America's Most Wanted
Hearing that Yusuf Islam (aka Cat Stevens) was denied entry into the United States because of—uh, why was that again?—anyway, it got me thinking again about my recent run-in with the FBI and the possible ramifications if I ever try to cross the border again. I figure it’s a good idea to document it anyway, because it makes for a somewhat amusing story, and now if people ask, I can just say “read the blog” and not bore those who have already heard me recount it umpteen times. So here goes.
It was the August long weekend, and I was in DC visiting my friend Graham. It was the first (and now possibly only) time in Washington, and I felt like a kid in a candy store. Or more accurately, a really nerdy brainy kid in a museum gift shop. So many things to see and do! So much history! Politics! Corrupt rich bastards!
On Monday I had the day to myself as Graham had to work; apparently August civic holidays are a Canadian thing. We rock. I already made up my mind to see the much-recommended Holocaust Museum, but what to do in the afternoon? I checked Graham’s DC guide for some ideas. And that’s where I learned that the FBI Headquarters building offered one-hour tours to the public. See the FBI crime lab in action! And it concludes with a live firearms demonstration! What could possibly provide a better slice of American life and culture than seeing the inner workings of their federal police force and firing some guns off? Nothing! So off I went.
If you’ve watched your share of X-Files episodes, you know what the FBI J. Edgar Hoover building looks like. It’s a butt-ugly product of 60’s architectural design with a lot of different American flags hanging in front of it. And early Monday afternoon I was standing in front of it.
Standing and feeling completely disappointed. When I got to the entrance, I read the little sign announcing that the building was closed to the public until 2006. Aw crap.
Well, I should at least take a picture of it, I thought to myself. That way the walk up from the Holocaust museum about a mile away would not have been a complete bust. I pulled out my digital camera, took a quick snapshot, and started walking.
I started walking around to the side of the building and it occurred to me that I didn’t really know what to do, and I was starting to feel hungry. I sat down at the bottom of the steps leading up to a side entrance to the building, pulled out the DC guide and started looking for places to eat in the area. I settled on a promising Burmese restaurant, got up and continued walking.
I got to the corner of the building. Pay attention, because this is where things started to get silly. The parking attendant called to me. “Sir, you have a phone call.” Huh? “No really, someone wants to talk to you.”
I walk over and he hands me the phone. “Hello?” “Yes, please stay there, there’s an officer coming by to meet you.” This wasn’t sounding good. Yet for some reason I was trying to stifle a laugh. Because as ominous as it sounded, it also had a clear air of the ridiculous to it. “Does this have anything to do with me taking pictures of the building?” I ask the parking attendant. “What were you taking pictures of?” “Just the front of the building, the flags.” That was fine, he assured me. Besides, I thought to myself, there were other people taking snapshots as well.
Within a few minutes Officer Serious showed up. He didn’t look impressed. “Let’s see some ID.” I pulled out my passport and gave it to him. Will I ever get that back, I wondered to myself…
“When did you arrive in Washington?” Officer Stern asked. “How long are you here?” “What are you here for?” “Where are you headed now?” I answered all of Officer Nosy’s questions calmly and politely. But then came the curveball, when Office Suspicious asked, “What’s your address and phone number?” Did he want my home address and number, or my local contact information? “Both.”
I could remember Graham’s address, but I couldn’t recall his phone number. Fortunately Graham had written it down on a piece of paper along with some instructions on how to get to get around the Washington Mall area. I pulled out the paper.
“IS THAT A MAP?” Officer Alarmed asked me with a raised voice. “Yeah,” I tried to explain, “My friend drew it for me to help me find my way around. I also have one to get to the subway stop by his house,” I offered. Okay, this wasn’t looking good. I was being questioned by the FBI for reasons that I was as yet unaware, I’m a foreigner, and I was in possession of a hand-drawn map that highlights such things as the White House, the Capital Building, the Washington Monument…nope. Not good at all.
Officer Satisfied finally gave me back my maps and passport, and then asked “Do you know why I was questioning you?” Well frankly, no. “You were spotted acting suspiciously.” Huh? “I wanted to go on a tour of the FBI building but it’s closed to the public and so I took a picture and then I had to sit down to find someplace to eat” I blubbered. At this point Officer Unimpressed either didn’t by my story, or didn’t care. “It won’t happen again,” I promised. And I continued on my way to Washington’s teeny Chinatown to find that Burmese restaurant.
Of course, now I did start to act suspiciously. Not intentionally, it just kind of happened. For starters, I became convinced that the FBI put a tail on me. So at every intersection, I would turn around to see if I could spot anyone following me. I couldn’t. And then, the restaurant that I wanted to go to was closed until 4:30, meaning that I had to find somewhere else to eat. This made things kind of tricky, because I didn’t know which places were any good, and which places would give me food poisoning. I did much circling and doubling back before finally opting for this one place that had an advertisement assuring me that it was selected in some guide as being a place to eat food. I’m sure that if anyone was actually following me at that point, they were convinced that I was trying to lose them. Better call in reinforcements. I wonder how many satellite pictures they have of me on file from that day.
