We are talking in an East-London living room and are surrounded by a group of his supporters, Al Qadri on a plastic chair, me sinking ever deeper into a soft leather couch.
Told from here, from this hard bench that is both bed and chair, table and couch, inside walls and bars painted a dark gray like a grim parody of jail, the story has a different ring than it would if I could tell it from the desk in my office.