youtube. However, upon his own research and refusal to rely on this ‘information’ of Dad, this parent – Muslim himself- proved to be a loyal supporter, berating any school parent who treated Dad with contempt. The school situation deteriorated to the point where the brother of Family A stormed up to Dad provocatively, threatening to kill him in order to goad him into a fight. That incident marked official police involvement in our lives yet again. Numerous meetings have been set up with school leaders, police officers and religious leading figures in the community, to achieve the most politically correct of outcomes: nothing.
This contempt for us proliferated to a raw and personal level. From 2008 to present day my youngest siblings have been prohibited from riding their bikes outside our front property and along our street. Upon every attempt, the children of family A have been on standby to hurl jeers, curses and providing a physical obstacle to their play. My baby brother was born in 2007, born into a situation where he can’t even play outside the front of his own home. I was 7 years old when I experienced the exact same thing. The sickening sense of de ja vu is unreal.
The years 2008-2014 have swept by with a catalogue of deeply exhausting events. Having read comments under articles about my family I have learnt not to expect people to believe our ordeal. They simply don’t know us, aren’t aware that apostasy is a growing issue in their country and quite blatantly can’t bring themselves to accept our story. I’ve grown to no longer be hurt by this, nor become bitter to this fact and be consumed by their ignorance. I have no agenda, I hold no hatred towards even those Muslims who are cause of our situation. I simply am committed to raising the apostate flag, realising how imperative, how vital it is for those Christians in chains for their faith in oppressed nations, for those on death row, beaten, tortured and killed – all unknown and ignored. I have grown in my faith, having never taught to be religious – but grown to understand what it means to have a personal relationship with God through sheer and relentless persecution. But it has by no means been easy.
Numerous altercations would continue, the need to provoke us seemed top agenda to family A. My mother couldn’t even weed her own front garden without a congregation of family A members, kicking balls into our garden, coming into our garden to sit on the benches and directly insult our family. I cannot articulate and express the uselessness of the police. That’s also a book all on its own and Bradford is no stranger to police inaction due to fear of a third Pakistani riot. Threats of death, chants and fights have become daily routine, particularly escalating in 2014 when our family car was smashed twice in the month of Ramadan.
Our car was smashed twice in July 2014, within 2 weeks of each other and the second car smashing brought about a truly ugly turn in all our years of persecution. A colossal bang woke the entire house up in the early hours of 27th July 2014, I date I specifically remember as I was due for an operation to correct damage done to my retinal nerve on my left finger. When you grow up with frequent smashings your first thought is to grab a bucket and clear the glass shards strewn across the pavement. Nobody gives an ounce of thought to call the police, scream in disbelief and question who may have done it anymore. In actual fact Dad had sprung to the bedroom window in time to see the back of the individual and recognised his affiliation with family A. Later the police dismissed this for lack of evidence and wouldn’t even agree to questioning the suspect. This ‘burden of proof’ card has been played too many times in our experience. We know what this wishy-washy statement means. Hazard a guess yourself. I know who smashed our cars. The same people who have gone out of their way to avenge our conversion to Christianity, the same people who no doubt re-watched the Dispatches documentary enough times to take notes into how to re-enact the car smashings of our previous residence.
Another brother of family A was conveniently out on the street at 5am, ostentatiously taking an interest in all his family members’ cars. Bizarrely he then decided to strap on a rucksack and proceed to cycle past us, up and down the street and around the block. He then upturned his bicycle, tinkering around with his wheel whilst paying attention to us cleaning the glass from within the car and on the pavement. I was scheduled for my operation from 7am onwards so Dad was desperately trying to conceal the broken damage done to his front windscreen, as this was the only family car to drive me to the hospital in. Some time later, a disabled neighbour ambled down the street towards us and greeted Dad before continuing on his way towards the brother of family A.
Things erupted. The brother had clearly taken offence that another Muslim neighbour had acknowledged Dad and he became what can only be described as possessed. Profanities spewed from his mouth, cursing this poor passerby and shoving him aggressively, snarling at him to ‘fuck off and go back there’ – ‘there’ – being back the way he came. This poor man’s screams struck a nerve with my Dad and he tried to push past me to help. Something snapped within me and I pushed my Dad back, pulling out my phone to record the entire episode, realising that finally this ‘burden of proof’ may achieve something. Dad soon cottoned on and whipped out his own phone to call the police. Noticing that I was filming him, the brother of family A shifted his attention to us as a family, by then my mother and sister had joined the scene given the commotion erupting outside our property.
