When the morning sun can no longer cast its light on the words of the people, and the words of the people are everywhere like an impotent virus, and the virus is dying in a Petri dish, and the scientists stand over and silently stare, and the lab technicians are just marketing geeks, and the geeks report to the politicians, and the politicians report to the multinationals, and the multinationals manufacture Petri dishes, and the Petri dishes are prisons, and the prisons jail vocabulary, and the people don’t want to know, and no one even looks at the morning sun.
It was hot in the sun and there was no shade. Seven years passed while unspeakable horrors continued to occur. The men were interrogated, brutalised and brainwashed, caged half way round the world from their families whom they would never be able to see again. They had become a problem for the authorities. No country would take them in. Eventually, the government of a small island humanely offered them the right of residence. The decision sparked a diplomatic row that crossed continents. How were these people to live? They were innocent. They had done no wrong. Weren’t they now free?