Their jubilation was premature. Lindfield and the Crown Prosecution Service predictably appealed the judge’s decision up to the high court, leaving Assange still temporarily jailed. But in the dock, he seemed in good spirits. As the warders led him away, he managed a thumbs up for the dusky-haired Turkish TV reporter sitting in the gallery. She boasted: “I had an exclusive interview with him a month ago.”
Two days later, on 16 December, all gathered again at the Royal Courts of Justice in the Strand, for Assange’s third hearing. Outside court number four a queue of journalists waited in a more orderly line than before, drinking coffee and leafing through the morning papers. Among them was a group of Australian reporters, who in nasal tones lamented their country’s overnight collapse at the hands of England in the Ashes. But Assange’s own prospects were looking brighter. At 11.30am Mr Justice Ouseley strode into a courtroom decorated with leather-bound legal tomes and portentous Gothic wood panelling.
The judge’s first concern wasn’t Assange but the fourth estate – specifically the international journalists sitting on the packed wooden benches in front of him. Several were already playing furtively with their BlackBerry handhelds. They were micro-blogging the hearing live to the outside world. Mr Justice Ouseley made clear that tweeting – although allowed by Howard Riddle two days earlier in Assange’s previous hearing – would not take place in the high court. Twitter was banned, he said. Immediately, several journalists tweeted his ruling. It was probably the quickest contempt of court in the history of justice.
Lindfield reprised the allegations. She warned that if Assange was bailed he might not flee the country but simply vanish in the UK. The judge appeared unconvinced. He seemed to accept the claim that the Stockholm prosecutor had originally decided there was no case to answer, before a second prosecutor agreed to pursue the allegations. “The history of the way it was dealt with by the Swedish prosecutor would give Mr Assange some basis that he might be acquitted following a trial.” For Assange, sitting in the dock behind ornate bars, this was encouraging stuff.
Robertson got to his feet again. Next to him were several of Assange’s supporters – Smith, Loach, Pilger and the Marchioness of Worcester, a former actress turned eco-activist. In the third row sat Assange’s frizzy-haired mother, Christine, who had been brought from Australia. Robertson declared it was sheer speculation that Assange would try and abscond, or that his wealthy supporters would spring him from Britain.
“Is it really suggested that Mr Michael Moore is going to slip through customs wearing a baseball hat, go to Norfolk in the middle of the night and plan to transport this gentleman we know not where?”
It was ridiculous to describe Assange as “some kind of Houdini figure”. Even if Assange did attempt to bolt from Ellingham Hall he wouldn’t get far, what with the “gamekeepers looking after him and Mr Smith”. Robertson claimed Assange had co-operated with Swedish investigators. He also defined three categories of rape under Swedish law: gross rape – four to 10 years in prison; ordinary rape – two to six; and minor rape – up to a maximum of four years. Assange had been charged with minor rape, he said. If convicted he was likely to get “eight to 12 months, with two-thirds off for good behaviour”.
The judge said he was concerned that some of Assange’s supporters might think going into hiding was a “legitimate response” to his predicament. “I’m troubled by the extent to which support [for Assange] is based on support for WikiLeaks.” But shortly before lunch, Mr Justice Ouseley decided Assange could return to Ellingham Hall. He upheld the decision by the City of Westminster magistrates court to grant bail. But he also warned him that he was likely to be sent back to Sweden at the end of his two-day extradition hearing, set for 7-8 February 2011.
The judge imposed strict conditions. (It emerged that the nearest police station to Smith’s estate, in the town of Bungay, had permanently closed. Assange would have to report instead to Beccles, where the station was open only in the afternoon – and not at all over Christmas and the new year.) The bail conditions were a £200,000 cash deposit, with a further £40,000 guaranteed in two sureties.
Over the next few hours the race was on to get Assange’s guarantors to deliver the cash, without which Assange was going to spend another night back in Wandsworth. His legal team proposed five new sureties: the distinguished retired investigative journalist and author of The First Casualty, Sir Philip Knightley; millionaire magazine publisher Felix Dennis; Nobel prize winner Sir John Sulston; former Labour minister and chairman of Faber & Faber publishing house Lord Matthew Evans; and Professor Patricia David, a retired educationalist.
The WikiLeaks team spilled out of the Gothic architecture of the British court in high spirits. Vaughan Smith promised Assange a rustic dinner of stew and dumplings, and said there was no prospect he would escape from his Norfolk manor: “He isn’t good at map reading. He’s very topographically unaware. If he runs off into the woods I will find him.” Kristinn Hrafnsson, Assange’s lieutenant, also welcomed the release: “I’m delighted by this decision. It will be excellent to have Julian back with us again.” But it was Pilger who articulated the deeper worry among Assange’s supporters: that the US would charge him with espionage. Pilger, who had been rejected by the judge as a surety because he was “another peripatetic Australian”, hailed the grant of bail as “a glimpse of British justice”. But he went on: “I think we should be looking not so much to the extradition to Sweden but to the US. It’s the great unspoken in this case. The spectre we are all aware of is that he might end up in some maximum security prison in the US. That is a real possibility.”
Just before close of play, the bail conditions were met. At 5.48pm Assange emerged on to the steps of the high court into the flash-flare of TV cameras and photographers – clutching his bail papers, his right arm raised in triumph. There were whoops and cheers from his supporters. He had been in prison a mere nine days. But the atmosphere was as if he was had made the long walk to freedom, just like Nelson Mandela. Assange addressed the crowd:
It’s great to smell [the] fresh air of London again … First, some thank-yous. To all the people around the world who had faith in me, who have supported my team while I have been away. To my lawyers, who have put up a brave and ultimately successful fight, to our sureties and people who have provided money in the face of great difficulty and aversion. And to members of the press who are not all taken in and considered to look deeper in their work. And, I guess, finally, to the British justice system itself, where if justice is not always the outcome at least it is not dead yet.
During my time in solitary confinement in the bottom of a Victorian prison I had time to reflect on the conditions of those people around the world also in solitary confinement, also on remand, in conditions that are more difficult than those faced by me. Those people need your attention and support. And with that I hope to continue my work and continue to protest my innocence in this matter and to reveal, as we get it, which we have not yet, the evidence from these allegations. Thank you.
It was a strange little speech, executed in curiously looping phrases and odd syntax. But as a piece of TV theatre it was perfect – with Assange identifying himself with freedom and justice, while expressing a virtuous concern for his fellow man. His lawyers standing to his side – Robertson, Robinson, and Stephens – seemed to be trying to radiate both solemnity and delight. In the long run, the court’s decision was unlikely to change much: Assange had yet to confront his accusers in Sweden; the prospect of extradition to the US loomed like a dark ghost. But for the moment Assange and WikiLeaks were back in business.