In pure rage at being filmed, this possessed man spat a tide of abuse, from the usual anti-Christian venom of being ‘pigs’ to then screaming at Mum, my sister and me that he was going to get us ‘fucked by the Pakis’, thrusting his hips to emphasise his point. Every female member of our family was going to raped according to this man, including my Dad’s mother. He cursed us for moving into the area, telling us to ‘fuck off back to Birmingham’ and detailing just how hated we were by the Pakistani community – ‘If you ever returned to your own family Nissar, they would fuck you up! I’ll make sure you get fucked up by the Pakis’. What was particularly disgusting was that at the time this man was a youth worker and drove a van under the banner ‘every child matters’. Yet there he was on the morning of July 27 calling my 17 year sister a ‘bitch’ when she stood by my side to record his hateful fit. In short, he was arrested and after being taken to court, officially charged with 2 public order offences in April 2015. As was to be expected the charges of religious hate were dropped in court.
In this year alone, the family car has been smashed a further 4 times, bringing the total number to 6 times, not including my brother’s blue Vauxhall (as seen in the Daily Mail article). The latest car smashing was on 1 September 2015. Threats, intimidation and abuse continues, precisely why we are on the verge of moving out for a second time. Bradford is not what is used to be. As far as I’m concerned, let them have it – the stage has been set for bigger blessings for us anyway!

Sustained Persecution of Hussain family: 2000-2006

It hurts my heart to sit here and write about the hellish experience these past 15 years have been for my family. Those of you who read my very first blog post ‘Abnormal Normality’  (  ) will know that I gave a brief insight into growing up as an apostate in Bradford. That abnormal normality continues to present day and it can be absolutely exhausting. I can’t fully express it in writing nor in conversation as you soon become numb to it, or ‘battle hardened’ as Dad terms it.
From the time I was 6 years of age, my siblings and I endured daily verbal abuse, physical altercations, car and house window smashing. School playground hostility and school-mate deprivation. Death threats. Mob rule. Initial prevention of riding our bicycles in the neighbour common ground to then prevention of us playing on the street directly outside our property. I watched my father’s effort in erecting a 6ft fence in his backyard to protect his children become effectively decimated. I can’t ever imagine his pain, his helplessness when his fence still never stopped the glass bottles and bricks being hurled at his children as they played in their own back garden. For example.
Our youngest sister was born in 2001 but the memory of her birth was overridden by an incident that has always stuck in my mind. Dad’s car had been written off yet again and had to use a friend’s car to take my older brother to Boys Brigade at a local church. He stayed with my brother, leaving me (7), sisters 5, 3 and a baby with my mother. As soon as my dad pulled away from our street the tirade of abuse and intimidation began. They had our home under siege, circling in their cars, trashing the front of our property with debris and swearing at Mum, who, unable to dial for the police on the phone held a baby in one arm whilst holding a phone in the other; panic-stricken and paralysed for those 3 whole hours. All of us were petrified, our eyes fixated on the men standing below the bedroom window.
Dad returned with my brother a few hours later, witnessing our tormentors speeding off and took in our frozen expressions. As my Dad called up to my Mum to ask her what had been happening, one of the ringleaders who lived 3 doors down from us, shot out of his car to make his way home. I don’t know what came over my father but he finally snapped. Years of having to endure pure, animalistic behaviour, years of police ignorance, fear and refusal to help one Christian convert family in the face of a bigger Muslim community had taken its toll on him. Over the years these anti-Christian men had witnessed police inaction and openly took advantage of their self-proclaimed domination and subjugation of us. Over the years they’d grown to be audacious and invincible.
Dad finally snapped. I remember looking at a man who had tried so desperately to abide by his Christian principles of forgiveness and mercy be overruled by the need to protect his four daughters. He lunged at this ringleader, laying into him time and time again until it took my brother’s plea of ‘Daddy, Daddy please, stop, you’re going to kill him’ to bring him back to his senses. As he picked himself off the ground and led my brother back to the house, the ringleader pulled out his phone. Minutes later 6 cars screeched to a halt outside our home, packed with Pakistani Muslim men from the local and surrounding communities.
