Courage under fire | Rabia Siddique | TEDxPerth

This talk was given at a local TEDx event, produced independently of the TED Conferences.
Human rights and criminal lawyer Rabia Siddique shares her unique story to demonstrate the need for strong role models, agents of change and courageous people to take a stand. To defend and uphold the values everyone should all hold dear - equality, fairness, justice and truth.

Rabia Siddique is a criminal and human rights lawyer, a retired British Army officer, a former terrorism and war crimes prosecutor, a humanitarian, a professional speaker and published author. In 2006 Rabia was awarded a Queen’s commendation for her human rights work in Iraq and in 2009 was the Runner Up for Australian Woman of the Year UK.

I'd like to speak to you this morning,
if I may, about ripples and waves,

and the power that each and everyone
of us has to be agents for change.

What is a ripple?

Well, I'd like to think of a ripple
as much more than the effect

that is produced by throwing
a stone into water.

I see a ripple as an act, a situation,
a sentiment, or an event

that has far reaching consequences,

far, far beyond its immediate
location in space an time.

I see it as the concept

that refers to every action having
a reaction, or consequence.

This concept is used often in sociology,

in economics, and in many other fields

to refer to an occurrence,
a behavior, a thing

that can have an effect
on many other things,

intended or unintended.

With that in mind, I would like
to share with you briefly my story.

I am, like many of you, here today
a first-generation Australian.

I am a migrants' kid.

I am the product
of an Indian Muslim father

and an Anglo-Saxon Australian mother.

We came to these shores
in the late 1970s from India.

And indeed, when arriving
as newcomers to this land,

it had all the promise
of being the lucky country.

But it was difficult, it was challenging
as an outsider to assimilate in what was,

apart from my indigenous
brothers and sisters,

a very white Australia
in those conservative times.

I remember experiencing firsthand
the challenges and the prejudice

my father, a dark-skinned Muslim immigrant

experienced in the 1970s' Australia.

I also remember feeling
very powerless and voiceless

at the age of 9,

having been sexually abused
by a trusted neighbor and friend.

As a result of these two
significant events in my life,

as a young woman,
I decided to dedicate my career

to helping others find a voice,
to helping others access justice.

To do that, I decided
on a career in the law.

I was, however,
a very insecure little girl

as a result of these early experiences,

and my maternal grandmother
used to tell a story

that at the age 7, I developed
an alter ego for myself.

Her name was Caroline Jones. (Laughter)

Caroline was blond-haired,
she was blue-eyed, she was a Catholic

- I'm not quite sure
why she was a Catholic,

I think it's because most of my mates
at school were Catholic -

but most importantly, Caroline ate
ham sandwiches for lunch. (Laughter)

Ladies and gentlemen, you don't know
how important that was for me,

because I was the only kid at school

that wasn't packed
with ham sandwiches in their lunchbox.

No, I was one of those kids
that had the smelly curry sandwiches

that I got good at dumping
on the way to school.

I guess this story
is a reflexion of the fact

that I resented my differences.

I resented being a different race,
being a different religion,

having a different name,
and even sounding differently

because I came to this country
with a British accent.

But having made the decision
as the young adult

to dedicate my career
and my life to helping others,

I started my career
here in Perth as a lawyer.

Don't hold that against me!

But eventually, in the late 1990s,
I left Australia for the United Kingdom,

because I had this dream
that had become an obsession.

I wanted to practice
as an international humanitarian lawyer.

And after leaving for the UK,
in a coincidental accident, you might say,

where I was exposed
to the British military for the first time

whilst on an expedition to South America,

I decided to commission
as a legal officer in the British Army.

As a way, I hoped that I would be able
to access places and people

that were suffering
in silence for so long.

People who lived in parts of the world

where human rights, equal rights,
and justice were foreign concepts.

So I decided on this career
in the British Army.

I didn't think
when I put my application in

that I would stand a chance.

What on earth would the British Army want

with a foreign, female, Muslim lawyer
with absolutely no military exposure?

So I threw the application in and forgot.

