0500 I wake early, thinking we could be arriving at Hao.
But we're still in open ocean.
0700 Still no sign of land. I'm starting to feel even more
bored and frustrated. It is as if we are suspended in a time
warp, somewhere between a Kafka novel and Inspector Closeau. It
makes you realise how much communication and information are
vital elements of being "free". Even the gendarmes seem to think
the situation is ridiculous. It's rather like being under house
arrest, I suppose -- you have plenty of food, a bed and a place
to be, but are completely isolated from the world.
I vacuum my cabin, read a book in the shade on deck, try to
switch off the fact that the paratroopers keep staring at me all
the top. I feel objectified, so I just try to turn my receptors
off and pretend they are not there.
11am The Centaure stops for a change-over of gendarmes.
They tell us we are now going to be waiting until 6am Tuesday to
enter Hao -- it was to have been noon today "because of the
tide". Apparently the delay is to wait for the MV Greenpeace ,
which apparently left Moruroa under tow on Sunday with 7 or 8
crew on board. They also tell us that three sailing boats were
arrested in the zone on Sunday and two zodiacs got into the
lagoon at 5.30am today. In fact, we find out later that only the
Kidu, a French yacht, was arrested on Sunday although other peace
flotilla vessels had been in and out across the 12 mile limit.
The paratroopers are young grunts with seemingly less
intelligence and personality than even the commandos. They're
like tanned and muscular Ken dolls, not emoting, just being.
They spend a lot of time in the mess playing cards (tarot), which
Pierre Emmanuel joins in, and heating up ghastly looking ochre-
flesh coloured meat in tins in the galley. They've arrived with
heaps of plastic and garbage - mineral water and soft drink
containers, plastic wrappings, tins and small plastic/paper
containers in their ration boxes - and they simply don't get our
waste separation system. Alice would be furious!
5.30pm Another small victory -- they have had an order
from Moruroa that the French High Commission in Papeete has
authorised me to send a note to my family. Obviously the
combined pressure of the Mills family and the NZ government is
having some effect. The chief gendarme tells me my letter will
be read by the Admiral, but not censored by him. I tell him he
can stuff his bloody Admiral.
I write:
6.45pm Moruroa Time, Monday September 4
Monday September 4
To my dear family:
We have now been held for 84 hours incommunicado on board the SV
Rainbow Warrior. We are being held illegally: the "garde a vue"
which expires after 48 hours, ended two days ago. We have been
told we are "free" but we are not allowed on teh bridge, the
engine room, or in the radio toom, and they have orders to use
military force against us if we "disobey". There are several
gendarmes and about a dozen military personnel on board. We are
okay, although when I took a photograph of Jon Castle coming down
the mast on Sunday, two commandos jumped on me, forced me to teh
ground and threw the camera over the side.
As far as we are concerned, our enforced detention is as illegal
as France's nuclear testing programme. We protest, and will
continue to protest, at both our imprisonment and at nuclear
testing. We demand to see a lawyer immediately, and will seek
all legal remedies to assert our democratic rights to protest
peacefully and to get legal redress against those who have
detained us unlawfully.
Please call the families of all the crew on board: Philip
Pupuka, Tim Gorter, Jon Castle, Pierre-Emmanuel Neurohr, Derek
Nicholls and Rob Willighagen, for me. They have been fantastic.
My love to you all, I know you are thinking of me as I of you. I
couldn't do it without you! My special love to Michael.
Arohanui, Stephanie
PS I have been told that this letter will not be censored. I hope
you recieve it as soon as possible.