Then it dawned on me…what if they had been tracking me all weekend? I mean, I did make a brief stop at the Pentagon on the way down town a couple of days before (I figured, what the hell; it’s on the way, it’s a pretty well known landmark, why not see it up close and take a picture?), and then there’s that picture that I took of myself giving the finger to the White House. Thank God Officer Grumpypants didn’t confiscate my camera. There would have been some legitimately incriminating evidence on there. I could also be charged with taking pictures inside the Library of Congress in places where photography was forbidden.
So this brings me back to my original point. If Cat Stevens can be denied entry into the states for something as minor as his religion and the fact that he is outspoken against terrorism, I don’t stand a chance of ever being allowed back into the country. I am positive that my name is now in some massive FBI database (and if it’s true that the FBI and CIA now cooperate with each other, I’m in some massive CIA database as well) and if I ever try to cross the border, I’m sure I’ll be singled out, questioned, and be subjected to a body cavity search. And then I’ll be sent home with no chance of getting a refund on my airline ticket. Hopefully they don’t share their list of suspicious people with Canada. I’d have a lot of explaining to do to my boss.
posted by Evil Robot Boy at 1:04 PM
2 Comments:
Welcome to the No-Fly List!
You should have known that the J. Edgar Hoover Building was closed until 2006, when the terrorist problem is scheduled to be solved (provided GWB is still in power). It was your own fault for going anywhere near that place.
Being a photographer myself, I've been in situations where post- Twin Towers paranoia has caused me grief in photographing public places. Everything in D.C. is a probable target for a tourist's camera, and you think the people guarding these locations would realize this and calm down. They construct big, impressive buildings with over-wrought architectural embellishments, erect statues and other public art in front of them, and then complain when you snap a photograph. I mean, people still take pictures of the White House every day, and that's where Junior effin' lives!
The problem is, once _anybody_ gets an inkling that you're acting suspiciously, they cannot let you go. I mean, who wants to be the guy who could have stopped the next terrorist bombing, but thought it was an innocent Canadian tourist. You might have been spotted on the building's security system (perhaps your face resembles that of a fugitive puppy mill owner wanted on sanitation charges), but you likely were reported by the tourist taking pictures next to you (‘Martha, he looks like a commie, I'd better ask the security guard his opinion.’). Even a retarded school-boy who's going through puberty and has just discovered masturbation has the power to set off a nation-wide alert (you know how they have to take all bomb threats seriously and evacuate the building, even if all the giggling on the 'phone clearly indicated it was a prank call).
The comical part is when they deputized the parking lot attendant to arrest you. They're so well-organized that a minimum-wage earner (and likely illegal immigrant) is their front line of defence!
What will make the difference in your experience is if you get a humour-less hard-ass responding who thinks his badge makes him better than everybody, or a sensible officer who knows that he has to find out your name and what you're doing, but that harrassing 100.000 tourists in the street and not catching a single terrorist is a bit rediculous [sic.], and not very productive.
Did Officer Over-Reacting invite you inside to a nice, comfortable interrogation room? It would have been your right to refuse (and his duty to over-react further). A lot of people think the Patriot Act is much stronger than it really is in giving sworn peace officers sweeping new powers, and this lack of knowledge is used to intimidate. They're just hoping you give them the slightest reason to search your pockets, upon which they'll find a marijuana joint (all young people smoke pot) and can arrest you for real.
Graham had better make sure that any subsequent visitors don't give his address to an officer of the law. If so, the Giant Point-Less Terrorist Information Data-Base will immediately flag his residence as the location of a sleeper cell.
I'm pretty sure you weren't followed for the week-end, unless they could spare Juan from the parking lot, they don't have the man-power even if you were a _real_ terrorist (and not just a rock 'n' roll one). But maybe I'm a CIA plant distributing dis-information.
The Cat Stevens thing is not as simple as whether he's carrying explosives. Remember when 10.000 Maniacs recalled their _In My Tribe_ album to re-issue it without their cover of ‘Peace Train?’ This was due to Cat's who-asked-you stance on Salman Rushdie, which may have been along the lines that Khomeini's fatwah didn't go far enough, and everyone who read the book should be torn apart by dogs. (Does that sound like he's against terrorism to you?) That, and monetary support for organizations which in turn might support terrorism, is what gets him flagged in the ‘whaddaya mean free speech?’ climate of the U.S.A.
It's a brave new world.
A disturbingly well thought out response, Anonymous. As for the Satanic Verses issue, Yusuf maintains that his comments were taken out of context, and that he never supported the Fatwa.
Miss Conduct: Cat's sins against music are many, but I have to admit that I have a soft spot for Morning Has Broken and If You Want To Sing Out. But sometimes I'm hopelessly sentimental too.
Post a Comment
<< Home