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The bugger, bugged

After a chance meeting with a former News of the World executive who told him his phone had been hacked, Hugh Grant couldn’t resist going back to him – with a hidden tape recorder – to find out if there was more to the story. . .

When I broke down in my midlife crisis car in remotest Kent just before Christmas, a battered white van pulled up on the far carriageway. To help, I thought. But when the driver got out he started taking pictures with a long-lens camera. He came closer to get better shots and I swore at him. Then he offered me a lift the last few miles to my destination. I suspected his motives and swore at him some more. (I'm not entirely sympathetic towards paparazzi.) Then I realised I couldn't get a taxi and was late. So I had to accept the lift.

He turned out to be an ex-News of the World investigative journalist and paparazzo, now running a pub in Dover. He still kept his camera in the car's glove box for just this kind of happy accident.

More than that, he was Paul McMullan, one of two ex-NoW hacks who had blown the whistle (in the Guardian and on Channel 4's Dispatches) on the full extent of phone-hacking at the paper, particularly under its former editor Andy Coulson. This was interesting, as I had been a victim - a fact he confirmed as we drove along. He also had an unusual defence of the practice: that phone-hacking was a price you had to pay for living in a free society. I asked how that worked exactly, but we ran out of time, and next thing we had arrived and he was asking me if I would pose for a photo with him, "not for publication, just for the wall of the pub".

I agreed and the picture duly appeared in the Mail on Sunday that weekend with his creative version of the encounter. He had asked me to drop into his pub some time. So when, some months later, Jemima asked me to write a piece for this paper, it occurred to me it might be interesting to take him up on his invitation.

I wanted to hear more about phone-hacking and the whole business of tabloid journalism. It occurred to me just to interview him straight, as he has, after all, been a whistleblower. But then I thought I might possibly get more, and it might be more fun, if I secretly taped him, The bugger bugged, as it were. Here are some excerpts from our conversation.

