As I stood with my arms outstretched and legs spread in the sea of people – many of whom cast curious, suspicious or accusatory glances – the uniformed woman said: “Before I begin, is there any part of your body that may suffer pain as a result of this search?” I said “just my heart.”
Why would the touch of a mere physical search of my person reach to the inner depths of my soul?
- It wasn’t the embarrassment and shame that comes from public humiliation.
- It wasn’t the feeling of surprise and shock that comes with the spontaneous order to search one’s person.
- It wasn’t the revulsion of feeling a stranger’s hands run slowly up and down my arms, my sides, my back and deliberately along my inner and outer thighs.
- It wasn’t the feeling of helplessness that comes from knowing that even the smallest of protests could earn me a worse fate.
- And it certainly wasn’t the horror of watching authorities paw purposefully through my personal effects.
I stood frozen with arms outstretched – not strong and welcoming like the Christ statue in Rio, but weak and weary – beholding the cruel realities of our nation’s current state. Our rights have all but eroded. And our freedoms are no longer protected.
These are not new issues and they’ve been propagating at a brisk pace. Although I’ve always found them disturbing, this time it hit close to home…and all I was trying to do was to go home.
What was my crime? I stood in line – to get on a plane in Jackson Hole, WY.
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