Showing posts with label Soilder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Soilder. Show all posts

Wednesday, 5 March 2014

Life After the Woolwich Attack

Last week, Adebolajo and Adebowale, were both sentenced to life imprisonment, nine months after their brutal attack on Drummer Lee Rigby on a South London street.

The pair were sentenced in their absence after brawling with security guards during Mr Justice Sweeny's opening sentencing remarks. This brings around a legal resolution wanted by all. But how can the family move on after losing a loved one in such a tragic and public way?
Lee Rigby's funeral
Most of us would have seen the upsetting images taken on Artillery Place, Woolwich, in the immediate aftermath of the attack. We were horrified at the sight of an unshaken man calmly addressing a camera phone, while brandishing a blood-soaked cleaver. He stood in front of a man, who laid in the road in a puddle of blood.

Saturday, 25 May 2013

The Woolwich Murder

I was in Woolwich on that day. 22 May 2013. I live there. Fortunately, I was safely in our flat at 2:20pm. I was oblivious anything had happened. Then, helicopters kept circling around and around, and the sounds of distant sirens could be heard. However, after nearly a year of living there, I've become immune to that. Then I read a strange Tweet that stated that something had happened in Woolwich. No more than that. I went to Google. Two men had been shot after brandishing swords, barely a ten minutes walk away.

Telling it from my point of view is not interesting in the slightest. However, I haven't stopped thinking about it. Especially since I found out, many hours later, that it was being classified as an act of terrorism, and that they had beheaded a serving soilder. Those pictures on the television that evening will forever be imprinted in my brain. There has been much discussion as to whether that picture of Michael Adebolajo, the man with bloodied hands holding the meat cleaver, speaking to the camera, should have ever been used. They were distressing for me, let alone a young child walking past a newsagents on the way to school the next morning.