That wasn't until seven weeks later
when I got the fright of my life

and I got a call from
the Head of the Army Legal Services,

asking me to front up
for a selection panel.

Amazingly, I was selected to commission,

and I will never forget
the day when I found out.

As soon as I put
the phone down to the Army,

I rang up my parents here in Perth.

My father answered the phone,
and I'll never forget, I was so excited,

I said: "Dad, dad!
You'll never guess what!

They've chosen me, I've been commissioned
as an officer in the British Army."

And I will never ever forget to this day

my dad's concerning,
sensitive, tender words.

In his response
he said something like this:

"Rabia, don't be so bloody stupid!"

(Laughter)

For the Indians
and Asians in the audience,

you will know
that the translation of that is:

"My darling, I'm concerned."

(Laughter)

"Have you thought about this?
This seems rather rash." (Laughter)

"Could you take me through your thinking?"

(Laughter)

Following this response, I decided
that it was probably a good idea

to take a quick trip home,
sit down with my parents,

and explain them face to face

why I had decided to take
this seemingly bad and mad decision.

I had five day between finishing off
my job as a lawyer in the south of England

and starting my officer military training

at the Royal Military Academy
Sandhurst in England.

So, as a young woman,
footloose and fancy-free,

I thought five days, a day there,
a day back, three days in Perth -

yeah, can do! (Laughter)

So I decided on this lightning trip.

The day that I was due to board
my flight bound for Perth

was the 11th of September, 2001.

A day that I'm sure
each and everyone of you

will remember exactly where you were
and what you were doing

on that faithful and devastating day.

For me, I was sitting in a London
Heathrow Airport departure lounge.

I was looking up at the screen

that usually had departure
and arrival information

that had been switched to the news.

I was watching the second tower fall.

And two things struck me in the moments
after watching the second tower fall.

The first was this overwhelming feeling
in the pit of my stomach

that our world as we knew it

was about to change in ways
that we couldn't conceive.

The second was more of an observation.

Because, you see, in my departure lounge

there were a number of flights
bound for the Middle East,

therefore there were a number
of Islamic, Middle-Eastern people

waiting to board their flights,
in traditional Islamic attire.

As I looked at these people,
I noticed that they were getting frisked,

they were getting manhandled,
and they were getting jeered and abused

by fellow travelers,
as well as airport officials.

I thought that that was alarming
because this was happening

moments before the words
Osama bin Laden and Al-Qaeda

were even mentioned on the news reports.

But at that point in time,
it wasn't personal

because, you see,
I had spent my whole life

distancing myself from whence I had come.

I went back home, and by the time
I came back four days later to the UK,

I was more resolved than ever
that I had to continue

down this unexpected path that I had set.

I felt that I had somehow
been guided down this path,

and that this was now
my intended journey, come what may.

Three years into my military career,

I received the second
most unexpected call of my life;

this time again from my commander.

He advised me that I had been
selected to deploy to Iraq

as one of the first legal advisers
with the United Kingdom brigade,

on what we called Operation Telic,

and that I was to spend
the best part of the year in 2005 in Iraq.

Before I deployed, I had a realization.

I was about to spend a year

in this Islamic, war-torn country
as an uninvited guest,

and I was a Muslim woman
with a recognizable Muslim name.

I had a responsibility to get back
in touch with whence I had come.

So I learned Arabic, and I read
about the teachings of the Qur’an.

When I deployed to Iraq,
already a square peg in a round hole,

I decided that I was going
to do things differently,

that I was going to do my job

with empathy, with respect,
and with humanity.

After all, that was
what I had dedicated my life to.

And so, when I would meet
with my Iraqi colleagues

to help them reestablish
law and order in their country,

the country that had been left in a chaos,

in a vacuum of chaos and distress
after the overthrowing of Saddam’s regime,

I would start every meeting
by speaking a little bit of Arabic.

Poorly, but enough to break the ice.

I would wear a hijab, or a headscarf,

- I wonder what Mr. Abbott
would think about that -

(Laughter)

not as a sign of subjugation,
but as a mark of respect.

