Enhanced Screening

I was just subjected to my first government-sponsored sexual molestation. I can still feel the screener's hands on my body. I feel dirty.

I'd never seen the new back-scatter x-ray machines before, so I didn't notice them at first -- they're not obtrusive. They look like two large blue boxes with an aisle between them. But I saw the sign in time and opted out. Despite the discomfort, I intend to keep doing so. I have the choice to be felt up or filmed naked. Either one is coercive, embarrassing, and offensive. One of them keeps the person coercing me minimally accountable; the other does not.

Here's what happened:

I had already removed my shoes and placed my items on the conveyor belt when I spotted the x-ray machine. I informed the agent that I opted out of the x-ray and was immediately redirected through the metal detector. Thereafter the agent immediately called for a "male assist," which arrived promptly. The whole process was very efficient in fact. I'm tempted to say "professional" -- in a Godfather "it's not personal; it's business" kind of way.

Has this man done anything suspicious or illegal? Probably not.
(Photo courtesy of Salon.com.)

The agent carried my things to a table and informed  me that because I had opted out of the x-ray, he would be giving me a pat-down. I could request a private room for this. I replied that I would prefer if it happened out in the open. He told me to take off my belt, raise my arms, and keep an eye on my things as he proceeded.

Before each phase of the pat-down, he told me what he would be doing next and whether he would do so with the fronts or backs of his hands. "I'm going to run the back of my hand down the line of your zipper, OK?" He kept saying "OK?". I kept silent when I could; when it seemed he was waiting for consent, I replied, "I understand." Because it's not OK.

I steeled myself to speak when he began going around the inside of the waistband of my jeans.

"Does it bother you," I asked, "that you might do this to literally thousands of innocent people without ever finding anyone who was doing something wrong?"

He stopped the pat-down and stood up, red in the face with embarrassment. "We're doing this for your protection," he said. I told him that from what I had read, the risk from the x-ray was about the same as the risk of getting blown up by a terrorist, so I didn't feel particularly protected. "Do you want to stop the screening?" he asked. "What's my alternative?" I replied, "I have to get home." "You can go back through the x-ray machine." Alternatively, I could move my pat-down to a private area. I repeated that I preferred the pat-down and that it should be public.

He continued his work. When he had finished, he informed me that he would run my wallet, boarding pass, and other pocket contents through the x-ray and that I could gather my things while I waited. I pulled up my pants, put my shoes back on, and reassembled my baggage.

When he returned, he said, "Just for your information, the radiation from the machine is about what you're exposed to in two minutes on the plane because you're closer to the sun." He was still red in the face but trying to be serious and polite. What I should have said, except that I didn't think of it in time, was "...and how many people will look at naked pictures of me on the plane?"

I am ashamed to say that I am sometimes a jerk by accident. I run my mouth without thinking and I say something hurtful that I quickly regret. I am rarely if ever a jerk on purpose. I hate having to become one. But someone running their hands under my clothes and over my groin as a condition of traveling is something that  cannot be borne with good humor.

I am not in a position to give up flying, and I am too cowardly to contemplate a larger act of civil disobedience. I am able and prepared, however, to do my part to wear down the morale of any molesters I come in contact with. So far the TSA has appeased pilots and flight attendants by letting them off the hook. These groups are apparently willing to sell the rest of us out as long as they don't have to be insulted and humiliated themselves. The screeners don't have this choice.

Here is what I learned for the future:

• Keep the process out in the open. The screener wants to be shielded from prying eyes as much as you do. Don't let them avoid thinking about what they are doing. Don't let the other people in line avoid thinking about what they are a party to.
• Don't bother mentioning the risk from radiation. It's not large (except relative to what it's trying to protect you from, ironically), and such statements allow the screener to disregard you as a kook and avoid the issue of the violence he is inflicting on you. Next time, I won't say, "I opt out of the x-ray." I will be explicit: "No naked pictures."
• Keep the focus on what the screener is doing; don't resort to personal insults. I was quite tempted to share alternative derogatory meanings of "T-S-A," but the simple question I asked was surprisingly effective. Getting personal once again gives them the excuse to think about you instead of about their own actions.
• Even if the screener pauses in response to something you say, keep your arms in the air in the posture they told you to assume. You are not engaged in pleasant conversation; you are being exploited. All parties should remain aware of this fact.
• Keep your wallet and other valuables in your carry-on while going through security. Otherwise, the screener may carry them out of your sight after your pat-down.
• Consider the clothes you wear to the airport. The jeans I'm wearing today are pretty loose. This means that they slip down when I take my belt off, and I didn't particularly like the feeling of "getting dressed" after my experience. But maybe that's the point. On the other hand, loose pants also allowed the screener to imagine that running his hands inside my waistband was something less than it was. Women have another problem, as actress Donna D'Errico discovered: "You caught my eye," said a male screener before directing her to the x-ray machine.

Above all, stand up straight, speak clearly, and keep your head up.

God, I hate thinking like this at Christmas time.