To elaborate on one of the points I began to address in the first part of this series of posts, it has been painfully obvious to me (and to others) when entering the United States, that white people are essentially not subject to Secondary Review. Put bluntly, Secondary Review is meant for brown and black people. Moreover, while allegations of profiling people on the basis of their race, religion, etc. are almost always denied by the authorities in non-airport portions of the United States, it is part of the official policy of the United States to engage in profiling in the passport control/customs areas of U.S. airports. Sadly, these days, one can understand how ‘JFK’ has come to be experienced as ‘Jim Fucking Krow’ for too many people.
In anticipation of returning to the United States in late December, after being out of the country for almost a year, I braced myself for some difficult realities. While I was looking forward to a relatively uninterrupted electricity supply in the United States—after living through 5 months of a Pakistan still dealing with the legacy of gross inattention to the energy demands of a rapidly expanding Pakistani middle class—I was more than cognizant that much of my impending Saint Louis electricity use would be directed at counteracting a Midwestern winter. Beyond my meteorological concerns, however, I was also contemplating a Saint Louis that had seemingly pivoted while I was gone, transforming from a place where palpable racial tensions were perpetually and hopelessly postponed, to a place demanding immediate racial justice. I was hopeful about the new conversation in Saint Louis, but also wary of it: Saint Louis is a city of intrigue, hope, and revenge. How would this all play out?
Little did I know that Abu Dhabi airport would give me a firsthand lesson on where the United States is on its broken arc of racial justice.
Not long before my departure from Lahore, in the context of a Comparative Law class discussion of James Whitman’s “Harsh Justice,” a Pakistani student of mine remarked “Well, everyone knows how racist the American legal system is…” Teaching Comparative Law (anywhere) is always a bit of a whiplash experience, as one has to often navigate students’ harsh assessments of foreign cultures and legal systems without knowing much about students’ actual experiences with and knowledge of these other places. [“Woah, did they just say that???”] I remember agreeing with this student verbally, but slightly wincing inside. There was nuance to add to this acrylic portrait of the American legal system, right? Some watercolor to blur the legal lines between black and white, maybe no?
The optimist in me always wants to reply “yes” to these kinds of questions, but it’s come increasingly difficult as I myself become more and more intimately familiarized with the two-tierness of American legality, especially when this two-tierness is embodied so physically in American airports’ architecture and spatial organization. On this latest trip back to Saint Louis from Lahore, I transited first through Abu Dhabi, and then San Francisco. In a controversial move, the U.S. government has recently set up a passport and customs screening unit within a portion of the Abu Dhabi airport for flights and passengers bound for the United States (similar to what the U.S. has in the Toronto and Montreal airports for U.S.-bound flights).
Apparently, the Emiratis have demanded some significant degree of control over this facility (scroll through the comments), so this is may be what explains why the Secondary Review area in this technically-American facility was separated from the main screening area, but through a wide and open portal. This portal allowed passengers sent to Secondary Review to see other passengers and also be seen by other passengers—in other words, not a typical American black site. In fact, the area was quite brightly lit. Begging the question, there was even a play-space for children set up in this particular Secondary Review area. Abu Dhabi Secondary Review staff were polite—they were not American, and not white—but tight-lipped. Ironically, while we were all just about to get on an Etihad flight—etihad means ‘unity’ in both Arabic and Urdu—everyone except me in Secondary Review was brown.
This was not to be my last experience with Secondary Review on this voyage, however. Indeed, upon arriving in San Francisco very early in the morning, and after presenting my passport to one of the officers on duty, I was directed again to Secondary Review. Double Secondary Review??? Was watching Nymphomaniac in Pakistan on Netflix via a VPN really that evil? Was watching Volume 2 doubly evil?
For those of you who have seen Volume 2 of the Nymphomaniac series, and remember the part where the protagonist goes to a shady linoleum-floored office, down a fluorescent-lit corridor, behind a closed door, for her ‘sessions,’ this is what Secondary Review on ‘Murica-‘Murica soil essentially looks like. Indeed, in SFO, I was SFO. After presenting my passport, I was sent down a hallway to a secluded room with a sign above it, ominously declaring “Secondary Review.” This was no Abu Dhabi. Detained children have nothing to play with in this room. There were rows of black pleather chairs set up. These black chairs would soon be filled with brown people.
Somehow on this early morning in late December, I had been the first person selected for Secondary Review. In front of me, behind a nondescript counter in an otherwise unpopulated room, an Asian-American officer took my passport. I felt momentarily relieved, grateful not to have a white American conducting this questioning. This relief would soon evaporate.
To be continued. Comments are welcome; I am moderating.
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