I'm a victim of profiling

Shortly after my plane landed at JFK, while we were still taxiing, they announced over the loudspeaker for Jane Rubio to present herself at the front of the plane. The flight attendant at the exit of the plane turned me over to a Homeland Security official. We proceeded down the ramp at a fast pace. She kept barking at the people to move to the left so we could pass. I was either very important, or some kind of criminal. As we were walking, I started getting really nervous, "What's going on?" Did something happen to my mom? Did they find drugs in my bag? The other passengers kept looking at me as she told them to move out of the way.

I was feeling confused and slightly humiliated (imagine if I wasn't white). But mostly just angry that she wouldn't tell me what was going on. I became quiet and sort of just fumed on the inside, trying to not say anything so that I wouldn't piss them off, giving them an excuse to give me a hard time.

"What's going on?"

"We'll tell you in a minute."

After a minute of pondering all the possibilites, "Okay. Now I'm getting really nervous. What's going on?"

When we reached the big room where everyone has to wait in long, windy lines to have their passports and visas checked, they took me to that small room. That in/famous small room where they make foreigners and Americans of foreign extraction and Americans who just look foreign or undesirable or non-white wait.

They explained that on every plane they do a random security check or two. But for some reason, my name was flagged. "Why do you think that is?" he asked me.

"My passport." I handed it to him, and he started flipping through it, and nodded.

"Yeah. . .So you've been picked out for some reason on our computer system. We have to do a security check, look through all your bags, and make copies of all your documents. Do we have your permission?"

After a reluctant "Yeah," I asked, "How long is this going to take?"

"Maybe an hour or an hour and a half. Here's the form you can fill out to file an official complaint."

God bless America!! A form to file a complaint!! This does not happen in Lebanon, or Brazil, or Venezuela, or probably anywhere outside North America and Europe.

They were actually all very nice to me. And it went by quick. They asked dumb questions and not the right questions, which makes me wonder how much information they have or if their computers are even hooked up to each other. I still have a fiance visa in the works, and there were no questions about that. Just what I'm doing and why I've been there for so long. . . . teaching, studying, blah, blah.

Usually at the international check-in, the dudes will ask me, "What do you do?" after flipping through my passport. After spending two days in Bogota, the guy once asked, "What were you doing for two days in Colombia?"

"Visiting friends," I responded curtly. After flashing me a slightly nasty look, glancing up and down between my face and my passport, he let me through.

I'm used to these nasty looks, but otherwise I've never been stopped. People always tell me I've become Lebanese. And now that I've been harrassed at the airport, I can proudly say I've joined the club.