Me So, how's the whistleblowing going?
Him I'm trying to get a book published. I sent it off to a publisher who immediately accepted it and then it got legal and they said, "This is never going to get published."
Me Why? Because it accuses too many people of crime?
Him Yes, as I said to the parliamentary commission, Coulson knew all about it and regularly ordered it . . . He [Coulson] rose quickly to the top; he wanted to cover his tracks all the time. So he wouldn't just write a story about a celeb who'd done something. He'd want to make sure they could never sue, so he wanted us to hear the celeb like you on tape saying, "Hello, darling, we had lovely sex last night." So that's on tape - OK, we've got that and so we can publish . . . Historically, the way it went was, in the early days of mobiles, we all had analogue mobiles and that was an absolute joy. You know, you just . . . sat outside Buckingham Palace with a £59 scanner you bought at Argos and get Prince Charles and everything he said.
Me Is that how the Squidgy tapes [of Diana's phone conversations] came out? Which was put down to radio hams, but was in fact . . .
Him Paps in the back of a van, yes . . . I mean, politicians were dropping like flies in the Nineties because it was so easy to get stuff on them. And, obviously, less easy to justify is celebrities. But yes.
Me And . . . it wasn't just the News of the World. It was , you know - the Mail?
Him Oh absolutely, yeah. When I went freelance in 2004 the biggest payers - you'd have thought it would be the NoW, but actually it was the Daily Mail. If I take a good picture, the first person I go to is - such as in your case - the Mail on Sunday. Did you see that story? The picture of you, breaking down . . . I ought to thank you for that. I got £3,000. Whooo!
Me But would they [the Mail] buy a phone-hacked story?
Him For about four or five years they've absolutely been cleaner than clean. And before that they weren't. They were as dirty as anyone . . . They had the most money.
Me So everyone knew? I mean, would Rebekah Wade have known all this stuff was going on?
Him Good question. You're not taping, are you?
Me [slightly shrill voice] No.
Him Well, yeah. Clearly she . . . took over the job of [a journalist] who had a scanner who was trying to sell it to members of his own department. But it wasn't a big crime. [NB: Rebekah Brooks has always denied any knowledge of phone-hacking. The current police investigation is into events that took place after her editorship of the News of the World.]
It started off as fun - you know, it wasn't against the law, so why wouldn't you? And it was only because the MPs who were fiddling their expenses and being generally corrupt kept getting caught so much they changed the law in 2001 to make it illegal to buy and sell a digital scanner. So all we were left with was - you know - finding a blag to get your mobile [records] out of someone at Vodafone. Or, when someone's got it, other people swap things for it.
Me So they all knew? Wade probably knew all about it all?
Him [...] Cameron must have known - that's the bigger scandal. He had to jump into bed with Murdoch as everyone had, starting with Thatcher in the Seventies . . . Tony Blair . . . [tape is hard to hear here] Maggie openly courted Murdoch, saying, you know, "Please support me." So when Cameron, when it came his turn to go to Murdoch via Rebekah Wade . . . Cameron went horse riding regularly with Rebekah. I know, because as well as doorstepping celebrities, I've also doorstepped my ex-boss by hiding in the bushes, waiting for her to come past with Cameron on a horse . . . before the election to show that - you know - Murdoch was backing Cameron.
Me What happened to that story?
Him The Guardian paid for me to do it and I stepped in it and missed them, basically. They'd gone past - not as good as having a picture.
Me Do you think Murdoch knew about phone-hacking?
Him Errr, possibly not. He's a funny bloke given that he owns the Sun and the Screws . . . quite puritanical. Sorry to talk about Divine Brown, but when that came out . . . Murdoch was furious: "What are you putting that on our front page for? You're bringing down the tone of our papers." [Indicating himself] That's what we do over here.
Me Well, it's also because it was his film I was about to come out in.
Him Oh. I see.
Me Yeah. It was a Fox film.
[A pause here while we chat to other customers, and then - ]
Him So anyway, let me finish my story.
Me Murdoch, yes . . .
Him So I was sent to do a feature on Moulin Rouge! at Cannes, which was a great send anyway. Basically my brief was to see who Nicole Kidman was shagging - what she was doing, poking through her bins and get some stuff on her. So Murdoch's paying her five million quid to big up the French and at the same time paying me £5.50 to fuck her up . . . So all hail the master. We're just pawns in his game. How perverse is that?
Me Wow. You reckon he never knew about it?
Him [pause] I don't even think he really worried himself too much about it.
Me What's his son called?
Him James. They're all mates together. They all go horse riding. You've got Jeremy Clarkson lives here [in Oxfordshire]. Cameron lives here, and Rebekah Wade is married to Brooks's son [the former racehorse trainer Charlie Brooks]. Cameron gets dressed up as the Stig to go to Clarkson's 50th birthday party [NB: it was actually to record a video message for the party]. Is that demeaning for a prime minister? It should be the other way round, shouldn't it? So basically, Cameron is very much in debt to Rebekah Wade for helping him not quite win the election . . . So that was my submission to parliament - that Cameron's either a liar or an idiot.
Me But don't you think that all these prime ministers deliberately try to get the police to drag their feet about investigating the whole [phone-hacking] thing because they don't want to upset Murdoch?
