Trapped: A Couple's Five Years of Hell in Dubai

by Lee, M

  I could tell that Julie was feeling just as panic-stricken as I was. When they finally said I had to be taken into the Public Prosecution department for questioning because there was a security ‘flag’ against my name, Julie said through tears, ‘You can’t do this. We want to see our families. We haven’t seen them for more than five years.’ Like my continued efforts to show them the clearance letter, her words were in vain.

  One of the men led us back into the main departure hall where Karen, Ruby and Indrani were anxiously waiting. He handed our passports to Julie, said abruptly, ‘Wait’ and went to check on something. There’s no way I was going to stand there and let them just lead me away and lock me up again, not when we had our passports. I said urgently to Julie, ‘Let’s get out of here, head for the doors.’ At a near run we took off down the length of the terminal. I didn’t dare turn my head to see if the security officers were coming after us, but I knew that someone would be watching us on the airport’s security cameras. Karen’s car was parked outside, but reaching it would take too long. She, Indrani and Ruby headed for the car while Julie and I jumped in a taxi, saying ‘Drive!’ Our hearts were racing as we were driven back into the spider’s web of Dubai.

  The Australian Ambassador, Pablo Kang, called my mobile. I told him what had happened and said it was up to him to help us. He said that he would find us a hotel room near the Dubai consular offices. He knew a place run by Australians; he would arrange for us to stay there. We gratefully accepted the offer, rang John in Australia to tell him what was happening, then turned off our mobiles for fear that they would be used by the Dubai authorities to track our movements. John got on to trusted journalist contacts and not long after we reached the hotel the story was headline news on all Australian media sites.

  There was nothing else we could do that night. Sleep was out of the question. Pablo Kang called the next morning and said he had been in contact with the UAE Foreign Ministry and we should go ahead and book the first available flight. I asked Pablo if he was certain we wouldn’t be stopped again. Reluctantly he admitted he could not give that assurance.

  On the first flight on Sunday the only tickets left were in first class, which took a huge chunk out of our very small amount of remaining money. We would have paid anything to just get out of here. We informed Pablo of the flight details and he said that senior Australian government officials who had ‘airside access’ would take us through and stay with us until the flight departed.

  The next day we set out again, arriving at the airport at 7 a.m. with Karen and our friend Laura Turner to see us off. We were met, as Pablo had promised, by two men — Australia’s Dubai Consul General, Gerald, and Mark, who was apparently from Australian Immigration. They did not look like bureaucrats, nor did they look easily intimidated. This was comforting as we approached passport control, at which point Gerald and Mark stepped forward, showed the woman behind the counter the identification passes they had placed around their necks. With a quick stamp in each of our passports, we were waved through.

  The pair stayed with us until we boarded the plane. I don’t know where Mark was from (an association with ASIO was suggested to me later), but I’ll be forever grateful to them as well as to Pablo and others at the consulate. A flight attendant handed us each a glass of champagne and we toasted freedom. I called John and said we were on the plane. And then precisely nothing happened for an hour, as we sat at the gate like a scene from the movie Argo. Julie and I kept looking at one another, wondering if Dubai security agents were about to get on the plane and drag us off. Finally, the doors were locked, glasses collected, we taxied along the runway and after so very, very long we were up and away, heading home at last.

  Chapter 20

  LEARNING TO BE AUSTRALIAN AGAIN

  MARCUS

  On 20 January 2014, a golden morning, Julie and I arrived in Sydney. We were flooded with elation, relief, nervousness, uncertainty and too many other feelings to name. We didn’t know how many people would be there. Our families would have come, of course, but how far had the word spread beyond that? And would there be media? Back in Dubai we had seen the online footage of the Joyces’ arrival. Matt had attempted to stage-manage it with a scripted media conference, only for it to veer off the rails when he was thrown questions about the Prudentia money that had passed through his account.

  We had nothing to hide and we were fine to talk to the media. But having not spoken in public for years I was nervous that I might freeze up and not be able to find the words. As we were waiting to disembark I called John, who said there was quite a crowd, including a lot of journalists.

  He said, ‘Just be yourself, smile and enjoy it.’

  Julie and I came through Customs, collected our luggage and wheeled our trolley towards the main arrivals area. We paused for a moment to take some deep breaths, then made our way through the large yellow doors and down the arrivals ramp. The first thing I saw was people with Australian flags. It was so good to see that Aussie symbol, perhaps being displayed, I thought, for a sporting team coming in behind us. We had an Australian flag in our house in Dubai for the entire time and we used to fly it out the front on Australia Day. Then I realised the flags were for us. It was our family and friends, a blur of beautiful, smiling, crying faces, yelling, cheering, holding bouquets of flowers and waving their flags high.

  We hugged everyone and tried to take it all in, with media cameras on all sides videoing and whirring away. I spotted John and made my way over to thank him for all he had done. His grin was almost as wide as the ones Julie and I wore. We were led out to the front of the terminal for an impromptu statement to the media. I said how wonderful it was to be home and summed up what had happened by saying, ‘Unfortunately I’ve been caught up in a grubby dispute between a lot of self-interested property developers.’ Just as John had realised when he was trying to explain it all to his wife, Vanessa, all those years before, that really was all it came down to.