My approach was to ask these people

what they needed,
what their priorities were,

and how I could have
the honor of helping them,

not to tell them what was required
and how they could help me.

I guess by having this different

- what we would call, I'm sure,
common sense, respectful approach -

I was able to gain good relationships
with my Iraqi colleagues.

So fast forward six months
into my deployment,

the 19th of September, 2005, when two
of my British Special Forces colleagues

had been kidnapped, detained, and taken
to an infamous police compound

called the Al-Jamiat.

The Al-Jamiat was actually
the home of a terrorist group

called the Jaish Al-Mahdi.

When we heard news that the two men
had been taken to the Al-Jamiat,

we knew that that was not good.

My colleague of equal rank, a chap
by the name of Major James Woodham,

was deployed in to conduct
a recognizance mission, a recky,

and to see if he could
negotiate for their release.

But within a half an hour
of James deploying in,

he sent word back
that the Iraqis, the terrorists,

the government in Iraq
would not speak to him.

The only person
that they would negotiate with

was Major Rabia, as they called me,

and I guess that's because by that stage

I had established myself
as a person of my word,

a person with some humanity and integrity.

So I was ordered in,
despite being a mere legal officer

with no hostage negotiation training
and no close hand-to-hand combat.

I was ordered in to lead the negotiations,

and it was clear
that despite my misgivings,

I was these two men's only hope.

As we hovered over the compound,
I saw a sight that I wasn't prepared for.

Hundreds of Iraqis had gathered
around the compound,

and I could hear the crackle of gunfire,
as the chopper came in.

We landed nearby,

I jostled my way through the crowd
and was ushered into an office

where I immediately began negotiating
with the Iraqi government representative.

Eventually, I secured
their agreement to go to the cell

so I could see these two man,

because I wanted to ascertain
whether they were alive and well,

whether they were
who we believed they were.

I wasn't going to let James go,

who had now become
the passive observer in this event,

he was my only friend,
so he was coming with me, like it or not.

And, ladies and gentlemen,
it's about now that I need to confess

that encouraged by this achievement,

encouraged by the fact that it'd been
agreed that I could see these men,

adrenaline pumping,
blood coursing through my veins,

I am pretty cocky.

We bound through the cell,
and I see the two men in the corner,

I ordered that their hoods
and their chains be removed,

and in this pumped up state

where I temporarily
lost control of my senses,

- I don't know, I thought perhaps
I was Lara Croft at the time - (Laughter)

the hoods were removed,
and I'll never forget uttering the words

that I will regret till this very day,
something like this:

"It's alright, guys!" I said.
"I've come to save ya!"

(Laughter)

Yeah.

And, you know, the Brits
are polite by nature,

and these two chaps were no exception,
and they gave me a wry smile.

I knew on reflection
what they were thinking was:

"Oh, my goodness."

(Laughter)

I'm dulling it down for polite company.

(Laughter)

"If this is the best the British Army
can do, we're finished."

(Laughter)

Anyway, I've actually got control
of my senses again,

and we commit to negations.

And I kid you not, just as we were
about to sign a negotiation agreement

upon which the men
would be released into my custody,

all hell broke loose outside.

The crowd outside had swollen
to some 3,000 in number,

they had set the British soldiers

that were trying to control
them and protect us,

they had set them alight.

They stormed to the compound,
and within moments, everything changed.

James and I were thrown into another cell,

and we too became hostages
for many, many more hours.

During those hours, as the only woman,
as the only Arabic speaker in the room,

I was subjected to some degrading
and humiliating treatment.

I also faced my, I suppose,
moment of death

when a man came in from outside
brandishing an AK-47.

He cocked it, and he pointed it
in between my eyes,

and all I could do was to look at him
and challenge his humanity.

And that single act of defiance
must have had some effect,

not on him, but on the man next to him
who wrestled him to the ground,

took his weapon off,
and threw him out of the cell.

That man was the commanding officer
of the terrorist group.

A number of hours later,
we were miraculously rescued,

and that should have been
the end of my story, but it wasn't.

We went back to headquarters,

James received a heroe's welcome
and was sent in for military debriefing.

