He looked a shock, bearded, unsettled and worried. But Julian Assange's time had come.
Ecuador's Moreno administration was knee deep in the INA Papers affair. The country's national assembly had expressed an interest in investigating allegations of offshore financing through a Panama company. Who better to blame than the man behind WikiLeaks, despite the obvious point that he had ceased being publisher-in-chief, had been under surveillance, ailing and restricted in terms of communication and contact? WikiLeaks had no doubts: a 'high level source within the Ecuadorean state' had suggested earlier this month that the offshore scandal would be used 'as a pretext' to remove a troublesome tenant.
In his address explaining the termination of Assange's stay and surrender to the London Metropolitan Police, Lenín Moreno was disingenuous. He praised his country's generosity and respect for 'the principles of international law, and of the institutions of the right of asylum'. Such praise was merely the prelude for its breach. It was Assange who had misbehaved in being 'discourteous' and 'aggressive', his organisation 'hostile and threatening' to Ecuador. Assange, he reproached, refused to observe 'the norm of not intervening in the internal affairs of other states'.
Efforts to disabuse and deflect any notions of Assange being a persecuted publisher of courage were immediately made by UK Foreign Secretary Jeremy Hunt: Assange was 'no hero and no one is above the law. He has hidden from the truth for years.' The point is telling, given that Assange is the one accused of being in denial of the truth, rather than the military and political establishments he has proven so adept at exposing.
Ever prior to Cablegate, WikiLeaks was the subject of a multi-pronged effort of investigation across several security agencies in the United States. Critics scoffed and presumed Assange was suffering from traditional paranoia and self-importance. All he needed to do was face the charge of skipping bail for refusing to be extradited to Sweden. Yet a mere few hours after Assange found himself in a van leaving the embassy, a US extradition request was unsealed.
The lawyers had been careful. Assange is not being prosecuted as a journalist, which would bring up freedom of press issues under the First Amendment, but as a hacker under the single charge of conspiracy to commit computer intrusion. As the document notes, 'Assange, who did not possess a security clearance or need to know, was not authorised to receive classified material from the United States.'
The conspiratorial link is Chelsea Manning, who downloaded material from four databases belonging to US departments and agencies. Assange is accused of having made a 'password cracking agreement' ostensibly to obtain 'a password stored on United States Department of Defence computers connected to the Secret Internet Protocol Network'. This agreement would 'facilitate Manning's acquisition and transmission of classified information related to the national defence of the United States so that WikiLeaks could publicly disseminate the information on its website'.
"His form of scientific journalism, as he terms it, assisted by secure disclosures and collaborative reporting, have made him the publisher par excellence."
You do not have to be a card carrying member of the radical transparency credo to appreciate the dangers of this prosecution exercise. You do not even have to like the man and take up pen to dedicate a hagiography. What we are facing is an attack on the fourth estate, one rebooted and refined by Assange's efforts to facilitate the disclosure of classified material to expose abuses of power.
His form of scientific journalism, as he terms it, assisted by secure disclosures and collaborative reporting, have made him the publisher par excellence. As Edward Snowden observed rather aptly, 'Assange's critics may cheer, but this is a dark moment for press freedom.' Jesselyn Radack, a US attorney specialising in national security and human rights, makes the plausible claim that traditional papers such as the New York Times, Washington Post and the Guardian are at risk.
Not all are convinced, and there are some traditional stalwarts in the press corps who persist in thinking Assange is a pretender and usurper. The aristos such as the Washington Post can still feature views arguing Assange is not a free press crusader and should be 'personally' held to account. This tallies with the assessment of District Judge Michael Snow who, without fanfare, found Assange guilty of skipping bail while concluding that he was a 'narcissist ... who cannot get beyond his own selfish interest'.
The extradition process promises to be long, and a few sane assessments in British politics suggest that the May government won't have it all its way. Labour's leader Jeremy Corbyn had nailed his colours to the mast, insisting that the extradition of Assange to the US 'for exposing evidence of atrocities in Iraq and Afghanistan should be opposed by the British government'. Then there is the oft and undeservedly mocked Shadow Home Secretary Diane Abbott, who accurately surmised that Assange's arrest had not been done 'to protect US national security' but 'because he has exposed wrongdoing by US administrations'.
As a harried Assange was being dragged from the embassy, he sported a book visible through the scrum of security personnel. It was Gore Vidal's The History of the National Security State, a gift from Italian investigative journalist Stefania Maurizi. Vidal, like Assange, was a critic of the excesses of US power. And Vidal, like Assange, was relentless in exposing it. While Vidal was left in relative, unmolested bliss to compose his spearing critiques, Assange is facing prison for taking up arms. The National Security State is making its effort to strike back.
Dr Binoy Kampmark is a former Commonwealth Scholar who lectures at RMIT University, Melbourne.
Main image: Julian Assange appears at Westminster Magistrates Court (Photo by Jack Taylor/Getty Images)