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UberEats delivery driver, Jabed Hussain survived a horrific acid attack in 2017 and has since campaigned for stronger protections for drivers. His attack was part of a spike in acid assaults in East London, which prompted changes in UK law to regulate the sale of corrosive substances.
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Jabed’s efforts, alongside other campaigners, played a key role in pushing for stricter laws and raising awareness about the dangers delivery workers face on the streets.
It was July 13th, 2017 — a night I’ll never forget. I was finishing my last delivery of the evening around 10 PM, riding my moped down Queen’s Road in Hackney. It felt like any other night until everything changed in an instant. Out of nowhere, two men on a motorbike pulled up beside me. I didn’t even have time to process what was happening before the liquid hit my face. At first, I didn’t realise what it was, but within seconds, the burning began. It was acid.
I was lucky in one way—I had my helmet on. But the visor wasn’t fully closed, and the acid splashed onto the right side of my face and neck, burning through my skin. My cheek felt like it was on fire. I started screaming; the pain was so sharp it was unbearable. I jumped off my bike and tried to hide behind the cars on the street. I saw them try to throw more acid, but by then, I had managed to escape, though they took my moped.
I was terrified, running from car to car, banging on the windows, begging for help. But no one opened their doors. No one wanted to get involved. Finally, a minicab driver gave me water, and I poured it over my face, hoping to stop the burning, but the pain wouldn’t stop. A passerby bought more water from a shop, and someone called an ambulance. It felt like forever before the paramedics arrived.
I messaged my colleagues on the WhatsApp group we use to keep each other informed about attacks and dangers. Within minutes, they were there, surrounding and supporting me. But by that time, the damage was done. The police and ambulance arrived, and they poured water over me, trying to ease the pain. I was shaking from shock, the attack changed my life completely.
I was taken to the Royal London Hospital, where I stayed overnight. The physical injuries were bad enough — the burns on my face and neck, the long-term breathing complications — but the psychological damage has been even harder to live with. Since that night, I’ve been afraid to work. I can’t ride my bike without feeling anxious and I’m constantly on edge, always looking over my shoulder. I can’t even drive with the windows down without panicking.
The fear doesn’t belong to me alone — it belongs to my family as well. For the first few years, I couldn’t even leave the house comfortably. Every time I stepped outside, I felt vulnerable and exposed, needing my wife by my side constantly. I carried a huge water bottle and wore my helmet outside all the time.
The acid attack I suffered wasn’t just random, it’s part of a bigger problem. At the time I was already campaigning for better safety measures for delivery drivers for months before this happened. I wasn’t the only one attacked that night; I was just the first. Five other acid attacks took place in East London that evening, all within a few miles of each other. Hackney had become notorious for attacks on drivers— knife attacks, muggings, and now acid.
I was attacked with a corrosive substance that could still legally be purchased by the general public in shops or online, often for legitimate uses like cleaning or plumbing. Before 2017, there were no age restrictions, so even minors could access these chemicals without ID. People didn’t need to provide a reason for buying or carrying acid in public, making it dangerously easy for attackers to obtain and transport it. It’s terrifying how simple it was to buy acid online — something needed to change, with stricter laws and better protection.
Jabed Hussain (centre), a rider for UberEATS who had his moped stolen when two suspects also riding a moped sprayed him with liquid. (PA)
Following my attack, I became even more vocal in calling for changes to the law. I started going to schools to give talks about acid attacks, knife crime, and the dangers of how easily accessible these substances are. I also held public meetings, challenged politicians to take action, and worked closely with community groups to raise awareness and push for stronger protections and held a fundraising event at The Royal Regency to raise money for those affected by acid attacks. My advocacy aimed to prevent future attacks and ensure that stricter regulations were put in place.
In October 2017, the UK government announced legal reforms to combat acid attacks, including plans to introduce age restrictions, making it illegal to sell corrosive substances to anyone under 18. They also proposed a ban on carrying corrosive substances in public without a legitimate reason and discussed implementing stricter sentencing guidelines for those who use acid in assaults.
My attacker, Derryck John, was just 17 and was found guilty the following year. While my facial burns have healed, I’m still traumatised and struggle with breathing problems. John admitted to attacking six moped riders with acid in a bid to steal their bikes. He was convicted of throwing corrosive liquid to cause serious harm, an offence that could mean life in prison for an adult. I do feel sorry he was so young, but age shouldn’t excuse what he did.
Finally, in 2019, the Offensive Weapons Act made it illegal to possess corrosive substances in public without a valid reason, placing the burden of proof on the individual to show lawful intent. It also introduced stricter measures, making it illegal to sell acid to anyone under 18, whether in stores or online, aiming to prevent acid from being used to cause harm.
Even with the changes in the law, the fear hasn’t left. I’m constantly on guard, always aware of my surroundings. I still touch my face, still struggle with breathing, and wearing a helmet feels more like protection than just biking gear now.
Years have passed but that night is never far from my mind.
*As told to Rabina Khan
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