Utter carnage followed. What must have been at least 30 men advanced towards our front door, armed with knives, wheel braces, chains and other weaponry I couldn’t identify as a 7 year old. They were seething and bloodthirsty. An infidel had humiliated a fellow Muslim brother and for that his whole family would pay. I distinctly remember Dad running into the kitchen searching for a suitable, sturdy knife. His words of ‘I’m going to die tonight, but I’m going to take as many of them with me’ echoes in my head today. What man would allow a stampede into his own home, into a living room containing 5 young children, 1 of which was newly born?
I shoved my younger sisters into the back kitchen and shut the door. Peering through the crack I saw my mother wrestling the knife out of my father’s hand, having already called the police. They were outside by now, two police cars and 1 riot van but due to the hoardes of people surrounding them, they were unable to get out. The mob had immobilised the officers. When they finally emerged and dispersed the crowd, due to numerous ‘independent witness statements’ alleging Dad as the perpetrators; they came and arrested him and it was the first time we’d witnessed our father handcuffed and taken into police custody. I couldn’t understand why the police had only arrested one ringleader and his sister especially given the context of the weaponry and the obvious intent to storm into our home. Being too young to understand that Dad would eventually be returned to us, we couldn’t be comforted and I was convinced I wouldn’t see him again. I felt a change in my siblings, we became officially traumatised. I can’t speak for my siblings but that day in January 2003 was when I lost belief in the concept of justice.
As children we were incapable of functioning normally and were all assigned personal care by Bradford social services for the next few years until it came to an end. It takes a Pakistani, an ex-Muslim to understand the mentality behind our persecution and the sympathetic faces and words of the family service unit could never penetrate into the heart of the problem.
Our family vehicle became accustomed to regular drive-by brickings, but not content with smashing the car, they torched it one night. The ringleader responsible for this walked up to Dad in October 2003 to spit into his face ‘you’ve seen what we’ve done to your car, now we’re gonna burn you out of your house’. True to form we were effectively burned out of our house a few weeks later. The property directly adjacent to us had been vacant for years and the lower window was broken into before the house was set alight, in the hope the flames would spread to our property. My brother smelt the smoke first, alerting my dad who ran out to the front of our home. Next door’s windows had smoke bellowing out, with the glass cracking under the pressure of the heat. He realised that the fire was intended for us when he saw our persecutors gathered together on the street, waving at him and jeering, clinking their glasses and celebrating.
The fire brigade came within two minutes of being called but not before our whole house was smothered in thick, pungent smoke that stifled our senses. We couldn’t see nor breathe and I remember locating all of my siblings as we collapsed on the ground, sobbing and choking. It is hard to take myself back to that spot on the living room floor, with our arms outstretched to the nearest sibling holding on for dear life, while we buried our faces into our laps. I remember thanking God my mother and baby sister had been away at a women’s conference for I was sure my then 13 month year old sister could well have been killed. We were forced to flee to the nearest vicarage for a week’s worth of safety and sanity, sat in a strange location with the only familiarity being that of the family photo albums my mother refused to leave without.
We were permanently forced out of our home in 2006 and enjoyed a 2 year break from daily persecution, getting on famously with the Pakistani Muslims in our new community, as they assumed us to be Muslims also. For obvious reasons we never corrected those assumptions. However we were thrown back into the net of anti-Christian venom in the aftermath of the 2008 Dispatches Documentary my family partook in entitled ‘Unholy War’,  ( ) where it became publicly known we were a convert Christian family.
I will be posting an account of continued and increased persecution of my family from 2008-current day in my subsequent blogs.

The Killing of Farkhunda

I’ve put off this blog for many weeks. The Blasphemy issue throughout the Muslim world is tiring, open to be manipulated and utilised in order to settle personal scores time and time again. The tune of ‘blasphemy’ ricochets repeatedly with the same end result: imprisonment and/or death. Asia Bibi – my symbol of Christian persecution on this very blog – is a prime example. But however exhausting, however weary-worn it makes one feel, since there are tireless attempts and efforts to persecute, intimidate and subjugate innocent people through this blasphemy farce; then the effort to expose it should be matched and then some. At least that’s what I believe.
I specifically refer to Afghanistan’s latest prolific victim of blasphemy accusations. A 27 year old Islamic scholar’s life was not even given the dignity of being cut short, instead dragged out so agonisingly that it anguished those who watched brief snippets of her ordeal. A life that should never have been stripped away, had the mob of 150 predominantly seething men possessed a mentality of rationality; a need, wanton desire to demand at the very least evidence of the burnt Quran supposedly set alight by the hands of Farkhunda Malikzada.
