At the airport, Christ is still King

Because I almost always “opt out” of the fancy new airport security scanners and take the “pat down,” I was afraid I might someday have a bad experience. A few weeks ago, I finally did.

I’m no conspiracy theorist. I opt out for various reasons. It’s my preference. I have the freedom to do so. Also, the pat down doesn’t bother me. I’m generally at ease with appropriate touch at places like the doctor’s office, the physical therapy table and the yoga studio. Over the past several years I’ve flown a lot and probably have been patted down at least 25 times. It’s not a problem.

Until, suddenly, it was.

The husband and I were on our way to Hawaii about three weeks ago. We both opted out and waited at the little gate to pass through the metal detector. The “female assist,” came first, followed by a guy. They were both for me. The man was a trainer and the female a trainee. I was the training dummy. They told me this, but I didn’t think it would be a problem.

The woman, at least 20 years older than me, was very nervous; I was very polite and tried to help. She stuttered a bit so I helpfully added, “You’ll be using the backs of your hands on sensitive areas.” She smiled, nervous, and began.

The first thing I noticed was the pressure was pretty firm. She gripped my arms and legs as she checked for weapons or whatever they’re looking for. It was weird, but I didn’t say anything. Then she did the “sliding motion,” on the leg, where the security person runs hands up the leg on the inside until they meet “resistance.” This is usually quick and light. With this lady, it was firm. She lingered too long where my leg meets my torso, her hands moving much farther up than necessary. There aren’t any weapons up there, lady! This same procedure was repeated four times, front and back, left and right. The whole thing took about twice as long as usual, as the nervous trainee kept looking at the trainer (who gave a few instructions) for encouragement. I felt uncomfortable but didn’t say anything.

When it was all over, I still wanted to be polite and helpful. So I said to both trainer and trainee something like, “I am a frequent flier and take the pat-down every time. I have never had so much pressure used. What is your standard?” The (male) trainer assured me that firm pressure was needed. Then I got upset. I told him that it was too much and it made me feel uncomfortable. In my considerable experience, this pat down was rather unusual and unpleasant. He shrugged and so I walked away.

I collected my belongings and sat down on the bench outside airport security. I was shaken and planned to sit for a moment and collect myself. My husband walked up (he’d been done for ages) and asked if I was okay. I intended to make some crack about the touchy-feely-crazy security lady. Instead, I burst into tears. I was totally unprepared for my reaction. I sobbed uncontrollably. As we sat there, the airport security supervisor came over to me and asked me what happened. I tried to explain the pressure and the lingering and demonstrated on my husband. She said nice pastoral care things that I probably say to people, “I am sorry for your tears, “and “You can fill out a comment card.” It made me feel a little better but my husband did not. He began to argue with the woman, jumping to my defense. By this time, I was embarrassed (and a little ashamed) and I tried to quiet him. I just wanted it to all go away, to pretend nothing happened. My husband got the comment card, detailed the incident and then wrote: “Conduct training for airport security on each other, not on passengers.” Someone from airport security called me last week but I haven’t had the heart to call him back.

We flew off, had a wonderful nine days in Maui and now we’re back. But I’m still thinking about this incident, for many reasons.

First, I’m so curious and interested in my own responses. I’m surprised that I didn’t speak up while it was happening, to say, “Stop!” or at least, “this is unusual and uncomfortable.” I’m surprised that I didn’t just go to the supervisor myself. I’m surprised that I got so emotional. I’m surprised that I felt ashamed, as if the whole event was my fault. I’m surprised that when my husband leaped to my defense, I tried to quiet him.

I consider myself extremely lucky that in my life I have not been a victim of sexual or physical violence. Many of my friends cannot make the same claim. I consider myself lucky because, especially as a woman, I am almost constantly aware of my surroundings and the possibilities of assault. I do not necessarily think that I have made better choices in life (I’ve traveled alone quite a bit and gone running solo in sketchy places). I just think I am lucky.

I do not know what it feels like to be the victim of sexual or physical violence or assault. I have no idea. And even after my run-in with airport security, I still have no idea. My experience was in NO WAY even closer or equal to the pain and suffering that so many have known.

However, as I reflected on my experience, I do think I have a better appreciation for why these crimes do not get reported and why people do not want to speak of them. It’s embarrassing. It’s painful. It seems like somehow it might have been your fault. It’s seems easier to go on and pretend it never happened.

There have been many movements against sexual, physical and domestic violence in our nation and in our state. Alaska has particularly staggering statistics on sexual, physical and domestic violence. A 2010 University of Alaska Anchorage Justice Center random survey of almost 900 women found that 59 % of women surveyed reported physical abuse or threats from a partner or sexual violence from anyone at some point in their life. Statistics in rural Alaska are consistently worse than in other parts of the state. Alaskans know sexual and physical assault is a problem. People of faith need to keep putting the pressure on state leaders to address these issues in ways that go beyond lip-service or political posturing.

Last Sunday was Christ the King Sunday, see my recent sermon here. I’m reassured that God is more powerful than all the powers that seem to win the day. Christ as King means that hope is possible, that justice is possible and that safety is possible. It’s not God who will magically make it so. It is ours to work toward.