Him Yeah. There's that . . . You also work a lot with policemen as well . . . One of the early stories was [and here he names a much-loved TV actress in her sixties] used to be a street walker - whether or not she was, but that's the tip.
Me and Chum MLTVA?!
Me I can't believe it. Oh no!
Chum Really??
Him Yeah. Well, not now . . .
Chum Oh, it'd be so much better if it was now.
Him So I asked a copper to get his hands on the phone files, but because it's only a caution it's not there any more. So that's the tip . . . it's a policeman ringing up a tabloid reporter and asking him for ten grand because this girl had been cautioned right at the start of his career. And then I ask another policemen to go and check the records . . . So that's happening regularly. So the police don't particularly want to investigate.
Me But do you think they're going to have to now?
Him I mean - 20 per cent of the Met has taken backhanders from tabloid hacks. So why would they want to open up that can of worms? . . . And what's wrong with that, anyway? It doesn't hurt anyone particularly. I mean, it could hurt someone's career - but isn't that the dance with the devil you have to play?
Me Well, I suppose the fact that they're dragging their feet while investigating a mass of phone-hacking - which is a crime - some people would think is a bit depressing about the police.
Him But then - should it be a crime? I mean, scanning never used to be a crime. Why should it be? You're transmitting your thoughts and your voice over the airwaves. How can you not expect someone to just stick up an aerial and listen in?
Me So if someone was on a landline and you had a way of tapping in . . .
Him Much harder to do.
Me But if you could, would you think that was illegal? Do you think that should be illegal?
Him I'd have to say quite possibly, yeah. I'd say that should be illegal.
Me But a mobile phone - a digital phone . . . you'd say it'd be all right to tap that?
Him I'm not sure about that. So we went from a point where anyone could listen in to anything. Like you, me, journalists could listen in to corrupt politicians, and this is why we have a reasonably fair society and a not particularly corrupt or criminal prime minister, whereas other countries have Gaddafi. Do you think it's right the only person with a decent digital scanner these days is the government? Whereas 20 years ago we all had a go? Are you comfortable that the only people who can listen in to you now are - is it MI5 or MI6?
Me I'd rather no one listened in, to be honest. And I might not be alone there. You probably wouldn't want people listening to your conversations.
Him I'm not interesting enough for anyone to want to listen in.
Me Ah . . . I think that was one of the questions asked last week at one of the parliamentary committees. They asked Yates [John Yates, acting deputy commissioner of the Metropolitan Police] if it was true that he thought that the NoW had been hacking the phones of friends and family of those girls who were murdered . . . the Soham murder and the Milly girl [Milly Dowler].
Him Yeah. Yeah. It's more than likely. Yeah . . . It was quite routine. Yeah - friends and family is something that's not as easy to justify as the other things.
Me But celebrities you would justify because they're rich?
Him Yeah. I mean, if you don't like it, you've just got to get off the stage. It'll do wonders.
Me So I should have given up acting?
Him If you live off your image, you can't really complain about someone . . .
Me I live off my acting. Which is different to living off your image.
Him Yeah, but you're still presenting yourself to the public. And if the public didn't know you -
Me They don't give a shit. I got arrested with a hooker and they still came to my films. They don't give a fuck about your public image. They just care about whether you're in an entertaining film or not.
Him That's true . . . I have terrible difficulty with him [points to pap shot of Johnny Depp]. He's really difficult. You know, I was in Venice and he was a nightmare to do because he walks around looking like Michael Jackson. And the punchline was . . . after leading everyone a merry dance the film was shot on an open balcony - I mean, it was like - he was standing there in public.
Me And you don't see the difference between the two situations?
Chum He was actually working at this time? As opposed to having his own private time?
Him You can't hide all the time.
Me So you're saying, if you're Johnny Depp or me, you don't deserve to have a private life?
Him You make so much more money. You know, most people in Dover take home about £200 and struggle.
Me So how much do you think the families of the Milly and Soham girls make?
Him OK, so there are examples that are poor and you can't justify - and that's clearly one of them.
Me I tell you the thing I still don't get - if you think it was all right to do all that stuff, why blow the whistle on it?
Him Errm . . . Right. That's interesting. I actually blew the whistle when a friend of mine at the Guardian kept hassling me for an interview. I said, "Well if you put the name of the Castle [his pub] on the front page of the Guardian, I'll do anything you like." So that's how it started.
Me So, have you been leant on by the NoW, News International, since you blew the whistle?
Him No, they've kept their distance. I mean, there's people who have much better records - my records are non-existent. There are people who actually have tapes and transcripts they did for Andy Coulson.
Me And where are these tapes and transcripts? Do you think they've been destroyed?
Him No, I'm sure they're saving them till they retire.
Me So did you personally ever listen to my voice messages?
Him No, I didn't personally ever listen to your voice messages. I did quite a lot of stories on you, though. You were a very good earner at times.