  With more hugs, we said our temporary goodbyes, and headed for the hotel where John had booked us a room. Walking to the airport carpark we came up alongside Australian cricket legend Steve Waugh, also wheeling a bag-laden trolley. With a cheeky grin and a nod towards the departing media, he said, ‘You must be famous.’

  That afternoon we met up with the people who had stood by us for so long: our family and friends, our stalwart advocate John, and Foreign Correspondent’s Eric Campbell and Ian Altschwager, who had chronicled our struggle. Sitting with a beer in hand, looking out as the ferries bustled back and forth from Circular Quay and people walked along in the sunshine towards to the Sydney Opera House, it started to sink in. We were home.

  JULIE

  We stayed in the hotel for a week, trying to acclimatise. Our entire focus for five years had been to get justice for Marcus and get out of Dubai. That was done. Now what?

  We spent time with our families, particularly Marcus’s mother, Carol, and my mother, Bet. I know how hard it had been on them to have their children in danger for so long, without being able to help. It would take a while for our return to seem real for them, just as it would for us.

  We didn’t have any firm plans beyond our reunion with Dudley. We were just waiting for him to get the all-clear to re-enter Australia, then he would be put on a flight by the pet transport company, have a ten-day stint in quarantine in Sydney, and we’d have him back with us.

  In those first few days we got up early and walked down by Sydney Harbour, relishing the sights and sounds. We picked up the local papers on the way and read the wrap-up stories about the case triggered by our return. There were a number of journalists who had done really good reporting on the story over a number of years, working their way through the issues to the truth. They included Fairfax’s Rick Feneley and Ben Butler, the ABC’s Jacquelyn Hole and News Limited’s Cameron Stewart; we took the opportunity to meet some of them while we were in Sydney. After that we headed north to Brisbane to catch up with John Sneddon again.

  John h
ad given us incredible support all those years and he did it all pro bono. If we’d had to pay, the cost would have been almost AUD700,000 and that doesn’t include his travel for the case (Sydney three times, Melbourne three times and Dubai twice) or the countless hours he spent at home in the middle of the night researching and devising strategies. Over the years Marcus had often said to John that the only way he could ever pay him back was by fetching him coffee for the next few decades, so we had a little tongue-in-cheek coffee ceremony in John’s office.

  JOHN SNEDDON

  If someone had come to me and said, ‘I’m being sued by the tax office due to these esoteric principles of income tax law’, I would turn it down because I’m not good at those sorts of cases. But for a very fact-driven case like this, which requires a great deal of tenacity, I knew I had the skills to make a difference and I thought it would be irresponsible not to help.

  When I flew out of Dubai after meeting Marcus and Julie for the first time I was reading a book of poetry by the great Seamus Heaney, which I’d picked up in Northern Ireland. There was a wonderful poem at the very end called ‘From the Republic of Conscience’. I didn’t know it at the time but it was commissioned by Amnesty International and published on World Human Rights Day in 1985. Heaney writes about the conscience as an actual place, a country where you go through customs and immigration and so on. I found this idea fascinating and thought about it all the way back to Brisbane. When I reflected on the time I had spent with Marcus and Julie in Dubai, I realised that my conscience required me to speak on their behalf when I returned to Australia and to keep doing so until they were home.

  There were definitely some anxious, unpleasant professional moments for me in connection with the case. There were a number of extremely acrimonious telephone conversations and I received correspondence that was both personally insulting and that questioned my professional competence. On one occasion I was out with my family at a Vietnamese restaurant celebrating my daughter’s tenth birthday when I received an awful letter from another party to the case containing a series of appalling allegations about my conduct. I sat there smiling at my beautiful daughter, trying to pretend everything was all right, while my head spun and my heart pounded in my chest. I still can’t think of that day without feeling angry.

  Some time later my law firm was having a black-tie dinner to mark the retirement of one of our valued secretaries. We were all looking forward to the evening ahead, when I received a letter from Sunland’s lawyers threatening to sue me for defamation and misleading and deceptive conduct. They’d sent the same threat to every one of my partners in the firm, who had let me work on the case pro bono for years. I was really worried about it but my partners said, ‘This is ridiculous. You just keep going.’ I was subsequently contacted by lawyers from other firms saying, ‘I’ve heard this has occurred and it’s an outrage, I want to offer my services for free.’ It made me appreciate how fortunate I am to be a member of the legal profession.

  Normally I keep a professional distance from clients. But my wife Vanessa and I have become good friends with Marcus and Julie. I don’t think what they went through will ever leave them, but they’ll rise above it.

  WAYNE McKINLEY

  What happened to Marcus and Julie had an immeasurable emotional toll on so many people’s lives. Bet’s in her eighties and she was without her daughter for five years. Mum used to sit at the computer searching for articles and printing them out for four or five hours at a time because it was the only thing she could do to feel like she was helping. It just consumed her for years.

