There is something about the way our world is set-up that makes it clear that people with the uniform have the power. While standing in front of a uniformed individual, you as a person amount to nothing. Your word has no value, your argument no reason and perhaps your being, no existence. The uniform represents the system. And behind that system stand rules, structure, and discipline of which you are not a part.

And the people in the uniform are very aware of their power. They enunciate each word that comes out of their mouths as if they are talking to an imbecile.

“Ma’m,” says the uniformed security agent at Chicago O’hare International airport. “ARE YOU UN-DER-STANDING WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU?,” she says breaking down syllables as if she is breaking my very spirit.

And you talk to her, thinking the two of you are individuals and can still possibly have a conversation and decide mutually what has to be done. But that is a mistake. Never assume they will deign to talk even if there is no one waiting behind you in the line and the airport is deserted. And as I walk away, trying to grasp why the encounter bothers me so much, I am reminded of similar situations faced before.

When I used to live in Malir Cantt in Karachi I had to deal with uniformed people every day on the way home. And even though I had an authorized ID card for myself, and a permit for my car, there was hardly a day when I was not stopped and questioned.

“You live here?” asks the uniform.

“Yes SIR,” I reply, the meeker the better.

“Your car registration number is not on your ID card,” he observes grandly.

“Sir, there are 5 cars numbers on there, they put the one I use on my father’s card.”

Silence

Then, sometimes I would hurriedly say:

“Sir please, I come here everyday, I live right over there, you can see it from here, please let me go home. Please I would really appreciate it, sir, thank you.”

He would nod as if granting me the biggest favor ever allowing me to go to my own home.

At other times I questioned:

“I have an ID, I have a car permit, why are you stopping me?”

“M’am, please take your card to the side,” he would say with a dismissive hand gesture and disdain in his eyes. And from that moment on I became invisible. There was nothing I could say that he heard and there was nothing I could do that he saw.

I am a working woman and I deal with difficult issues and people all day. But somehow these incidents always affect me deeply. They have the power to reduce me to tears, and many times they did. I thought I was weak and I had to develop thicker skin so people like this cannot touch me. But as I walked away from the security checkpoint at O’hare today, I figured out what it is about this that breaks me down every time. In moments such as these I feel that all that I am, all that I have worked hard to become, all the knowledge I have gained and all the struggles I have overcome, all is negated in this one moment.

Maybe this is reading like an extreme reaction to something that we have come to accept as mundane in a post 9/11 world. But to me it is clear that we have been stripped off our dignity. And it is this loss of dignity that hits profoundly, wounding our being. Adding a disrespectful “m’am” and an impatient “please” only makes the situation worse. It is not as if we do not understand the necessity of security and safety. But how worth is it to live in a world where you are reminded not only of all you have to fear but also that you are not worth anything anyone.

I recently met a young man from the Gaza strip. He told me what it takes for him to move around in his own homeland and to travel outside. At every turn he is met with barriers that he has to take in stride. He has had to wait for hours before being allowed to pass through a security checkpoint. He has been thrown into a back of a truck to prevent him from getting out at an unauthorized location. He has been stopped from boarding flights that will take him home. When I compare my occasional experience with his ongoing ordeal, I shudder. It is impossible for me to imagine what damage this incurs on his sense of self.

There is something wrong with this set-up. Maybe this is a drop in the bigger ocean of troubles that plague the world order. Nevertheless it’s poignant. And something has to change.

Ahmed Jamil from Gaza Strip:

Also appeared on Dawn.com