Those are the highlights. As I drove home past the white cliffs, I thought it was interesting - apart from the fact that Paul hates people like me, and I hate people like him, we got on quite well. And, absurdly, I felt a bit guilty for recording him.

And he does have a very nice pub. The Castle Inn, Dover, for the record. There are rooms available, too. He asked me if I'd like to sample the honeymoon suite some time: "I can guarantee your privacy."

-- Listen to the audio now --

This article first appeared in the 11 April 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Jemima Khan guest edit

Photo: Getty
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“I thought al-Qaeda was recruiting me”: can we spot when terrorism is a delusion?

If there’s one thing more controversial than the idea of a link between terrorism and religion, it’s a link between terrorism and mental health.

Amr isn’t sure when he started “acting weird”. It was 2007, and he was a “know-it-all” teenager in his first year of university, with romantic ideas about intellectuals. He smoked weed every day, tried magic mushrooms, and listened to a lot of classic rock.

“I was sending really strange texts and emails to a few people,” he recalls, ten years on. “They were like, ‘Oh, he must be stoned, must be high’.” Although Amr is a British citizen, of Syrian-Palestinian heritage, he grew up in Saudi Arabia, and Jordan, where his family still lived when he moved to London to start university. One grandmother in Hounslow aside, he was alone.

“All the Eighties and Nineties rock music that I liked, which was probably all written in drug-addled states,  they shared these metaphors – keys, doors, getting to the other side,” he says. “It started to build up. I believed there was this secret and by taking acid, shrooms, you would unlock an ability to access this other side.”

The rock metaphor soon spiralled into a full-blown conviction that there was a parallel world, called Three – the mobile network Amr was on at the time. “In this other world, we’re telepathic, and essentially this telepathy unaided doesn’t have a long range. But what Three does is it acts as a mobile phone carrier for the normal world and then in the world of Three you can use it to extend the range of your telepathic abilities.”

If Amr’s fantastical world sounds very Noughties, then it just got a bit more so. He began to hear messages, from a very Noughties villain. “It was a kind of Osama bin Laden figure” with a “radical Islamist look – old army fatigues, a big beard, a Kalashnikov.” In other words, “the bogey man”.


If there’s one thing more controversial than the idea of a link between terrorism and religion, it’s the link between terrorism and mental health. In September 2016, three psychiatrists warned in the British Medical Journal that linking terrorism with mental illness fuelled stigma. In the Independent, Will Gore warned against “creating a kind of homogenised bogeyman figure – a religious fundamentalist afflicted by mental illness”.

Counter to this is the complaint that mental health is too often used to excuse right-wing terrorism. This attitude is not restricted to the dusty corners of the right, as became apparent after the conviction of Thomas Mair, who attended far-right rallies before murdering the pro-refugee MP Jo Cox. Louise Mensch, the former Tory MP, suggested Mair’s trial was unfair because his mental health did not feature. BBC veteran broadcaster John Humphrys said: “It slightly muddies the water, doesn’t it, when we talk about that as terrorism?”

Counter-terrorism officials, though, remain extremely interested in mental health and its relationship to both Islamist and right-wing extremism. Under the Prevent programme, NHS staff are encouraged to refer individuals they believe to be at risk of extremism, by assessing factors including mental and psychological health problems. In October 2016, Prevent piloted a scheme where psychologists, psychiatrists and mental health nurses were recruited to work directly alongside its officers.

The initiative began after Birmingham and Solihull Mental Health NHS Trust looked at individuals referred for radicalisation, and found up to half exhibited “a broad range of mental health and psychological difficulties”. This applied across different ideologies “including Islamist and far-right extremism”. 


