JUST OVER A week ago, east London witnessed a horrific road traffic incident.
Five young men were travelling in a car when it left the road, struck a roadside pillar and burst into flames. Two were pronounced dead at the scene and another was critically injured. Three men travelling in a second car were later arrested on suspicion of dangerous driving and failing to stop.
As further video footage emerged over the following days, it appeared to show two cars travelling at very high speed immediately before the incident. One of the vehicles subsequently lost control with devastating consequences. The police continue to investigate the precise circumstances.
All of the young men involved were Muslims.
Like many others, I followed the story as details slowly emerged. What struck me almost as much as the incident itself was the reaction to it.
Among non-Muslims there were the predictable racist comments, alongside others who simply expressed sympathy for the families or reflected on the terrible loss of life.
What surprised me most, however, were some of the reactions from fellow Muslims.
“They deserved what they got.”
“Better them than innocent people.”
“I’m not losing any sleep over them.”
The anger is understandable. What happened was reckless, dangerous and criminal. Innocent lives could easily have been lost. Such behaviour deserves condemnation.
But I couldn’t help feeling that many of us were confusing two different questions.
The first is: What did they do?
The second is: How should we respond to their deaths?
The answer to the first does not automatically determine the answer to the second. The first question is about facts, responsibility and accountability.
The answer is straightforward. If they were racing, driving recklessly and endangering others, then what they did was wrong. Had they survived, they should have faced the full consequences of their actions in this world. Like every one of us, they will also answer before Allah in the Hereafter.
But the second question is different. How should believers respond when young Muslims die, even if they died whilst committing a serious sin?
Should our first response be, “They got what they deserved”? Or should it be: “Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un.”
A Tragedy Does Not Cease to Be a Tragedy
Some objected to calling this a tragedy because these young men brought it upon themselves.
I cannot agree.
A tragedy does not cease to be a tragedy because it was brought about by human choices.
Indeed, many of the tragedies that fill our newspapers are preventable. A driver drinks and gets behind the wheel. A young person experiments with drugs and overdoses. A moment of uncontrolled anger ends in violence. A person overwhelmed by despair takes their own life. A few seconds of reckless driving change countless lives forever.
The fact that poor decisions contributed to the outcome does not make these events any less tragic. If anything, it makes them more tragic, because they need never have happened.
A Muslim’s life is an amanah from Allah. It is meant to be spent worshipping Him, serving family, benefiting society and preparing for the Hereafter. To see a young Muslim’s life end in what appears to have been a moment of recklessness is therefore not merely shocking. It is profoundly tragic.
It should grieve us, not harden us.
Mercy Does Not Cancel Justice
The Prophet ﷺ said: “Allah will not be merciful to those who are not merciful to people.” (Bukhari)
Mercy is often misunderstood.
Mercy does not mean denying wrongdoing. Mercy does not mean preventing justice. Mercy does not mean pretending no crime was committed.
Mercy means refusing to allow another person’s sin to extinguish our compassion for them. It means making du’a for their forgiveness rather than expressing satisfaction at their death. It means remembering that every one of us hopes Allah will deal with us through His mercy rather than according to what we deserve.
One of the first things I noticed after the accident was how confidently people spoke about matters they did not know. Some claimed the young men were on drugs. Others confidently reconstructed events before any evidence had emerged.
Some of those claims may eventually prove true. Others may prove completely false. But a Muslim should be extremely cautious before speaking without knowledge.
Rumours have a tendency to spread, and once words leave our mouths they cannot be recalled. A grieving family hears them. A person’s honour is affected by them. We may even end up slandering someone who can no longer defend himself.
Our deen teaches us to guard our tongues before rushing to judgement.
إِذْ تَلَقَّوْنَهُۥ بِأَلْسِنَتِكُمْ وَتَقُولُونَ بِأَفْوَاهِكُم مَّا لَيْسَ لَكُم بِهِۦ عِلْمٌۭ وَتَحْسَبُونَهُۥ هَيِّنًۭا وَهُوَ عِندَ ٱللَّهِ عَظِيمٌۭ
When you passed it from one tongue to the other, and said with your mouths what you had no knowledge of, taking it lightly while it is (extremely) serious in the sight of Allah. (an Nur 15)
Hating the Sin Without Abandoning the Sinner
The Qur’an presents a remarkable lesson in the story of the people of the Sabbath. One group openly disobeyed Allah. A second group continued advising them and calling them back to obedience. Then there was a third group who questioned the point: “Why do you preach to a people whom Allah is going to destroy or punish severely?”