I initially heard of the fate of Farkhunda when finalising my year of studying abroad and didn’t have the time to follow up on the headlines that exploded concerning her murder. I did assume her to be an Afghan Christian or a member of a religious minority accused of setting fire to Quranic passages, in order to avenge a personal vendetta. The usual. However, I was startled to learn of her deeply devout Islamic beliefs and baffled as to how a caretaker at Shah -e Du Shamshira shrine in Kabul had managed to convince hoards of local men and women, that an Islamic teacher had torched the Quran; some of which would’ve known this young woman, her beliefs, her character.
Those who haven’t watched the BBC documentary of Farkhunda’s ordeal can do so through the link enclosed below. In the BBC’s ‘Killing of Farkhunda’ documentary, 9 minutes are dedicated to her slow murder but is more than enough of an insight into the sheer animalistic nature of her killers and the brutal mercilessness one innocent and helpless Afghan was surrounded by in the face of the murderous mob. They didn’t only disbelieve her pleas that she never burned the Quran but descended upon her, beating, kicking and hurling rocks and stones at her to the point where her niqab had torn away to reveal her bloodied face.
I remember looking at that iconic image that has become ingrained in my mind since and seeing a grief-stricken woman who I feel accepted her fate at that moment. I just feel she knew at that point she was going to die, The frenzy of pain in her eyes is unmistakable and I felt deep love and compassion for a woman I have never known.
Not content with the beating she had already endured, Farkhunda was accused of being ‘an American’ and dragged up to the roof of the Shamshira shrine, thrown off it, ran over by a vehicle and then finally set ablaze and for what? As penance for burning Quranic passages she never did? Blasphemy needs to be addressed. Or rather ‘blasphemy’ does. The world does right to produce the international outcry that it always does when the plight of Farkhundas come to light but the fiery fiasco is quick to simmer down, permitting those imprisoned through accusations of blasphemy to languish, allowing many to be be consumed by mob rule and to be murdered.
There is a deeper implication behind every blasphemy case. Whether we admit it or not there is an intolerant attitude and conduct towards those that are accused of defaming Muhammad, Allah or the Quran. It is approached and handled with absolutism, inevitably leading to extreme results. I always find hypocrisy in the usual claim that ‘Islam is a religion of peace and tolerance‘. Even though I will dissent any person who lauds all Muslims as being of a volatile and violent nature, we have witnessed repeatedly mass crowds worldwide of venemous people, chanting for the death of those accused of blasphemy. Farkhunda is just one recipient of such treatment and is not alive to defend Islam’s ‘peaceful and tolerant’ attitude towards her, when a man she debated with on Islamic grounds took offence at her viewpoint and used
‘blasphemy’ to lure hundreds of local people to reduce her to ashes. Such all too frequent treatment of all those who fall prey to blasphemy is no coincidence.
Nor can the argument that her fate was determined by ‘uneducated people, unaware of the teachings of Islam‘ be utilised here as many Afghanistani leading officials condoned Farkhunda’s killing. The official spokesperson for the Kabul police Hashmat Stanekzai said of the situation: ‘Farkhunda thought, like several unbelievers that this kind of action and
insult would get them US/European citizenship. But before reaching their target, lost their life‘. The Deputy Minister for Culture and Information Simiri Ghazal Hasanzada also approved the murder of a woman ‘working for the infidels’. The Chief of the Complaints Commision of the Upper Parliament Zalmai Zabuli posted a picture of Farkhunda’s face with the caption: ‘This is the horrible and hated person who was punished by our Muslim compatriots for her action. Thus, they proved to her masters that Afghanistanis only want Islam and cannot tolerate imperialism, apostasy and spies’. Of course there will be those in the public eye who denounced Farkhunda’s killing, I found Imams who both supported and opposed the crime. However, take note of the few examples mentioned, pay heed to their position in society and their stance on the murder.
There is a climate of intolerance towards those considered ‘Infidels’ or who have committed ‘Infidelic acts’ and the system under which Afghanistani leaders tackles issues such as blasphemy clearly isn’t challenged. Despite police presence during Farkhunda’s ordeal, where was the genuine effort to protect this innocent woman? Why weren’t provisions put in place to safeguard her while her ‘Quranic burning’ was investigated? Why was she allowed to be devoured by wild dogs? And if she had burned the Quran why is death – the symbol of lack of forgiveness -always the favoured option? All this is very telling and none of this is Islamic peace and tolerance. All those complicit in the killing of Farkhunda can never stand on moral ground in crying victim when people doubt and critisise the very principles they adhere to.