“There is something physical about being psychotic,” Amr says. “Your mind is racing at a million miles an hour, you’re sleepless. Maybe the first irrational thinking began by trying to explain that.”

Amr today is an evolutionary biologist at the University of Oxford, who works in the same department as Richard Dawkins, the celebrated atheist and author of The God Delusion. I meet him in a grand, carpeted room for academics at St Hilda’s College that looks on to expansive gardens.

Although Amr grew up in religious countries, he decided he was an atheist when he was still an adolescent. He believes his religious delusions began as a kind of skewed logic. “No one will believe something as irrational as a hallucination without a certain amount of reasoning,” he says.

Amr describes his hallucinations as close to reality, rather than dreams. His delusions centred on his mobile phone. “I was hearing messages as clear as you can hear my voice,” he says in the hush of the common room. “It sounds like audio. It sounds as if somebody was in the room, but they’re not physically there and it’s not your voice.” Terror group al-Qaeda was in fact only one of the shadowy recruiters he believed was calling – the others were the CIA, and the Israeli secret service Mossad. The only person he saw in the room was Princess Diana.

At one point, inspired by Dan Brown’s novel The Da Vinci Code, which imagines an alternative Christian history, Amr began to think he was Jesus. “In The Da Vinci Code, the main character is the descendant of Jesus and basically I replaced her with me. It all made sense because I was Palestinian.”

Amr’s sceptical view of religion extends to challenging the idea there is a firm line between faith and delusion. “How many people say I spoke to God last night?” he asks. “George Bush did it on national television. He said God told him to invade Iraq and nobody batted an eye.”


Delusions have been recorded for centuries, but the subject matter of the delusion seems to change over time. A 2013 New Yorker article chronicled the rise of a delusion concerning the film The Truman Show, in which a man realises he is actually the star of a reality TV programme. Noting the ubiquity of phone cameras and the rise of social media, the writer, Andrew Marantz, said: “In the 15 years since The Truman Show was released, its premise has increasingly come to seem nonbizarre.”

According to a 2007 paper in the World Culture Psychiatry Research Review, “Paranoid-hallucinatory Syndromes in Schizophrenia”, different cultures have different delusions. While hallucinations in Christian countries might include the belief the individual was a god, this was unheard of among Pakistani patients. Lithuanian and Polish patients, on the other hand, were most likely to feel apocalyptic guilt. In the UK, a study of old medical case notes found that religious delusions were more common in the 19th century than today.

“There are changes,” says Andrew Sims, a veteran psychiatrist and the author of Is Faith Delusion? “I remember talking to a friend of mine about the moon landing. It was two to three weeks later and he said ‘I have already had a patient who believes he has landed on the moon.’”

Sims, though, argues that the difference between a religious delusion and faith is clear. “We would make the distinction between the content of the delusion and the form of the delusion.

“The form of the delusion is the delusion. The content is usually something highly significant in that person’s life. We get delusions of religion, we get delusions of people believing they’re being stolen from.”

So what about Christians who claim to hear voices? “If a lot of other people in the religious community have the same sort of experience, and he is saying he is hearing these voices, not an outside voice but an inside voice in his head about what he should be doing, that is more likely to be a religious belief.”

Delusions also do not tend to be shared. “In the old days you might find two patients who believed they were the Virgin Mary,” says Sims. “But if Mrs Jones believes she was the Virgin Mary she would not believe Mrs Brown was.”

The distinct characteristics of delusions may be apparent to psychiatrists, but in the wider world, they can be missed. In 2015, Alan Pean, a black Houston student with a history of delusions, tried to drive himself to hospital for psychiatric help, but crashed his car, and was taken to the emergency room instead. His father, a doctor, tried to alert staff to the fact his son was not just physically, but also mentally disturbed. But when Pean refused to follow the nurse’s orders, rather than referring him for psychiatric help, she called security. After an altercation, a police officer shot Pean in his hospital room. Pean, who survived, told the radio programme This American Life he believed the officer had not seen him for what he was – mentally ill – but assumed he was an “angry black guy”.


