The next day interviews started normally, around 8:00, and the subject was very political, and obviously intended for a preparation of a potential legal persecution, based on my possible violations of the French ban on expressing certain political opinions. Later the same day a judge wanted more answers and more clarity in relations to questions I had answered before, both the same day and also the two previous days, and he according to the police wanted to get a more correct picture.
My lawyer told me at the end of the day that I was probably going to be transferred to Paris, to a special place dedicated to these subjects, and after having been returned to the holding cell I started to prepare mentally for another long and hard battle against all odds in a hostile system wanting to punish me in order to scare me and others from talking against the “elite”. Political crimes. Punishment for expressing my opinion and airing my concerns for the future.
One of the investigators returned to the cell shortly after, maybe after only 20 or 30 minutes or so, and told me that the judge had read through the last interview and I could go home. But I had been given another 48 hours in custody, and only 10 or so of those hours had passed! How was that possible? Well, I had given my explanation, which seemed to be just fine, so I could just leave. As easy as that. Again I faced a cultural shock, being used to petty police investigators in Norway, who never ever released anybody until the very last minute, no matter what, and always trying to keep you locked up longer and for as long as possible. They would have at least kept me for those 48 hours! No, the investigation was over so I could just return home… okay, as a Norwegian I was really not expecting this, but I was of course not going to argue about it, so… off we went.
The same SWAT team that had arrested me were tasked with bringing me back home, in civilian clothes this time, but still with ski masks on. They were still exceptionally authoritarian, professional and clear, so to speak, and we left the police station driving a car through a group of photographs and reporters, who had to be physically pushed out of the way to give room for the car to leave. They kept running after the car for some time, trying to get a shot they could use. Dear Pagan God! I was ashamed of being of the same species as these individuals; what a horrible group of people! (Yes, my wife has moderated me quite a lot here. This was not what I originally had to say about them…)
During the journey home the policemen drove and behaved no less professionally than before, looking out for pursuers (i. e. journalists), and routinely telling each other about what they saw. “Right clear”. “Left clear”. “Attention! Volkswagen”, when a Volkswagen started driving from a parking lot when we drove past it, et cetera. Being a Lada Niva driver I can assure you that the trip from Brive to my home certainly took much less time than it normally did.
They asked me where I wanted them to drop me off, because they told me there were journalists besieging the property, and I told them to go to a pathway behind a grove nearby. They sat me off and joined me on my walk towards the house. I explained how I planned to enter our garden, and they told me they had to make sure I entered before they could leave. Within sight of them I approached the house and gave them my thumbs up when I arrived in our garden. It was a bit bizarre. Four well built and fairly young men wearing ski masks and combat gloves, but t-shirts, just standing there under the trees. Had I met such a group on a pathway in a forest, when out walking with the kids, I would have been very concerned. I was thinking about that old lady I had seen a few times on the path, and was hoping she wasn’t out walking that particular evening…
The rear entrance was locked, so I had to move around to the front, but I tried to do so when there were nobody there. The coast was clear and I opened a front door, which had been left unlocked (!?), and when I closed the door behind me I saw a photographer taking pictures.
The reporter rabble by the police station in Brive started to appear, one after the other, and began taking photos of everything. The garage. The house. The cars. The tree in our garden. The windows. The cars again. The cars from another angle. The house from another angle. Et cetera. Over and over again. It went on for hours. Why? Why on Earth would these motives be of any interest whatsoever to their readers or viewers?
All cars had been left unlocked, in the open in our yard. One car had been taken out of the garage and another had had it’s cover removed, leaving them completely exposed to the lenses of the reporters. Why?
To stop their intrusion of privacy I went out, under cover, to put one car in the garage and to cover up another. The cameramen went nuts, and ran around like madmen, taking photos.
Very early the next morning I moved the third car out of the way, around the corner of the house, but the reporters – arriving a bit later – just trespassed on the neighbour’s property and continued to take pictures of it from his private property. Yes, they broke the law in order to continue to take photos of the same car they had photographed the day before… what a scoop! “The car is under the tree around the corner now!” Oooo!
I pity them. They can not be very proud of themselves.
This photo is taken by me this morning, the 20th of July 2013. “What goes around, comes around”.
The blacking out of the face and the license plate is (yes, amateurishly and quickly) done by me using Paint, because of the privacy laws here in France, that I at least respect.
I am a survivalist, so if I want to keep staying out of their view I can do that – literally for years. They took my wife’s rifles, but not our food and water reserves. I wonder if the TV stations and newspapers can afford to keep their reporters here in France for very long – or if they are willing to keep this up, only for them to take more photos of our property and properties. They are already representing services that have in reality become redundant. We have the internet now. We don’t need you guys any more. Bye bye.
See part I of Terrorism in France here.
See part II of Terrorism in France here.
NB! Remember that I have no Facebook accounts, so anyone pretending to be me there are frauds. Remember also that each and every Burzum website other than burzum.org are all false, made by fans or by individuals who wish me no good.