When they lead me to the baggage scan for boarding, there
are also a man and his son who are from Africa. I do not know which country, he
may have said to the security he speaks English and French when they ask him
what language he can speak. (I assume he can also speak an African language,
but I mean that they may have asked him if he can speak Spanish and he replied
no, English and French or something like that.) They are also getting deported
and taken to the flight by security. When the security hand me to the flight
staff, the captain (I am pretty sure from memory it is the captain not a
regular attendant) says he will hold onto my passport and when we get to Spain
(which is where the transfer is) we will go out to the border control together.
He says this in a way where he is aware the Mexican airport security staff are
there and saying it in an overly polite and helpful way to both me and them
(maybe a bit strange given I’m being deported, right?) The Mexican security
staff kind of treated me like I was difficult and like I thought I was special
and from a rich country and treated me accordingly. Nobody says anything
similar or gives any explanation I can see to the African man and his son
although we’re all in the same situation as far as I understand.
Inside the plane I am just sitting among the normal
passengers. I am quite near the back and in the middle row. The African man and
his son are further toward the front and in the right hand row.
We get to Barcelona and when everyone goes to leave, a flight attendant comes and tells me, not me I am not going to the border control, to just go back and sit down. Maybe for a minute or two I’m still hoping that she means wait for someone to come get me, but then maybe someone else comes and tells me I’m staying on the flight and I am increasingly worried. Both a female attendant and a male attendant separately speak to me initially from what I remember.
I know that I should be at border control with everyone else
and I am scared and worried. Still now, nobody knows where I am, a fact I
realised in Mexico that the staff seemed to be aware of (as part of knowing too
much information about me). I assume from this the staff of this plane are
quite likely aware of this too. The next place the plane will land is Dubai. I
know that I must not get taken there with nobody aware where I am. The plane is
not entirely empty, instead the flight attendant staff are still around. Seated
like me are the African man and his son. The African man is very tall and
strong looking. The son is only about 10 or so. There is a fourth person who is
on the opposite left row. He is presumably being deported too, he must have
been already seated on the plane when us last three arrived, I figure. The man
is Asian and has a bunch of cameras – I never see him up close and mostly only
from the side back. He may be from Beijing or Hong Kong I decide, although I
don’t really know.
A bunch of cleaners arrives to clean the plane. The cleaners
are heavily jabbed. I wonder whether they are actually prisoners. Two or three
look at me gravely, and one looks into my eyes with the saddest eyes like she
is so sad for me. This is really worrying. She must know what is going on and
know for sure this is bad. The reality of this sinks in some more. I know that
nobody knows where I am even now, and I know I’m in danger of being disappeared
from the normal world to who knows what nightmare or danger. The look in her
eyes confirms what I know for certain. I start thinking about what to do. The
back doorway is left open and the stairs where the cleaning staff came up from.
Running down the stairs onto the tarmac seems one option. But how fast could I
run and how far would I get? I am not confident about this idea. I stay put and
continue to worry. Eventually the passengers start to come back in from the
border control. (From the attendants’ energy I can see that what they are doing
is against me and that they are trying to hide and oppress me by keeping me in
the plane. But the reboarding of the other passengers, onto the plane which is
clearly being prepared for takeoff again, also confirms there is finally no possibility
that they were going to take me later or anything like that.) They are coming
in from a door just at the back of the first or business class section, ahead
of the economy class. I realise that the door to the main airport is open and
that at the same time the other travellers are around to see this so it’s the
best time.
I don’t remember exactly the details, but first I just walk
normally up about one section of the plane. But probably the flight staff
notice me and that I’m standing up and are moving in on me, so I can’t just
quietly sneak out that door or anything, and I’m not aiming to necessarily do
that because I feel like the other travelers are my best hope for help. So I
start shouting about how it’s wrong that I haven’t been allowed through border
security. I continue moving up through the plane as I do this, as I pass the
African man, who I had been somewhat counting on siding with me, since he is
large and could push his way out. But he hasn’t been listening, he has
headphones on and is utterly oblivious. “Hey, get your Dad,” I say to the kid
but he doesn’t understand what I mean. The airline staff are targeting towards
me, so I stand on the chairs on either side of the aisle and start shouting
about how the other passengers should stand up for us. I start to give a “Stand
the fuck up” speech which I paraphrase from some things on Twitter. Ideally it
would be like a plane in New York in a viral video. But I know from experience
on that trip that that’s too optimistic but I’m hoping to at least resonate
with a few people. One Asian guy who had only just walked back into the plane
from border security initially looked like he would at least walk back out of
the plane when he first heard me (to back away from a flight where there was
trouble of any kind and perhaps for his own safety). But then when he saw
nobody else reacting to me he looked like he would take a seat after all. One
Indian woman in business/first class was frowning quite a bit and somewhat
disconcerted looking. Other than those very small and slight reactions,
everybody else completely opposed me and ignored me. 5 or 6 flight attendants
surrounded me. One put some kind of sleeping potion in the bottle water and
tried to make me drink it though I did not, but another said “not here”
referring to not doing this in front of the other passengers. I was struggling
to get out of the door, I was not far from it but I was too surrounded. They
said to close the door, and closed it. I was still struggling against them. I
felt a little stalemated, I was neither losing nor winning ground and the door
was now closed. Just then, two airport police ran through another door near the
front of the plane. “Hey, hey!” they shouted very loud and angrily and grabbed
me and pulled me out of the plane. They walk me through the airport and I think
I felt a bit calmer for a bit because I got my wish to not be on the plane.