One day during his delusionary period, Amr went to Hyde Park and ended up at Speaker’s Corner. Using his Palestinian background, he managed to talk his way on to an Islamist soap box.

“I remember getting up and saying ‘I’m not with them, I don’t believe in God by the way.’” Then he went “into an inarticulate rant about Palestine and Israel, maybe got one half-arsed round of applause”.

The stint at Speaker’s Corner was just the start of Amr’s delusions driving his actions in the real world. As they got more intense, he spent several days wandering around London, performing invented rituals.

In one, he lined up his shoes in a park and ran around it barefoot. He sought out zebra crossings, which he believed were connected to the alternate world, and tried to mimic the way The Beatles had walked across the one at Abbey Road. He even slept under a bridge. Much of this was designed to stop the telepathic signals reaching him. “I didn’t want the voices,” he says. “I remember trying to resist them.”

Eventually, worried he would give in to al-Qaeda, Amr decided to turn himself in to the police. He showed up at a station on a Sunday, and tried to hand in his passport to a sleepy receptionist. “I suppose what I was trying to do, retrospectively, was transfer agency away from me because I felt so helpless,” he says. The receptionist, though, handed it back. “He said ‘I understand, come back tomorrow, it’s a Sunday,’” Amr recalls. “Which baffles me to this day.”

Rebuffed, Amr retreated to his room in university halls. He lit candles, stripped naked and began mixing Islamic prayer and meditation. “I went into some weird, intense, solitary moment where I was almost seduced.”

Still unable to rid himself of the voices, he went down to the foyer. There were only two other people there – an Egyptian receptionist, and a woman in a hijab in a glass-walled computer room. “I thought, ‘Aha, they must be the conduits',” Amr says. “I walked over to the computer room, and screamed through the glass at the woman. When the receptionist noticed, I went over to him and screamed for several minutes straight.”


The relationship between mental health and terrorism has been scrutinised by Emily Corner and Paul Gill, two crime scientists from University College London. In a 2017 article, they described this relationship as “far more complex than typically presented”. Lone wolf terrorists were more likely to have a diagnosed disorder than the general population, but were also 13.5 times more likely to have one than group-based terrorists. Of 76 individuals involved in attacks between 2014 and 2016, a history of psychological instability was noted in 21, or more than a quarter.

In another analysis of individual referrals, Corner and Gill found just 10 per cent of those with psychosis were religiously inspired, compared to 15 per cent who had right-wing beliefs and 32 per cent who held a single-issue ideology. 

Corner dismissed the idea of a causal link between mental illness and terrorism – “we have been very clear that mental health doesn’t cause violence” – and the paper she co-authored criticises sensationalist media reporting of “mentalhadists”.

Nevertheless, she notes there have been a number of cases where intervention could have pre-empted an incident: “They were making violent statements, and the reason they went on to act violently was because they didn’t get help.”

The Prevent programme is often criticised for its blunt approach – including from medics who fear it is damaging patient-doctor relations. But Corner, who has interviewed a number of Prevent practitioners, praises it for helping to identify those in need of medical attention.

It is ironic, perhaps, that mental health services could be protected in the name of counter-terrorism, when elsewhere they are in line for NHS budget cuts.

Corner is keen to see all mental health services improved, with more emphasis on the early stages of identifying problems: “When you go through the NHS, unless you’re actually unwell at that stage, booking an appointment for care takes months and months and months.”


After Amr finished screaming, the stunned receptionist called the university dean, who sent him to hospital. He received anti-psychotic medication and was eventually released into the care of his parents. The delusions did not vanish immediately. “Even after I was released I still believed a few things,” he says. He still heard voices. “I eventually joined the CIA because they promised to help with my exams.”