Justice hasn’t been served in Farkhunda’s case as it never is. Afghanistan struggles with determining right from wrong in a nation riddled with social, economic and religious corruption and this brutal theft of an otherwise youthful life is a prime example. Instead many women took to the streets of Kabul parading the coffin of Farkhunda and refusing any man to touch the case that contained the remains of her body, chanting ‘where were you the day Farkhunda was attacked and killed by hundreds of men?’
Rightly so.

Persecution on the Rise: Bradford 2014-2015

Hi all,
This will only be a quick post, those who have read my previous post will know that I haven’t been able to post as frequently as I’ve intended to; given that this year of 2014-2015 has marked a significant turn for deeper and perverse persecution towards my family.
The following links enclosed below is a brief description of a few incidents regarding our local Muslim neighbours and my family yet a full account of what life has been like every day this past year is yet to follow. At this moment in time I cannot post the full testimony as there are investigations ongoing (according to the Police) but am intending to release this lengthy blog within the next few weeks.
In the meantime, please find below 2 newspaper articles written about my family in the past month by the Barnabas Fund, a fantastic Christian organisation that works solely for the Persecuted Church and whose expertise lies in the plight of converts to Christianity and apostasy around the globe.
Continue to bear us in prayer,
God Bless.

Je suis Raif Badawi?

In some ways I feel relatable to Raif Badawi. I’m no Saudi-Arabian writer or activist but like him I set up my own blog and whilst it’s not entitled Free Saudi Liberals, I know for a fact that my forum in which I unashamedly lay bare my ex-Muslim familial roots, while publishing posts of persecuted Christians at the hands of mostly militant, fanatic followers of Islam; would undoubtedly label me as an offense to Islam – more than I already am. Like Raif.
At this point, very little that is new is to be said of Badawi – his treatment and the danger his family have escaped in fleeing to Canada. Nor will terms such as ‘unfair’ and ‘unjust’ be branded about here. I have learnt from an early age that many people are inflicted with injustice at some stage, sometimes a lifetime of it and I simply don’t believe in the concept of ‘just’. I am merely writing from the perspective of another blogger. My very decision to name my platform to speak my mind with ‘infidelsareus’ would be enough to have me flogged, locked away and perhaps ‘mysteriously’ disappear. I’m truly convinced of this.
Saudi Arabia’s form of political Islam, its purist wing of Sunni-Islam, its Wahhabism has severely curtailed the rights of its citizens and most prominently its non-Saudi, non-Muslim population. Saudi Arabia is a nation where its religious police are rife, on-hand like clockwork to enforce inhabitants to maintain an Islamic way of life. Or so they claim. Recently, a friend of mine returned to Saudi during the semester break. During the call to prayer he was spotted by the religious police, sitting on the curb of a pavement and chatting among a group of friends. They were approached and questioned why they were not praying and despite their vying with the authorities in claiming they had already prayed, they were carted to a nearby police car and escorted to the nearest Mosque. With the police bent over them in observation, the group were forced to pray all over again. Saudi is a stranger to freedom, its women prohibited from driving and dressed to the teeth in the abaya, a nation where the barring of males clad in shorts from entering public places such as shopping malls is enforced. Despite being in Malaysia as of last October my friend refuses to wear shorts above the knee in spite of the daily tropical heat.
What else should we expect then of Saudi when its authorities deem a man to be a heretic, an offence, a slap in the face to Islam? One charge of apostasy meets the criteria of an automatic death sentence and despite the recent regime ‘change’, Raif Badawi’s life continues to hang in the balance. What we should expect instead is an efficacious international outcry, a genuine commitment of world leaders rallying together to shame and pressure the Saudi regime into seeing how ridiculous, how draconian their government policies regarding civilian and religious rights are and to push for the release of this father of 3.
