First read
this story about an entire family of Muslims that were kicked off a plane leaving Washington for Florida yesterday. Now listen to this:
In the summer of 2007, I left for London mere hours before the news broke of both the bomb found in Piccadilly Square in London and the airport car bomb in Glasgow. As someone who is never afraid of flying, this trip started off very, very badly. My flight was late getting into JFK from Nashville, so I missed my connection to London, and long story short, after being booted off two different flights that were overbooked, I slept in the airport on a bench and flew out the next day around 8 am. I was in the very back seat of a humongous 747. To my right was a British Oxford girl flying home, and to my left was a cute mid-30s British couple. We were butted against the beverage/food partition that blocks the flight attendants from our seating area. To our sides were bathrooms and exits.
Nevermind that I had had little sleep, and everyone was already buzzed about the attempted terror attacks. Nevermind that this was just a day or so before Independence Day in the States and only a few days before the two year anniversary of the London subway bombing. Everyone just seemed to be on edge. Even in the airport, I noticed the white people staring at the Muslim people who were in turn mean muggin the hasidic Jews and so forth.
As my flight took off, before the seat belt sign had even cleared, a very large man of what appeared to be Middle Eastern descent stood up and
ran to the back exit door a mere 4 feet or so from my seat. He put one hand on the glass and another on the exit lever and began to chant. Just as this happened, the exit door to my right was bum rushed by one of the older hasidic Jewish men, and he, too, put a hand on the glass and another on the lever, and he began to chant and rock a bit. The scene was like something from a movie as flight attendants (FAs) urged both of the men to sit down. In their calm, prim, professional, emotionless voices, they noted the need to "not block the bathrooms, especially while the captain had the seat belt light on." Neither of the men acted as if they heard anything and continued with prayer for what seemed like forever.
All of a sudden, the FA's voices audibly changed. They began to give each other knowing glances. I got a twinge of fear. The young Oxford girl next to me began to shake. She, too, was scared. Hmmm... Even the couple to my right were sort of looking at one another, but they never voiced their concern. Oxford girl whispered, "What the hell is going on here?" I turned green. Surely we couldn't both be overreacting.
When nothing happened over NYC, I was convinced, throughout the entire 6 1/2 hour flight, that we were going to be blown up over London. I realize that this sounds like a bit of a jump, but here is how the rest of the flight happened, though I doped myself up with Tylenol PM and refused every meal, snack, and beverage they offered so I could avoid vomiting:
1. The unusually large number of Middle Eastern men all kept gathering by the exit in the back to my left and chatting softly. One would go in the restroom, bang around a lot, and come out soaking wet, as if he had been doing some construction in the tiny space.
2. The large Middle Eastern men referred to earlier stood up and hovered over his seat, surveying the crowd, and staring around at everyone. I noticed this each time my nausea forced me out of my sleep.
3. The right exit door was still reserved for the hasidic Jews, who convened there, and neither group crossed each other's paths. There was some real tension between the Jews and the Muslims, and I sat in this small chasm between.
4. At one point, when we were getting ready to prepare for landing, a group of Middle Eastern men stood up and ran to the back and began chanting and holding onto the exit lever. This is when I silently told my husband goodbye because I thought I was going to die, but, good news, I didn't.
So here is my point: I've never felt that kind of terror in my life. Still, when I read the story above, it seemed so incredibly sad to me. I
abhor racial profiling. In fact, I'm glad on two levels that I was wrong about the occurrences on my flight, as I didn't want to die, and I also hate it when people reinforce stereotypes. Maybe I could have used some sensitivity training, who knows, but the experience was scary nonetheless, and I don't think anyone can say what they would do unless they were in my situation.
I came home and found Annie Jacobsen's
Terror in the Skies where she recounts a story somewhat similar to mine and discusses other accounts that led to her hypothesis that terrorists are taking these "dry runs" and finding out what they can "get away with" in the air. It seems feasible enough considering the insanity that took place on my flight, but, then again, when one googles Jacobsen, the first thing that comes up is a bunch of information debunking her entire work, so who knows.
Before you start thinking I am a racist bitchface, I must talk about the pleasant events that occurred on my flight home from London to NYC. I had the opportunity to sit beside a sexy Middle Eastern man--and man are those ME men sexy--who teaches at Columbia and works as an NYC architect. We used our fancy Virgin Atlantic screens to "text" silly messages to strangers in other seats and played 80s trivia while eating all the free ice cream they give out on their party-style flights. Sure he fit the "scary" dark profile of a "terrorist," but he was no scarier than that guy on
Blue's Clues. I have no issue with Muslims/Middle Eastern people in general, I just think chanting in any form or fashion is pretty scary, but especially when it is in an airplane, en masse, and accompanied with an attempted exit from said airplane.
I don't even mean to suggest that anything untoward happened on my flight. Who knows? It could have been my nerves playing tricks on me, though all of the events I recounted
did occur, and I might have just misinterpreted the rationale behind them. I even checked the flight incident reports when I returned home to see if anyone had reported what happened. I never heard another word about it.
The back of our humble abode
I will pay someone $100 to jump in right now
Our street looked like a poor man's Dickens' novel from the other angle
The front of our home and the Bunny smoking Marlboro mediums
The Bunny poses with his wiring diagram for his 69 Dart, and though it seems misplaced with the rest of this blog, I can't help but enjoy putting embarrassing pictures of our mundane domestic existence into the public sphere.