  When I finally went and got some help I was diagnosed with PTSD — Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. A psychiatrist said to me, ‘You don’t have to have a gun in your hand to be, effectively, at war’, and that’s what it was like. We were at war with the Dubai authorities and with the other parties involved, fighting for truth and honesty and justice.

  Marcus and Julie went up to the Gold Coast more than 25 years ago with nothing. They earned everything that they had. They worked for it and they earned it and deserved it all, and then this case took it all from them.

  JULIE

  I’m really proud of the fact that Marcus and I survived this ordeal; there were many times when I didn’t think we would. But there is no question about the effect it’s had on us. Marcus has always had this incredible gentle, caring side to him. He can’t stand seeing any animal being hurt, for instance. But at the same time he’s always been strong-willed and he won’t give up. If he hadn’t been like that I don’t think he would have survived solitary confinement. But since all this happened the strong side of him takes the form of needing a lot more control over things. I completely understand why, after being powerless for so long. I know I’m changed too.

  MARCUS

  I know I’m suffering from PTSD — how could you not be, after what I went through? It’s interesting hearing Julie describe how she thinks I’ve changed; it’s true that I now have to have multiple contingency plans for everything. But I also feel I go with the flow a bit more than I once did. Things that would once have been an issue seem insignificant compared to what we’ve been through.

  I’d been back in Australia for four months before I could stand wearing anything white, because it reminded me too much of the prison uniform. I still have nightmares. I thrash about, apparently, and call out, and I wake up sweating. One of the recurring ones is where I’m in jail and I can’t get to the phone to call Julie, then when I finally do make it I can’t remember her number, so I’m trapped there with no-one to help me. I can’t watch movies or TV shows with a storyline. I can’t get involved in them at all; I just don’t care, even movies I used to love. Julie’s pretty tough — she’s a lot like her mother — and we’ll both be OK in the long run, but we’ll never be the same.

  Since we’ve been back the case involving Australian journalist Peter Greste has been playing out in Egypt — the specifics are a bit different, but there are so many similarities in him being continually refused bail and the prosecutors coming up with crazy, unfounded allegations. Before this happened to me I wouldn’t have registered the news coverage of the story, but now I watch closely as cases like this play out, wondering if I can help in any way.

  It’s so easy to go overseas for work or even just as a tourist and think ‘Everything will be fine as long as I abide by their laws’. Dubai is promoted all the time as a great destination. Since we’ve been back there’s been a big feature on it in Virgin Australia’s inflight magazine, it was named one of TripAdvisor’s Destinations of the Year and the website Mamamia ran a piece on how great it was for western women. In the pictures that accompany these stories Dubai looks like Surfers Paradise but it’s far from that. When I was in jail one guy who was there had been arrested because he was transiting through the airport wearing a breast-cancer awareness T-shirt with a profile line-drawing of a female breast on it. Another man spent six weeks in jail before being deported because his T-shirt had FCUK on it, a brand that is available in any one of the mall stores in Dubai.

  I often said to Julie that if we survived, I wanted to try to raise awareness of other people still in jail who shouldn’t be there. Without a Julie or a Mr Ali or a John or a Karen on the outside fighting for them, they remain trapped, unable to navigate the legal maze. Often they plead guilty to crime, even though the charge may have been totally fabricated, in the hope of being deported. Dubai is a place where anything could happen to anyone at any time.

  Wayne’s right: Julie and I lost everything we had worked so hard for. I remain an ‘employee’ of Nakheel, still on suspension, to this day. In fact I have a valid UAE Residency Visa that Nakheel renewed twice between 2009 and 2013, confirming my status as ‘employee’. Under Dubai’s own laws the company was supposed to reinstate me to my position immediately on my acquittal and give me backpay dating right back to my arrest. Senior Nakheel and Dubai World management had even said to Julie and me many times in meetings that they would honour this w
hen the case came to an end. The total value of that backpay would be AED9 million, about AUD3 million. There’s not much chance we’ll ever see it. Nakheel recently rejected the attempts of our Dubai lawyers to serve them with official documents about the claim. We will persist, though, knowing that right is on our side — something that got us through the most trying of times.

  But even if I were offered AUD10 million compensation and all I had to do to collect it was to go back to Dubai with ‘guaranteed safe passage’ I would really have to consider whether I could safely go. Not just because I hate the place, but because everything there is so arbitrary it might be just too risky to take that chance. I sometimes hear people call Australia a ‘nanny state’. That’s fine with me. I don’t mind living in a nanny state for a while. Tell me to put a helmet on when I ride a bike and tell me that I have to register the dog or wait for the pedestrian green light. I don’t mind that at all. The freedoms and predictability of countries like Australia far outweigh any inconveniences these restrictions impose.

  By the middle of February Julie and I had been back for three weeks. We were expecting any day to get the call letting us know Dudley was ready to come back, but before we collected him we had time to make a quick visit to Perth, where Justin and Jackie Crooks and Tony and Ali Perrin were bringing up their children. Julie and I had tears in our eyes as Tony and Justin met us at the airport. They were in the inner circle that had stuck by us and believed in us the whole time.