8th September 1995

0330 Paris time I decide its time we got some results out of the gendarmes, so start to hassle them about getting a lawyer, access to our consuls and a phone call as soon as we arrive. Also, that we don't want to get off the plane until we know what is happening to us. They keep insisting they know nothing.

0445 Paris time We land at Le Bourget after a steep but long descent through bumpy air. It's dark, rainy and looks chilly outside; they say its 12 degrees. We taxi into the military part of the airport. Out the window, it looks like the final scene from Casablanca. A large crew of gendarmes, flashing lights etc are waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. A set of plainclothes senior police and some uniformed gendarmes come on board. I refuse to leave without some warmer clothes and the promise of a phone call. I get some boots and my swandri, but no phone call. I shake hands with the gendarmes who have accompanied us -- all but one accept to shake my hand -- but they look glad to see the back of me. A tough looking commando type grabs my shoulder and takes my down the steps, me shrugging him off. We are bundled into two white vans with blue lights and sirens, and ferried across through the damp to a police or immigration office on the side of the airport.

0530: Derek is put in one office, me in another. I demand a phone call and refuse to comprehend French. They seem to have only one translator, so eventually they give up on me in frustration and go to process Derek, as I keep saying I won't cooeprate or tell them where I want to be expelled to until I can make a phone call. I have two police officers guarding me, rather casually. Suddenly, I see a pale and rather ghostly face peering through the dark at me at the window. It seems to be calling my name. I don't register immediately what is going on, but instinctively make a dash for the window. Pulling it open, I see through the wire covering the window Penelope and Remi. It feels AMAZING. They're shouting at me - We love you, how are you... I shout back - is the lawyer there -- yes he is. The two police officers grab me and holding on to the wire over the windows only gives me an extra second or two. They are clearly pissed off, and go tell their superior officer. I keep trying to continue our shouted conversation with Remi through the window. The senior officer is not amused -- tells me he doesn't care for my attitude. They take me through to a back office and tell me I can't use the phone until after I tell them where I want to go and after I have been notified formally of my expulsion.

The back office is the boss's office: it's very black, with a cabinet full of a strange collection of knick knacks -- monkeys in the "see no evil, hear no evil" pose; a plastic biro with Hotel Cococabana on it (some police officer's junket?); wooden animals from Africa, police badges and mementos. On the wall is a copy of the Charter of human rights and of the citizen, which I ask to read. I go swiftly through to Article 7, which bans the arbitrary use of state force and condemns those who use the law incorrectly and arbitrarily: "Those who solicit, expedite or have executed arbitrary orders must be punished...".

While I'm moving around the room, I hear more knocking on the window -- its Penelope again, this time with a photographer in tow. I make a dash for the window, but the two officers grab me fast and threaten me with handcuffs if I do it again. Remi shouts out that I should go to Amsterdam, and that Michael sends his love. A few minutes later, he urges me to show my face again. This time I make a determined effort for the window and manage to stay there for 30 seconds or so, gripping on to the curtain and the woman officer pulls me back by my hair, and the male officer by my arms. They dump me on the floor and then make me sit up against the wall. Finally the senior officer comes in again. He pleads with me: if I am quiet, tranquil, he will allow me to see my lawyer once I have been notifed of my expulsion order. I say I want the lawyer and a translator, as I don't think the lawyer speaks much English -- basically hoping that this means either Penelope or Remi can come in with him.

The gendarmes finally do read me my official exclusion order: immediate expulsion from metropolitan France because I pose a serious threat to public order, the security of the State and public safety. I can challenge it (and will do!) through a Tribunal in Paris. I refuse to sign it.

Finally, the lawyer and Remi come in. Remi has a tape recorder and asks me for a few words and brings me up to date on what has happened. With the assistance of some information from the NZ authorities, they had found out we would be arriving at Le Bourget, and have turned up with half the Paris media corps trailing them. The lawyer says he will immediately challenge the expulsion order, and takes the copy of the order. They briefly say hello to Philip, Derek and Peter; Peter is being flown to Switzerland, while Derek and Peter are both going straight back to New Zealand. I'm not envious of them facing another 24 hour flight.

0720 They have finally finished with us, so they bundle us back into the vans and set off for Roissy (Charles de Gaulle airport) where we will be flown out. With flashing lights and sirens we tear through the traffic and through red lights. Half way, we pull over, having lost the back van -- and they have forgotten to put a radio for communication in their van. They catch up, and we swing on out to the airport. Escorted by gendarmes and with some inquisitive stares from the travelling public, we get taken into an immigration office to wait for the arrival of a NZ embassy official, Nick Hurley. He is sympathetic but can't offer much assistance, as we have already been able to get a lawyer. We explain why we believe our detention to be illegal. Just before 9am, the gendarmes return and hussle us out to our respective flights. We say goodbye, and I get taken by car to the KLM flight to Amsterdam. I'm exhausted by now, just about asleep on my feet, but still manage to have a good argument with the officer escorting me about why French testing is such a bad idea. I run out of French and out of steam just as the flight is announced. It's bliss to sink into a business class seat, courtesy of the French state, and relax into a stupour.