In other words: why bother? They’re beyond hope.
The response of those who continued advising was equally remarkable:
مَعْذِرَةً إِلَىٰ رَبِّكُمْ وَلَعَلَّهُمْ يَتَّقُونَ
“Just to be free from your Lord’s blame, and so perhaps they may abstain.” (al A’raf 164)
Notice the difference. They did not minimise the sin. They did not deny Allah’s punishment. They recognised the gravity of the sin, but they had not abandoned hope for the sinner. They still hoped they would repent. They still wanted good for them.
Surely that is closer to the Prophetic attitude. We should hate the sin without ceasing to care about the sinner.
Justice and Mercy Are Not Opposites
Some said, “What if it was your family they had killed? Would you still be talking about mercy?”
Islam itself answers that question.
When speaking about qisas (retaliation), Allah gives the victim’s family the right to seek justice. But in the very same verse He praises those who forgive and seek reconciliation for His sake.
يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلَّذِينَ ءَامَنُوا۟ كُتِبَ عَلَيْكُمُ ٱلْقِصَاصُ فِى ٱلْقَتْلَى ۖ ٱلْحُرُّ بِٱلْحُرِّ وَٱلْعَبْدُ بِٱلْعَبْدِ وَٱلْأُنثَىٰ بِٱلْأُنثَىٰ ۚ فَمَنْ عُفِىَ لَهُۥ مِنْ أَخِيهِ شَىْءٌۭ فَٱتِّبَاعٌۢ بِٱلْمَعْرُوفِ وَأَدَآءٌ إِلَيْهِ بِإِحْسَـٰنٍۢ
O believers! (The law of) retaliation is set for you in cases of murder, a free man for a free man, a slave for a slave, and a female for a female. But if the offender is pardoned by the victim’s guardian, then blood-money should be decided fairly and payment should be made courteously. (al Baqarah 178)
Justice satisfies the rights of people. Mercy reflects the character of the believer. Allah knows that people respond differently to grief. Some families pursue justice. Some forgive. Some dedicate their lives to ensuring others never suffer the same loss. Islam makes room for all of those responses.
It is therefore wrong to assume that mercy somehow weakens justice or that every victim’s family would inevitably respond in the same way.
Before We Judge Other Parents
Some said that the parents had failed in some way.
SubhanAllah.
None of us knows what role, if any, their parents played. As parents we have a profound responsibility, but we are not masters of our children’s choices.
The son of Adam (as) murdered his own brother. The son of Nuh (as) rejected his father’s message despite being raised by a Prophet.
If Prophets could not guarantee the choices of their own children, then none of us should imagine we can.
What struck me most was this. One person wrote that they would be heartbroken if their own child ever behaved like this.
I found myself thinking: There are parents who are heartbroken right now. Whatever mistakes their sons made, they have buried a child. Before speaking about how we would feel if it were our own children, perhaps we should remember that, for someone, it already is.
When Tragedy Has a Name
The following morning I discovered that one of those who had died was the son of someone I knew from an area where I used to live.
I had known him since he was a child. I knew him to be respectful, kind and helpful. I knew his parents to be decent people. That does not mean he could not have done something terrible. It simply reminded me that a human being is more than the worst decision of his life.
When tragedy has a name, a face and a family, abstract judgement becomes much harder.
The Lesson for All of Us
I have a son of a similar age. I showed him the footage. I warned him about speed, peer pressure and reckless behaviour. I told him plainly that this is where such choices can lead.
Such behaviour is not a minor lapse but a serious sin with fatal consequences, and our youth need to hear that plainly and without softening.
But I also found myself making du’a.
“O Allah, do not test me through my children. Do not let the Angel of Death come to any of us while we are in a moment of sin, anger or heedlessness. Protect our children from foolishness. Protect our hearts from arrogance. And when we witness the suffering or downfall of others, let our first response be humility, compassion and remembrance that we too stand in need of Your mercy.”
I do not ask this because I think dying in sin is only a tragedy when it might happen to my own child. I ask it because it would be a tragedy for anyone, and asking Allah to spare us from it is also how we remember that.
This tragedy should remind our youth of the devastating consequences of reckless behaviour. But it should also remind the rest of us of something equally important.
Justice and mercy are not opposites. A believer should condemn the sin. A believer should uphold justice.
But a believer should never lose the capacity to grieve the loss of a fellow Muslim, to pray for their forgiveness, to comfort those they leave behind, and to remember that any one of us could be one poor decision away from standing in need of exactly the same mercy that we were unwilling to show someone else.