I received a cup of tea,
a kiss on the cheek,

and I was ordered back to my tent.

No debriefing. No acknowledgment
of a job well done.

The silence in relation to my role
on that day was deafening.

I felt gobsmacked, and I felt abandoned,
and I felt betrayed, but I soldiered on

because I had made promises to the Iraqis.

But by the time I returned from Iraq
to the UK almost a year later,

I was broken.

And 2006 was my annus horribilis.

It started with a diagnosis
of post-traumatic stress disorder.

I was then diagnosed
after suffering with ill health

from a very rare ectopic pregnancy
which almost cost me my life.

As I was convalescing,

I got news that James
had been awarded a Military Cross,

and I received an order
never to speak of my involvement again.

As I returned to work
after my ectopic pregnancy,

my husband was diagnosed with cancer.

And then, the nail in the coffin:

my friend and my colleague in Iraq

who had worked
on human rights abuses with me,

a man by the name of Asaf Al-Nahi
had been murdered,

leaving behind a lovely, young family.

Murdered as a result of the work
he was doing with me.

I felt guilty, and I felt
like I had his blood on my hands,

and I didn't know how I could go on.

But I had to go on,

because I'd made promises to all of those
that were voiceless and powerless.

But I realized [that] before I could go on
and help others I had to help myself.

So I got treatment.

Treatment that allowed me
to regain my inner strength and to heal.

Treatment that allowed me eventually,

after exhausting
all other informal avenues,

seek my justice in what became
a landmark discrimination case

against the British government
and the British military.

And I won my case.

(Applause)

Thank you.

(Applause)

But, ladies and gentlemen, the win
was not the important thing for me,

it was the effect afterwards.

I received thousands of messages
from people all over the world,

and the message was the same:
"Rabia, if you can take on

the might of the British military,
the British government and win,

then surely we can take a stand,

in our homes, in our workplaces,
in our communities."

And that's when it struck me.

I, one person, had been able
to create ripples that became waves.

As a consequence of my actions,
a sequence of events were set in course

that ultimately changed
the policies and the attitudes

towards women and Muslims
in the British Forces.

And I was just one person.

Just one person.

You know, there are many, many people
in history and in our world

that through their actions as one person
have created ripples and waves.

Those that have striven
for equality and peace:

Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King,
Aung San Suu Kyi, the Dalai Lama

to name but a few.

They were those in the world
whose act has changed our lives:

Thomas Newcomen,
the inventor of the steam engine,

Thomas Edison, the inventor
of the electric lightbulb,

Professor Leonard Kleinrock,

the person who sent
the first message over the Internet,

and closer to home,

David Warren, the inventor
of the black box flight recorder,

and doctors Lidwell and Booth,
the inventors of the electronic pacemaker,

and thousands, countless of others
unnamed and unrecognized volunteers

that dedicate their life
to helping the vulnerable,

the disenfranchised, and the voiceless.

To name but a few.

We all have the power to create ripples.
We all have the power to create ripples.

And so I would like, my friends,
having shared this story with you,

to leave you with some messages.

In this world, we need more than ever

(Music starts)

to come together and create
ripples and waves,

to mobilize ourselves and others
for a greater good and a higher purpose.

We can do this by sharing our stories,
as I have shared with you today,

by upholding and defending
our values that we ought to hold dear.

From time to time, we need
to take our head out of our smartphones,

we need to look up, and we need to open
our eyes, our ears, and our hearts.

And so I leave you
with this call to action, my friends.

Mother Teresa said:
"I cannot change the world alone,

but I can cast a stone across the water
and create many ripples."

I ask you to do the same.

Join with me, create ripples
and waves, and if you have any doubt,

in the words of Emma Watson,

- who delivered her speech
recently to the United Nations

launching the HeForShe campaign -
she said, "Ask yourself two questions."

I say, ask yourself three questions:

Does it matter?

If not me, then whom?

If not now, then when?

Mahatma Gandhi said: "Be the change
you wish to see in this world."

I ask you all: please, be the change
you wish to see in this world,

and join me by creating ripples and waves.

Thank you.

(Applause)