Article

I have tweezers and I am not afraid to use ‘em

Some pipe dream staffers were beginning to feel a little rusty and we thought our journalistic skills could use some sharpening. So we embarked on a field trip, bought some tickets and drove to the airport to attend the annual Associated Collegiate Press convention in the Big Easy.

Of course to get to New Orleans, we had to fly, and that was a little scary. But the airlines had more in store for us than we could have even possibly imagined.

We arrived at nearby Albany International Airport, and instantly noticed some things that bordered on strange.

THE FOLLOWING ITEMS ARE NOT ALLOWED PAST THIS POINT:

Box Cutters, Cigar Cutters, Corkscrews, Crochet Hooks, Double Edged Razors, Files, Hair Picks, Hat Pins, Ice Picks, Leatherman Tools, Letter Openers, Knitting Needles, Knives, Metal Forks, Nail Clippers w/files, Pointed Combs, Pocketknives, Safety Pins, Scissors, Screwdrivers, Sewing Needles, Tweezers

Safety pins? Nail clippers? Cigar cutters? Tweezers?

We walked on past the row of makeshift cubicles, where we were separated only by black curtains from what we thought might be security guards performing suitcase examinations and strip searches.

But the real Fort Knox of the airport must have been beyond the metal detectors at the gates. The line for this checkpoint snaked about 200 feet, ending in jumpy security personnel and army guards with big guns.

Every third traveler stood in the iron cross position as airport guards brushed their bodies with weapon-detecting wands. Remove all cell phones and lap top computers, they barked at us as we approached the metal detectors. If we were given our death orders and were trudging towards the firing squad, this is probably what it would feel like.

Later at the gate, passengers are checked randomly. One unfortunate recipient of this special privilege was an elderly woman. Security guards in latex gloves patted her down and checked the underside of her wheelchair for explosives. They rummaged through her bags while she stayed still with an innocent smile.

On the way home, guards emptied an entire suitcase onto a table, leaving our frustrated traveler to repack her intimates by herself. While we waited from a distance they put her empty suitcase through the x-ray machines a second time.

And through the airport, we were asked at least three times for proof of non terrorist status. Over the course of a one way trip, we were asked for our IDs so many times you’d think they’d eventually slap wristbands on us and serve us $1 pitchers of Beast Ice.

Having the contents of your toiletries bag sprawled out on the counter, you are forced to do some soul searching, we discovered. As you watch your friends being searched and their possessions violated, you hope that somewhere in this mess lives are being saved and liberties protected. We think they are.

We can sit in our office and write editorials about the differences between “freedom from” and “freedom of.” But to be able to sleep on a plane because you know that the 90-year-old woman bound to a wheel chair seated at the front of the plane does not have a tweezer, that is what it means to be an American.