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The
US has been silently fingerprinting visitors from
certain nations since the 1991 Gulf War.
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In
recent weeks, the US government’s decision to fingerprint and
screen visitors and tourists from select countries was met with
indignation by many US allies. Brazil implemented a system of
its own, fingerprinting US visitors to the festive South
American country. Poland, a crucial US ally with a strong
contingent of troops in Iraq, also fumed and expressed its
resentment. Nevertheless, the new security measures have not
been deterred. Visitors from certain countries, notably mostly
Muslim and Arab nations, are now screened. They are
fingerprinted and their pictures are taken and all the
information is stored in a nationwide computer database which is
tapped into by the FBI, CIA and the NSA, among other security
organizations. Most European countries, as well as Canada, are
irked that their citizens are held up for hours while they are
processed and fielded by security and airport police.
However,
these new measures are neither novel nor revolutionary. The US
has been silently fingerprinting and photographing visitors from
certain nations for the past 14 years, since the 1991 Gulf War.
The nations that were subject to such security measures were
Iraq, Iran, Palestine and a few others.
The
entire process, from asking for a visa to landing in the US, was
without event, mostly pleasant and dealt with diplomatically. I
cannot speak for other nations, but as an Iraqi citizen in the
mid-1990s, I can share my experience.
I
had grown up in the US on two different occasions, the son of a
career UN diplomat. I had attended American schools wherever
they were available and had grown up with the cultural mindset
of what I termed back then as “Pax Americana.”
The
last time I had been to the US was to NYC for summer vacation in
1987. That was easy enough as Iraq and the US were seemly allies
at the time.
The
next time I applied for a visa to the US was somewhat different
- in 1996 - five years after Iraq’s devastating defeat in the
Gulf War. At the US Embassy in Cairo, Egypt, a US consular
officer was not interested in me, but in my father. Was my
father a Baathist? No. Was my father ever in the Iraqi Army? No.
Why did my father retire in Cairo rather than Baghdad? I looked
at the officer with a smirk and asked him “If you had the
chance, would you retire in Baghdad?” He laughed and I was
issued the visa.
When
I landed in JFK International Airport, the passport control
officer looked at my picture, looked at me, and then asked me to
follow him. I was led to a backroom where there were other
people sitting and waiting for final approval to be allowed
entry to the US. To my right was an African woman who was
chained to her metal-based seat. Oh boy, is that what’s in
store for me?
Needless
to say, I was nervous, but if they wouldn’t let me in the US,
they really wouldn’t let anyone. A large burly man, whose
accent betrayed his Brooklyn roots, butchered the pronunciation
of my name. I was asked to be fingerprinted. I had never gone
through something like that. It felt humiliating, but I consoled
myself by silently cursing Saddam’s erroneous invasion of
Kuwait. I was sure other Iraqis had been treated in the same
way. They then took pictures of me, my passport was stamped and
I was off on my merry way. I stayed in the US for five months,
completing research into online copyright laws (a novel issue
then) and returned to Cairo to deliver my Masters Thesis.
In
1997, I had decided life in the US was rather good. So, I went
through the same process applying for a visa and left for NYC.
At JFK, I was again ushered into a room, but this time I was
slightly angry. As they fingerprinted me, I asked why I was
going through this yet again. I was informed my entire airport
security file had been misplaced. Well, guess bureaucratic
bungling was alive and kicking here as well.
The
same process yielded the same conclusion - I entered the US and
headed straight for Forrest Hills in Queens, a rather delightful
area.
Throughout,
I was treated extremely well with due politeness and candor. I
remember thinking how much better I had been treated in the US
than in some of the other Arab capitals I had visited. Other
Arabs tend to treat you like you are a worn-out shoe, with jabs,
insults, and cold stares thrown in for good measure. Yes, it’s
true, Arabs hate each other.
In
NYC, I met an Iranian who told me he had undergone the same
treatment and that he had known some Palestinians who were more
rigorously “examined” by the Port Authority.
My
experience was far more “jovial;” one of the passport
control officers helping me with the fingerprints remarked how
astounding my English language skills were. She claimed I spoke
better than most people she worked with. She asked me how I
learned to speak English so well.
I
smiled.
“Sesame
Street and Electric Company.”
Firas
Al-Atraqchi is a Canadian journalist of Iraqi heritage.
Holding an MA in Journalism and Mass Communication, he has
eleven years of experience covering Middle East
issues, oil and gas markets, and the telecom industry. You can
reach him at firascape@hotmail.com.
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