An excerpt from article in the Toronto Star on Robert Dziekanski's final moments. Here's the video [warning: graphic visualization].
The bystander's camera clicks on early in the morning of Oct. 14 as the 40-year-old Dziekanski appears to be attempting to barricade himself inside a secure area of the airport's arrivals terminal.
No one yet knows why Dziekanski spent 10 hours in that secure area already, having arrived via Frankfurt earlier the day before.
Police were trying to find other people who had been on his flight as part of their investigation.
In the video, a tall and swarthy Dziekanski lines up desk chairs, a small wooden table and a clipboard along the doors separating the secure zone from the public waiting area.
The doors wave open and shut as he builds his barricade.
People gathered in the arrivals hall look on and Dziekanski glances furtively over his shoulder. His blue- and beige-striped shirt is open at the collar and appears wet with sweat.
He steps outside the doors, wielding the table in front of him, fear apparent in his eyes. He is muttering in Polish – the crowd thinks it's Russian – and some try to soothe him.
"There's nothing wrong, it's OK," one man says. A woman approaches, holds out her hand and beckons.
But he turns away and goes back inside, ignoring the woman now trying to speak with him through the glass.
Kostackeyj says of the segment of video that Cisowki has seen, it is this section that most breaks her heart.
"She saw her son, at the beginning, looking for help. She thought that maybe he was trying to write a message, he was looking for help and he was frightened," he said.
"He, in her mind, was trying to get help and he ended up dying as a result of seeking that help."
The woman eventually turned away from Dziekanski and chaos begins.
"He's freaking out," a bystander yells on the video as Dziekanski heaves a computer onto the floor.
The wooden table shatters against the glass. He picks up the computer a second time.
"Sir, sir, put it down," someone yells. Dziekanski stops.
Security approaches the doors, and Dziekanski, chest heaving, mops his face with the sleeve of his dirty white jacket.
He stands waiting, fear evident in his eyes, but calm.
"He's so scared," a woman can be heard saying. "Just leave him."
Security officers turn their backs and talk to each other, and in the background what sounds like airport officials discuss what to do next.
A Cathay Pacific flight with 300 people aboard is due shortly and someone can be heard suggesting customs officials hold passengers back.
A spokesman for the Vancouver Airport Authority said they wanted to review the video before commenting.
Four RCMP officers arrive, the camera panning from the frustrated looks on security guards' faces to the men in uniform striding through the hall.
Loud cries of what sound like "polizia," can be heard as the officers are told by someone that the man is behind the door and only speaks Russian.
They vault over a railing and walk Dziekanski behind the glass doors. He gestures at his luggage as they appear to be talking to him.
He throws up his hands in the air and walks away.
The officers follow, apparently indicating he should put his hands on the counter of an information desk behind the glass.
Dziekanski stands with his back to the counter and the officers fan around him.
Crack – the sound of the 50,000 volts of electricity zapping from an officer's gun can be heard.
Dziekanski winces and starts screaming, his hand waving a stapler madly in the air.
He grabs at his chest and lunges through a doorway, howling.
Crack – a second shot, electricity sizzles, and Dziekanski writhes on the ground, spinning in circles.
Police surround him again, the bystanders gasp in amazement. A voice can be heard yelling "hit him again, hit him again."
The four officers clamber on top of him, restraining his arms, his head.
Dziekanski twitches as they fight to restrain him.
Finally, he is still.
The video is hard to watch. It has four brawny men going up to a clearly petrified man who's suffering an anxiety attack. He even seems to welcome them by saying Polizei, Polizei - perhaps mistakenly believing that they are coming to his help. They zap him twice and sit on his neck. The use of the force was uncalled for. Keeping a disturbed man penned in a secure area in the airport for ten hours is hard to explain. We need an inquiry into these.