Badawi was initially arrested on the basis of ‘insulting Islam’ in 2012 and eventually sentenced to 1000 lashes, 10 years prison sentence and a fine in 2014. Such a senseless act towards a man whose only crime entails a mentality in opposition to those plaguing the country as opposed to ruling it. It is about time that Saudi realises that its politicised Islam is an insult to the world, as I along with many others cannot comprehend the justification Saudi authorities use to create and further exacerbate its sectarian divide, tear apart families on a long-term or permanent basis and refuse to allow civilians to even offer a contradictory opinion – whether through Facebook pages, Twitter accounts or blogs. Fundamentally through any form of freedom of expression and conscience.
Which is exactly why this man is battered and bruised, separated from his family indefinitely, not knowing if he will live or die. All because he dared to enact a sense of conscience, an opinion: an unequivocal, undeniable right stripped from him under the banner of ‘insulting Islam’, rendering him depraved and treated as a common animal who is expected to dance with the strings of his puppeteer. Too many people within Saudi Arabia are hurting, lives wrenched apart and yet the international community while fully aware of this by now -given that the Saudi regime continues to wash its dirty laundry in public- continues to recline in silence. This political game of Realpolitik, of political realism, a silence due to seeing nothing of tangible benefit or gain to them continues to allow the treatment of Raif and similar global figures to continue. The longer this plays out the longer this Saudi father’s health will continue to deteriorate. He is already known to have hypertension, a condition where blood pressure is elevated in the arteries and given the first 50 of 1000 lashes administered on January 9, 2015, his health should be a further concern to the international community. At present there seems to be a hiatus in the subsequent administration of lashes but should they resume, as
Badawi’s wife asserts, there is a very high likelihood that he may be unable to survive them.
With the possible resumption of state-issued flagellation, a death sentence on charges of apostasy or even the slow deterioration of health due to beatings and perilous prison conditions, the world is on stand-by, hoping against hope for insurmountable international pressure to pile onto this detrimental regime. Raif Badawi stands as an example, a recipient of a brutal system. Who knows how many people, unknown to the world and represented by nobody, are locked away, suffering while blindfolded and gagged?
All for exercising their right to speak out against the atrocities people are facing. Raif’s blog was no insult to Islam. Raif’s blog courageously and compassionately aimed to be a voice for the voiceless, aimed to express solidarity against oppression and the obliteration of freedom, whilst under oppression himself and a freedom he no longer has, if he ever had it.
Why can’t the world reciprocate?

A Humble Request on Christmas 2014

It’s past Midnight here in Malaysia so technically already Christmas Day. This post won’t be a long one I promise, just wanted to express my heart-felt blessings to you all whether you celebrate December 25th or not. My family and I actually don’t tend to make a big celebration on Christmas Day, since Christians are not certain of Christ’s birth and nowadays this day has become too comercialised with its Santa Clauses and gift-giving frenzies. It still is a beautiful season to exchange gifts of love to one another, the idea behind it being Christ given as a gift to the world (whenever that was!) .There’s something about Christmas that makes millions gather in anticipation, the gathering of family and friends, mostly warm and safe. I love the security and love Christmas offers year upon year.
In the spirit of this season could I humbly ask that you remember the Global Persecuted Church in your thoughts and prayers. While many of us have the liberty to see all of our loved ones before our eyes on this day or attend a Church service before feasting and gift-giving, countless Christians in Muslim countries do not fare so well. In fact, Christmas provides an optimal opportunity for militant Muslims – whether these be Boko Haram or Al-Shaabab militants or communities and individuals who target Christian worshippers, gathered in remembrance of their Lord’s birth. It happens annually without fail: throughout the Middle East, Africa, South-Central Asia and beyond. Whether the spilling of Christian blood this Season reaches global headlines this year or not, I already have embraced myself to receive the inevitable news of it.
Do take the time to remember our Asia Bibis, our Raif Badawis, our Pastor Saeed Abedinis figures, representative of thousands more like them – all jailed, whether for converting to Christianity or non-Christians imprisoned for expressing ‘non-Islamic’ sentiments. Remember all those locked away from their loved ones, deprived of their children, food and warmth in inhumane prison conditions. Remember the homeless and destitute, those fleeing from country to country, trying to establish a home to replace a livelihood shattered through religious or political differences. Remember all those who are sick, spending this day in hospitals but mainly those with no access to them. Especially remember those Mothers, hurting and inconsolable at the loss of their child. Making this day incomplete forevermore.
Cherish this Season then. Have a happy and healthy Christmas whatever your plans entail. May you always remain safe and sure in doing so.
God Bless & Happy Christmas!