Salaam Alaikum wa Rahmatullah
Well, the title says it all, no? It seems that merely wearing traditional Islamic clothing, or sporting a long beard, or wearing a veil, or simply having swarthy skin is enough to get you bumped from a flight. Just the other day, two Imaams (Muslim clerics), Mohamed Zaghloul and Masudur Rahman, were removed from a flight to Charlotte, North Carolina, after some passengers complained that their mere presence made them feel “uncomfortable”.
In my world, if a passenger had expressed discomfort at having to share stale recycled air with a brown man in his pajamas (c’mon, you know that’s what they’re thinking), the pilot or the flight attendants would simply and politely say “I’m sorry you are not satisfied with the color and composition of the airplane passengers. We will be happy to taxi back to the terminal and allow you to deplane so you can wait for a more racially pure airplane that does not have scary brown people on it. Have a nice day.”
Unfortunately, in the real world, this does not happen. The two Imaams, who had passed through security screening twice, and who were, ironically, on their way to a conference on Islamophobia, were chucked off the plane with hardly more thought than a chain smoker might give to tossing a cigarette butt out the window of his car while speeding down the highway. The pilot would have had the power to ignore the passengers and allow the flight to proceed, but he was the one who insisted he would not take off with the Muslims aboard. Education and the ability to pilot a thousand-ton aircraft apparently does not translate into having common sense. So my poor brothers were humiliated and harassed, profiled and persecuted, all because some idiot didn’t realize that if there was someone on the plane that intended to do harm, he would most likely be clean-shaven and wearing chinos and a blue button down chambray shirt. (Note to FBI agents reading this: I just made that up. No need to scurry and update your profiles or stake out the local menswear store.)
The two Imaams have legal counsel now and are considering their options. The airline is zipping its lip and not saying anything after releasing the usual “security is important to us” statement. Muslims around the country are shaking their heads and sighing into their coffee. Normal Americans are thinking “that sucks” while secretly wishing they could travel in their pajamas. Tea party enthusiasts are training legions of volunteers in how to feel uncomfortable in the presence of a brown person. Legislators are seriously hoping they don’t have to get involved. The media is returning to covering news of the flooding Mississippi and the split of The Governator and his wife. Life goes on.
The last time I flew was seven years ago. That was four kids ago, and I really don’t look forward to having to schlep them and all our stuff to the airport even if the goal is a lovely vacation in my husband’s native Egypt. I know that if we do decide to travel one day, I may have to stand there and grit my teeth while some eight-dollar-an-hour security person runs her hands up and down my body. I may have to watch some guy do the same to my kids, undoing years of “good touch, bad touch” teaching. I may see my tall, bearded husband ushered off for special attention. I’ll try not to cringe, try not to jump out of my skin, I’ll refrain from getting in anyone’s face and telling them to go straight to hell, because I really need that vacation and I haven’t seen the Pyramids in years and I want to eat some fresh dates and cactus fruit. I’ll submit, because I don’t have a choice. But it pisses me off to no end, and it’s made worse by the fact that even if I allow myself to suffer all these indignities I still might not be allowed to get on the plane because someone feels uncomfortable. If that happens, I don’t know what I might do. If that happens, the redneck in me might come out and I might have to track down Miss Uncomfortable and get in her face and pop her right in her uncomfortable mouth. Then the air marshals would haul me away and I could enjoy my vacation in a nice little cinderblock room being interviewed by the FBI.
Maybe I’ll tell the husband we’ll be having a staycation this year, just to be on the safe side.