Real History and the Struggle for Real History in Canada Alphabetical index (text) Twenty minutes later the file is lying in front of me. An inch or more thick, it is chockablock with proof of the British Establishment’s efforts to destroy me once and for all in the 1970s. November 14, 2002 (Thursday), London TOM S., a newcomer, offers: “If you need a web site or E-mail in the U.S. please advise, it is also secure. — P.S.
We can still question here without being thrown in jail!”
All of this has me thinking ahead to the time when “European” policemen may come hammering on my door in the small hours, and shutting down the “revisionist” side of things.
A Mr Barlament asks some impertinent questions but gets a measured response : IT IS ten years to the day since I arrived back in London after my last visit to Canada: the night before I had been escorted in handcuffs to an Air Canada flight in Toronto, after an Immigration Adjudicator had reached a totally perverse decision, flying in the face of all our sworn witnesses and sworn affidavits. November 14, 1992.
From London airport, I phoned Benté, who had flown down to Key West the previous day to meet me. “I am in London,” I said. That drama had begun
on October 28, 1992, when I spoke at a restaurant in Victoria, B.C. — ironically on the subject of freedom of speech. Unknown to myself or the audience, the restaurant was surrounded by armed police and Mounties, a dozen burst in as I was signing books after the dinner (I had just received the George Orwell Freedom of Speech prize), and took me in manacles to a prison van ( left ).
I was released temporarily the next day, and an American I had never met before that day ( Brian Fisher ) drove me over the border into the United States for two hours to authenticate and sign some genuine Konrad Kujau fakes for him. Then