Nightmare in paradise

When the Fiji Sun publisher Russell Hunter was hauled out of his home and deported to Australia in February, he knew it was because of a big story his paper had broken. He explains how the story developed and how he was ejected from his adopted home.

I'd been in and out of Sydney since I left here for Fiji in 1997. Nobody took any notice.

But on Tuesday, February 26, all that changed. That's what being deported does for you.

When I arrived at Sydney International Airport - disheveled, unkempt, unshaven, sleepy and probably a bit smelly - I was greeted by five TV news crews, I don't know how many radio reporters and a whole scrum of print reporters and photographers.

I was still wearing the shorts and shirt I had on the night before a gang of soldiers abducted me from my home in Fiji.

But this story begins some time ago - in 2000 to be precise. That was when then Prime Minister Mahendra Chaudhry refused an application by my then employer, the News Ltd-owned Fiji Times, to extend my work permit as editor-in-chief.

I left the country on May 3 - Press Freedom Day - and 16 days later Chaudhry was out of government though still in parliament, a hostage to the George Speight gang of thugs.

The new interim government allowed me back into the country on August 12, sparking the inevitable suspicion among the Chaudhry cronies that I had in some way been involved with Speight in order to have my work permit renewed. Utter rubbish, of course.

Fast forward to August 2007. Now publisher and chief executive officer of the Fiji Sun, I was told by correspondent Victor Lal that he had evidence showing a member of the interim government spawned by the latest military coup of December 2006 had evaded tax.

Specifically, Victor showed this person had not submitted tax returns for the years 2000, 2001 and 2003.

As publisher I've tended to stay out of the newsroom but this was explosive stuff. I had to be involved from a legal standpoint but more importantly as a buffer to stop the military from threatening our local staff - or worse. The army had threatened me before over material that had appeared in the Sun but I felt that, as a foreign citizen, they'd just deport me, not harm me. That couldn't be said for the local staff. I couldn't have known then how right I was. So I took over the story.

As soon as Victor's first page one piece appeared, the nation was alive with speculation over who this minister might be. As always, publication brought more information to light as whistleblowers came forward with more - and more.

The story ran and ran in the Sun. Still without naming him, we reported the existence of this minister's overseas bank accounts containing more than FJD$2 million (GBP£663,000) that were only discovered when the Australian tax authorities tipped off their Fijian counterparts.

This brought even more furor. Of course most of the country had surmised the minister was none other than interim minister for finance Mahendra Chaudhry - but we never confirmed that. We wanted the freedom to continue to report without being restricted by a gagging writ, though we knew that at one stage we'd have to identify our man.

It may seem strange but we were relieved when the opposition Fiji Times beat us to the punch on Feb. 23 under the page one headline 'It's Chaudhry'. We were relieved because we now had the two major national dailies tied to the story.

In the best competitive spirit the Sun followed the next day with another page one splash: 'Now for the REAL story - how Mahendra Chaudhry got his millions' which detailed with supporting documents how the money was channeled into Chaudhry's Australian accounts from his ancestral home in Haryana state, India. It was, the documents showed, intended for his re-settlement in Australia as at the time it was felt too dangerous for him to remain in Fiji.

However, Chaudhry never migrated and neither did the money.

The day after publication of this story, Feb. 25, as I was driving home from work at about 8p.m. I received a call informing me Chaudhry's son Rajendra had been heard boasting that I would be out of the country by Wednesday.

I was discussing this with my wife when two men who said they were from the Immigration Department arrived at our home and asked to see our passports. They said they wanted to sort out "a small anomaly".

However, having got hold of my passport the senior of the two then handed me a green sheet of paper with the government crest informing me that I had seven days to leave the country. He wanted me to go to his office right away to sort out "the formalities".

When I asked which formalities these might be, he looked away and made no reply. When I asked if I was under arrest, he studied his shoes.

I said I did not want to go anywhere with him and that in any case the document gave me seven days to leave. I started to call the company lawyer.

It was then that five or so men rushed into the drive telling me to "hurry up" and "get moving now" and such like. They were very obviously soldiers out of uniform.

I still was talking to the lawyer when one of the soldiers took my arm and started to move me towards a red twin-cab parked at the gate. The driver bellowed: "Get in. Don't waste our time." I told the lawyer I was being arrested without charge and got in. Two soldiers immediately sat on either side of me. They said they were taking me to the immigration office.

I never again want to see the look of abject horror on the face of my 13-year-old daughter as the truck pulled away into the night. We won't take her back to Fiji but will send her to boarding school in Australia when all this is over.

After a few minutes in the back seat of the twin-cab it became very evident that we were on the road to Nadi and the nation's international airport. The thug on my right demanded my mobile phone and passed it to the one in the front passenger seat. I could hear it ringing throughout the three-hour journey until one of them worked out how to switch it off.

The ringing was a reminder that, although I had not been threatened or harmed, my wife and child could not possibly know that. What they did know was that others had been taken away by soldiers since the coup never to be seen alive again.

I was taken to a house in the industrial part of Nadi and showed to a room with a bed where I was to spend the night.

At first light I was taken by another group of very large soldiers (we have since identified one despite the fact that the government denied any military involvement) to the airport rear entrance and into the departure lounge where I sat facing the wall before being escorted to Air Pacific flight FJ911 bound for Sydney.

About half an hour from Sydney, a very kind cabin crew member gave me my passport as well as the green paper notifying me of the need to leave. The words 'seven days' had been blacked out by marker pen.

I must remember to claim my frequent flyer points.