Alvin Gibbs’ statement from Facebook

Some of you might have seen posts on UK Subs’ websites, which provide photos and video of a random line-up playing with Charlie at a Los Angeles Punk festival at the weekend. You might therefore be wondering ‘how come?’ Well, the truth is that Stefan, Marc and I were all denied entry into the USA whilst somehow – perhaps he used a Jedi mind trick, or, more likely, caught an immigration officer at the end of their shift eager to get home – Charlie managed to get in. Having already been on a plane for 11 hours, upon my partner Roz and I arriving at the immigration booth we were beckoned to, we were told that Roz could go through, but something had flagged up which required my being taken away for questioning. There were two issues: 1) they said I didn’t have the right visa for entry and 2) there was another issue, which they wouldn’t disclose, both of which prevented me from being allowed into America – I’m now wondering if my regular and less than flattering public pronouncements regarding their president and his administration were a factor; or maybe that’s just me succumbing to paranoia.

I was then taken by two police officers to another part of LAX and escorted to a very cold holding pen where I discovered Stefan and Marc in situ along with some Columbian, Chinese and Mexican detainees. My luggage, phone and passport were all taken from me, and at 4am (I’d arrived in LA at 7pm) I took part in a second interview conducted by a very sympathetic female immigration officer, who even kindly went out into the airport to see if she could find Roz to update her on my situation and pass on information regarding the enforced flight I was to take back from whence I came. She did both, and I’m most indebted to Officer Jones for her assistance and decency. Luckily, Roz was able to change her flight to the same one that I was escorted onto by two police officers at 8pm the next day – at that point I’d been in the holding room for 25 hours without sleep and with only a pot noodle and a couple of cups of tea to sustain me. Roz had been obliged to spend 25 hours in the airport waiting for me to emerge.

Another eleven hour flight was then endured, the worst bit being I was denied any alcohol because its United Airlines’ policy that any passenger being escorted onto a flight in that manner cannot be served as much as a single glass of wine: Stefan and Marc, on the other hand, who travelled back via British Airways, were allowed to make the most of the free booze on their flight to help offset the stress of our shared experience. I’m really sad that the true UK Subs were unable to provide the performance and the diverse set we’d prepared, all of which the audience deserved; although kudos and congrats are in order for the three musicians who stepped in last minute to play with Charlie. The photo I’ve provided is of Roz and me sitting outside a bar, sharing a few wines together, after finally getting back to our homestead in SW France – despite being happy to be home, my scowling face reflects the after effects of 2 days without sleep.

So, in conclusion, although not being something I’d want to replicate, it was actually an educational experience and, honestly, I’m kind of proud of myself for being thrown out of America at the age of 67, now knowing that my relationships with that country is over for the foreseeable future. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why the chorus of track 3, side 1, of the first Clash album keeps running around my head.