My TSA No-Fly List Saga, Parts 1

So, after the highly depressing results of the US presidential election of 2004, I decided that I needed to spend some time outside of the United States, preferrably in a place that had medical care for all, a solid educational system, where "welfare" isn't a dirty word and where "intellectual" is not an insult. Amsterdam came to mind. Certainly, the fact that it was the center of a vast trading empire for centuries, that it has some of the most progressive laws in the books anywhere, and that being a leftist isn't considered treasonous was appealing. The other aspects--decriminalized marijuana, a sexually liberated attitude, and architectural beauty also helped.

It was, therefore, with great irony, that I found myself, 2 hours before my flight was expected to leave, facing a Lufthansa ticket agent apologizing to me because the computer was telling her that she had to call local law enforcement. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my suspicions that all those "random" extra searches while I flew weren't so random after all were confirmed:

I had finally been matched to the Transportation Security Authority's Do-Not-Fly list. Of course, the Lufthansa agent (a very sweet German lady who was trying to conform me and working hard to reassure me that this was not Lufthansa's doing but rather the doing of my government) couldn't tell me that much. All I knew was that my passport went back into some room in the middle island of airline doom at Dulles Airport's main terminal, from where she was expected to call whatever appropriate law enforcement goons were required to verify my identity. About an hour later, after a host of different people in the statspolizei outfits that have become so fashionable in turn-of-the-21st-century USA had come to scrutinize the computer screen and my passport, I was signalled to approach the counter, where I was told that all was cleared now and that here was my boarding pass. They told me nothing. But I did manage to peer over the counter, and did notice that the form they were filling out had a check next to "Do-not-fly-list" match, and that apparently, four different signatures were required--airport security, FBI, TSA and one fourth agency I did not manage to note. Of course, all had come across and confirmed that no, the full name did not match, no, the birthdate and birthplace did not match, no, the nationality did not match, but certainly none of them had the decency to tell me any of this.

I received a one-sheet photocopied letter from the TSA trying to convince me that really this whole treatment was the national security of brussel sprouts ("it will make you stronger"), a spanking ("this hurts us more than it hurts you") or cod liver oil ("for your own good"). They gave me a phone number to call to speak to the ombudsman.

So I managed to make it to Amsterdam that day, but having been close to not being able to leave the country that I was trying to get out of precisely because it was becoming such an invasive, civil-liberties-evading advocate of indecency. My return trip was uneventful (and my stay in Amsterdam was highly enjoyable). However, by comparison to my departure, my arrival in Frankfurt and my interaction with the German immigration agents gave me the warm fuzzies--a delicious historic irony.