Everybody warned this would be no ordinary invitation, and they were right. Three hundred metres from Knightsbridge underground station, just a stone’s throw from fashion-conscious Harrods, I suddenly encounter a wall of police. I try to remember my instructions. Look straight ahead. Avoid eye contact. If asked my name, reply with a question. Ask who authorised them to ask. Climb the stone steps. Act purposefully. Appear to know exactly where you’re heading. I don’t.
Through a set of double doors, I’m confronted by more police
officers, this time armed, with meaner faces. “Good afternoon”,
I say politely, as I edge towards the receptionist. “I’ve an
appointment at the Ecuador embassy. Am I at the correct
address?” “Ring the brass bell”, grunts the bored-looking man
squatting at his desk. A few minutes later, after some confusion
about whether or not my name’s on the appointments list, I’m
ushered inside. I’m greeted by the personal assistant of the
most wanted man in the world. “Julian is taking a call,” says
the well-spoken and debonair young man in black-rimmed glasses.
“I’m terribly sorry. Please do have a seat. Would you like some
tea, or coffee, or polonium, perhaps?” There’s a smile, but it’s
pretty faint. I know I’ve reached my destination: a prison with
wit and purpose.
[...]
Continua qui:
https://theconversation.edu.au/lunch-and-dinner-with-julian-assange-in-prison-12234