This particular belief helped him to re-join university – “They gave me the answers while I was taking my exams, but the condition was you had to stop talking about the theories.”

Eventually, only Princess Diana was left, whom he considered a guardian. “She would appear crouched on lamp posts.” Then, even she disappeared.

Ten years on, Amr has not experienced delusions again. He feels lucky that he received treatment in time, and wonders how the media would have reported it if his delusions had driven him to do something newsworthy.

“Let’s go to this alternate world, headline, British Muslim – because that’s what I’m going to be, never mind I stopped believing in God at age 12 – from an Arab background who grew up in the Middle East, politically outspoken and opinionated. Was seen in Hyde Park Corner shouting about Palestine, Israel. Has emails of all sorts of opinions, acted weird for several weeks.” He pauses. “If I ran into a crowded space shouted Allahu Akbar…”

He also wonders if he would receive the same medical support today. “With funding cuts to all these services, what we’re ultimately doing is relying on band aids. Entire communities or groups of vulnerable people are barely kept in check.”


“Most people may be intuitively inclined to attribute the willingness to carry out suicide attacks to the offenders’ individual traits,” writes the psychologist and terrorism expert Ariel Merari in his book Driven to Death. “This intuition presumably reflects the notion that there must be something psychologically wrong with, or at least peculiar about, young, physically healthy people who kill themselves willingly.”

Mental health does not explain terrorism, even lone wolf attacks. But mentally ill people watch the news like everyone else. Those experiencing psychotic episodes in 2017 may well have delusions about Islamic State, just as in 2007 an atheist student could have them about al-Qaeda.

The academics I spoke to felt the British police were well-trained in the distinction between a delusion and a genuine ideological motive. As armed police become more common on the streets, this training will be even more important.

Wider society, intentionally or unintentionally, still often blurs the two. On 5 December 2015, Muhiddin Mire, a 30-year-old British Somali man, ran into London’s Leytonstone Tube station with a knife. As he attempted to murder the musician Lyle Zimmerman, he was heard shouting: “This is for Syria.” When Mire was arrested, police found images of Isis on his phone. The incident was initially reported as a terrorist attack.

At Mire’s trial, though, two psychiatrists described how Mire had been previously hospitalised for psychosis, and about a year before the attack had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and given anti-psychotic medication, which he was believed to have stopped taking.

Mire was also reported to have visited a local mosque, where he asked to be exorcised of “spirits”. He believed he was being followed, and that Tony Blair was his guardian angel. Mire’s brother told Channel 4 that in August 2015, four months before the attack, “he started calling me up and saying odd things. Not radical…saying he’s seeing demons and stuff.” He called the local authorities and the police to try to get his brother help, but did not succeed.  

Mire’s sentencing illustrates the difficulties society still has distinguishing illness from ideology. He was found guilty of attempted murder, rather than terrorism, and sentenced to life in a psychiatric hospital, rather than a prison. Nevertheless, during the sentencing, Judge Nicholas Hilliard QC said while he accepted the man was suffering from paranoid schizophrenia at the time of the offence, his "brazen" actions were "an attempt to kill an innocent member of the public for ideological reasons". The Daily Mail called him a “jihadi attacker” in its headline on the story.

Six months after Mire’s trial, the newly-elected US president Donald Trump released a list of “terror attacks” he claimed had not been reported by the European press. The Leytonstone stabbing was one of them.

Zimmerman, the victim of the attack, had a different view. “I was very clear in my mind within a day or so of the attack that it was just a mental health tragedy,” he said at the time. “This guy had had a really profound history of mental illness and his family had been trying to get him help.”

If you're affected by any of the mental health issues mentioned in this piece you can call the Mind helpline on 0300 123 3393.

Julia Rampen is the digital news editor of the New Statesman (previously editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog). She has also been deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines. 

This article first appeared in the 11 April 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Jemima Khan guest edit