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.