When they took me outside to the tarmac where their car was though, past the
baggage handlers and little trolley cars, I felt panicked again about the
thought of going off with them and fought to get away from them. After they
placed me in the car I still kicked them and tried to get out. But I noticed
that the one nearer to me did seem kind of reasonable nevertheless and I asked
“How can you work for such evil?” He looked kind of hurt and I decided that I
was right and that he knew that they were evil.
They took me to a police area at the airport which felt like
the middle of nowhere and was further from where the main airport building
were. There, they said I could call on their phone but it was more phone calls
which rang out. A smug looking individual who was not just there with the rest
of the normal police but seemed to specially come in, came with a camera and
took photos of me from three angles. The angles were the same as those used at
the concentration camps, and I was reminded of this topic again and aware of
what I always noticed when I looked at those photos from concentration camps,
that from these angles it was not only possible to identify a person
individually, but more importantly, as was the purpose it was also easy to
identify a person racially.
And they kept going on and on and on about North Korea as
they had from the beginning. And I told them again and again I am not connected
to them, and I really wondered for a while whether they thought I was some kind
of spy or something. But they know that I am not really from North Korea the
country, yet they say again and again that I was “born in North Korea.” And
they say that I have alter egos.
And at one point, I said to a group of the police, “you
would be treated very well if you were in Japan”, because I figured that the
genes they were identifying in me came from there no matter what country they
accused me of being from. And the one that I had earlier kicked and accused of
working for evil, again looked guilty and struck in his conscience.
And later again, as they were taking me out of a cell, I said to him, “you know, you and me are probably more alike genetically than most people in the world are.” And again, he knew I was right and was fully aware of it even before I said it, and it pained him.
At some point probably late in the night as far as I
remember- they’d been telling me the translator would be arriving and she
eventually did arrive. She was a woman in a cardigan who did not come across to
me like she was a real translator. Many of the words they said, they seemed to
say in inverted commas, with a sort of a hard removed emphasis on them, like
“translator”. Like they could not interact with the real professional
organisations that had the career translators in them so they had to get their
own internal one from somewhere, was the impression I got. I felt there were
also many things about their police organisation which seemed like a fake
version. The “translator” told me that I would be seeing a “judge” tomorrow. What
came to mind was a fake courtroom in the middle of what I imagined to be wide
empty spaces surrounding the airport.
During the next day they came to get me to first take me to
the doctors. The doctors were a Spanish man and a large African man. They had
from the beginning a lot of respect for me. It is the feeling where they have
heard something about me that makes them see me in a positive light even before
meeting me. The Black doctor looks at me and all my bruises up and down my arms
and legs, and differentiates between the newer ones from fighting the plane
staff and police, and the older ones (which had mostly come from being grabbed multiple
times by the Mexican airport security). And he says to me these bruises are
older, what are they from? And I address an older bruise from falling with the
suitcase which is the exception from the rest. But the doctor knows that by
addressing the exception I’m also saying that’s the only bruise from a falling
accident, and I do not know how to otherwise answer the question and also that
nearly all the bruises are from earlier conflict (which he seems to interpret
as being from something worse than it actually was). And he says, “You’re a
good girl, aren’t you” like he knew it was good that I fought to get away. The doctors
ask me if I want a shot which they do not explain other than saying that it’s
not The vax. (I don’t know what the shot was, but it was like they had to or
were supposed to ask me the question like it was part of the procedure. Anyway
I say no to it.) And when they say I can go, again with a tangible deep respect
and a gentle and serious air they watch me leave.
The airport police then take me to a police station which feels
slightly more ‘real’ and this time is situated outside the airport. There,
there are a number of small cells, about five of them, which are all next to
each other with thick bars facing out side by side onto a small corridor which
joins the entrance and reception section of this building with an internal
section. Of these 5 or 6 cells, I am in the middle one, with maybe two on my
left closer to the entranceway, and two or three on my right in the deeper part
of the building. I am there for a very long time, many hours, far longer than
any of the other people kept there. So during the duration of the time I’m
there, I see or hear quite a few of the other people maybe 12 or 15 or so of
them, the ones in the deeper cells are led by the one I’m in when they are
taken there and taken away. The majority of them are women. Very disturbingly,
a large number of them (maybe even nearly all) have just been Vaxed before being
taken here. It causes a horrible dry retching reaction initially, and at least
one of them vomits. I can hear and understand enough of the conversation around
me to understand that this is due to the vax. I am unsure who they are and why
they are here. Even though this is a police station, I do not get the feeling
that many (or probably even any) of them have been committing crime or anything
like that. For one thing, as I said most are women. I have a feeling most of
them (including most of what men were there) had only breached some kind of
immigration requirement or something like that. It is also possible that they had
arrived with everything in order but the only thing they were missing was a
vaccine, and they were told they had to be made to have one before entering. I
am only speculating, I do not know why they were there. I did not see anyone there
that seemed like a typical airport troublemaker in Spain, like a drunken
English man on the way to Ibiza or Tenerife for example.
Hours passed and finally I was the only person left out of the
people in the cells. The two airport police who had taken me to the police
station were still there too waiting around. Finally I was taken to the back
area. The back area was a normal office looking environment, which appeared to
be quite spacious and nice. I was told by someone there that I will be charged
with injuring a police officer, and that I accept the charge and a small fine
and then I can go. I felt I did not have a lot of options so I said yes. There
was a different translator who seemed more like a real translator than the
first one. I forget much about him but as far as I remember he was English and
said he had been to Australia at some point, I did not trust him much. They
soon released me, and told me I have to go straight to the subway to get the
train to the airport and then buy a plane ticket from there.