You might guess by the title that I am again among my loved
ones, after a grueling fifty-plus hours in transit. Little Benjamin has just
had a bath and been put to bed, Samantha is studying and Darrell is at work –
the overnight shift. Zeva the Dog lays at my feet and the cat is curled up on
the arm of the chair. I find myself at loose ends, having slept like a log last
night: no jet lag for me!
The trans-pacific plane ride did not last fifty hours; in
fact, it went rather quickly. What did me in was the 16-hour layover in Hong
Kong. I got a great deal on the ticket but I'm not sure the thousand Yuan I
saved was worth the time spent in transit. The trouble is that I cannot seem to
sleep on the road so, all night and into the next day I stumbled around Hong
Kong airport, enviously staring at those who seem to be able to sleep in any
position, in any environment and in any condition.
That 'not sleeping' deal applies to plane rides, too. I might
have nodded off for a few minutes out of sheer exhaustion, but true sleep never
visits me in transit. So, you can imagine what fine form I was in when we
finally touched down in Los Angeles.
Last year I glossed over the pain and aggravation of getting
admitted to America. Now, I'm glad I did because this year, the 'clearing
customs' ritual has established an all-new level of annoyance and aggravation,
and I get to tell you all about it!
LAX's Tom Bradley International terminal must have been
planned and laid out by fitness gurus who hold the belief that extended walking
is the secret to unhappy life, or by blind architects. The distance from the
jetway to the passport validation area – the step that precedes claiming
baggage and clearing customs is convoluted and consists of up-and down-ramps,
escalator rides and more than a few meters of straightaway concourse. As
opposed to many other airports, there are no moving sidewalks. That might help
explain why I believe sadistic fitness gurus might have been involved in the
planning and design.
Normally I would not balk at taking exercise but, because of
lack of sleep and sitting overly long, my newly mended leg was screaming. And
then, when I thought of all the standing and queueing still to be done...
After about 10 minutes' walk we all arrived in the great
hall, ready for passport examination and
customs declaration. Whereas visitors to the country were instructed to enter
the first serpentine queue marker, those with American passports had to walk to
the end of the large hall to line up, switchback style. The line had already
folded back on itself 7 times by the time I got there. I was not happy.
And then, futher aggravation set in when we collectively noticed
a line of machines. Assistants were inviting queued-ups to face the
contraption. Others coached the bewildered travelers on how to use the machine.
“What could these be for?” I wondered.
Finally, my turn to face the gadget. After engaging it by requesting
it speak to me in a specific language, it asked my name, nationality, purpose
of coming to America. Next screen asked what type of passport I have, and what
country issued it. Third screen detailed duty items: had I anything I needed to
declare? Did I bring any produce or seeds? Soils? Had I been in contact with
any livestock while abroad? Am I importing gifts totaling... what amount? And
then, I was to present my passport to the built-in scanner. Next, the machine
instructed me to remove my glasses, adjusted itself to my height and took my
picture. The ritual concluding by it printing a receipt, with the instructions
to present that paper to the official who will inspect my documents in the next
stage of the process.
This step of in-processing is new. Last year, we were all
given a blue and white form to fill out while still in flight which, after the
death-march through the terminal and endless queueing, we were to present to a
security officer, who would ask leading questions such as: “What were you doing
in China?” “Why did you come back?” Where will you go?” in order to ascertain
whether or not you are a terrorist. By that short conversation, your form would
be marked in a certain way, indicating to the officer downstream that your bags
are to be opened and checked, or you should just be waved through.
Those new gizmos asked the same questions as the officers did
last year, so I reckoned that, once more a machine has supplanted a human.
After moving further up the new serpentine queue I found myself in after
wrangling with the machine, the officers' booths – minimally staffed, were
still in place, and travelers still stepped up to and stopped at them, handing
over documents. Officers made conversation, supplicants removed eyewear and
pictures were taken... just as the machine had done.
I thought that those officers were there to ease the pain of
transitioning to the automated passport validation system so, when my turn came
to be interviewed by such an official, I asked if the machines will indeed take
their job in the near future. “No” he replied. “It's just another layer of
security.”
I'm confused. Those machines, no doubt having cost the
taxpayers a bundle, asked the same questions and fulfilled the same function as
the officer. While it is true that a machine would not necessarily be able to
interpret subtle nuances of body language, all other aspects of the entry
process are done mechanically.
And these machines are supposed to help thwart terrorists'
feet touching American soil? Wasn't it just a few weeks ago that ISIS claimed
responsibility for a shoot-up in San Bernadino? And, the American economy being
what it is – the poor getting poorer, can America afford to throw tax money
toward a redundant layer of security?
My sleep-deprived mind pondered that as we all queued up for
the next step in the process: claiming our bags and going through customs.
Here, there were no serpentine arrangements, just lines of people, stretching
out as far as the eye can see, front to
back, the entire length of the building. To get to the proper carousel, we had
to cross those lines, and then find a place in one of the three lines and wait.
Progress was slow. Several travelers around me fretted over
missing their connecting flights. An officer on the fringes insisted that this
procedure is normal, that no one line is moving any faster than the other, and
that everyone should just be patient.
I've been in plenty of airports, around the world. I contend
that only Israel beats America in aggravation as far as entry procedures. They
have good reason for it: their country is constantly in turmoil/under
attack. Presumably America is also under
attack, and these measures are necessary. However, in all of the time I've been
traveling in and out of America, the only terror incidents I've heard about are
'homegrown' – initiated by citizens who've lived there long-term.
Gaining entry was an aggravating time. Fortunately, we had
scheduled my connecting flight to Oregon for several hours after touchdown in
L.A. so that there would be plenty of time to go through all of the procedures
necessary for admittance to the country.
Nevertheless, in the back of my mind, niggled: “How must they
feel: those who, their whole lives, have dreamt of coming to America, only to
be confronted with... this?”
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