Crossing The Israeli Border as a Pakistani-American Woman

Crossing The Israeli Border as a Pakistani-American Woman
by Irum Shiekh

“Whom are you traveling with?” The young Israeli woman asked loudly across the short metal fence and piles of luggage that separated the officials from the crowds of non-Palestinians waiting to get a visa for Israel or Palestine1. I was at the Allenby Bridge crossing over into Palestine from Jordan. A larger crowd of Palestinians was standing separately from us going through the security and visa check to enter their own lands through the hands of Israeli security forces.

“I am traveling alone.” I replied. Meanwhile, she opened my blue American passport and realized that I was born in Pakistan. Suddenly, an expression of fear and suspicion colored her face. Her eyes went up and down as she tried to match my face to the passport photo. A few seconds later, she called someone and talked to him in Hebrew. Two young men in civilian clothes approached me and politely asked me to carry my hand luggage while they escorted me to a metal detector. They watched me get cleared, and afterwards told me to wait for a security officer. I sat quietly at a bench in the waiting area expecting to be grilled.

I had been told that crossing the Israel border could be a very difficult task for individuals wanting to do any political or volunteer work in Palestine. Many have had to undergo long hours of interrogation and sometimes they have been turned away. I was planning to enter as a tourist with the intention of visiting several tourist sites in Jerusalem. Sitting at the bench, I tried to remind myself of the names of tourist sites and hotels that I would have visited and stayed in were I a tourist. This was the first time that I was stopped during this trip for special investigation. Entering and leaving Jordan had been very simple and I had stayed there for two days visiting the Dead Sea and the downtown area.

About fifteen minutes later, a young man in civilian clothes approached me and started to ask a few questions about my work and the purpose of my visit to Israel.

“I teach in the Asian American Studies Department at UC Berkeley and I am going to Israel to visit Jerusalem and will be staying at a few hotels,” I told him. The young security officer had visited Berkeley and was familiar with the campus but not with the Asian American Studies program.

“What type of research do you do?” he inquired further.

“I look at the lives of immigrants living in the United States,” I said, stripping the program and my work of any political association.

“What kinds of classes do you teach?” he asked fishing for specifics.

“I teach a class that looks at the images of women in Hollywood films.” I gave him a few examples of my research around the issues of representation. He could not fathom the real meaning of my work but seemed to become comfortable with my story. Before pasting a security clearance sticker on the back of my passport, he looked into my eyes and asked “Are you carrying any weapon with you?”

“No,” I said calmly as I looked back into his eyes. We shook hands and I proceeded to the passport control section.

A young Australian man, Dave, whom I had spoken to on the bus while traveling from downtown Jordan to the border, was already filling out his papers. I had told him about my anxiety about crossing the border and so when I approached him he smiled and asked, “How did it go?”

“Surprisingly, it was not that bad.”

“They are going through your life history at the passport inspection area,” he said as he gestured towards a glass booth where some young women officers were talking to non- Palestinian visitors about the purpose of their visit and so forth. Since I had been asked all of these questions already I was sure that I would breeze through the inspection process. As I was filling my paperwork for the passport inspection, I watched Dave going through the inspection. He was joking with the young woman about his trip. Like me, he did not have a return ticket and was planning to travel within the Middle East on buses for the next few months. A few minutes later, I saw the young security woman stamp a separate piece of paper in his passport and he walked through the inspection area. Watching him walk through, I felt a sense of relief passing through my body. Meanwhile, I filled my paperwork and stood in line. A young woman took my form and passport and asked, “What is the purpose of your trip?”

“I am going to visit some tourist sites and stay at some hotels,” I repeated to her, smiling.

“Where exactly are you going to stay?” she asked fishing for specifics like the other officer.

“I may stay at George hotel or any other hotel in Jerusalem..”

“Are you planning to go to the West Bank, Bethlehem or any other part of Israel?” she continued.

“I’m not sure... I may visit other parts of Israel,” I replied calmly with a smile. She was filling out a piece of paper and after a few more questions about the purpose of my trip, she took my passport, the filled form and the form that she had completed and pointing to the waiting area, told me that I needed additional security clearance.

“I just went through a security clearance process,” I protested.

She smiled and said, “That was a different process.”

“How long will it take?” I asked, sensing that I might be here longer than I anticipated.

“I am unsure. It may take about an hour or so.” I looked at the clock and it was about eleven in the morning. I was planning to have dinner with some friends in Jerusalem tonight. I thought that I might get into the city too early anyway and went to the sitting area to wait for a security clearance.

I had planned this trip with Palestine Summer Encounters, a non-profit organization operating in Bethlehem for the last two years. They provide a hands-on experience of living in Palestine along with opportunities for doing volunteer work with various organizations in Palestine and learning Arabic. Of course, learning a language and visiting and working as an international relief worker in most countries does not constitute a crime except in Palestine. Over the last fifty years, Israel has built a myth of terrorism around the Palestinian community and they don’t want to debunk that myth by allowing the international community to personally experience the everyday plight of Palestinians. Inevitably witnessing the harsh treatment of Palestinians, most will pose the question “Who is the real terrorist?”

As I sat down in a smaller waiting area designed for non-Palestinians, I noticed that I was primarily surrounded by Arab-Americans. Among these included: a young woman traveling with her mother that I had talked to at the crossing. An American Jordanian-Palestinian, she had crossed the border several times. Another young woman born in Ohio was waiting for a clearance with her Jordanian American mother to see her relatives. A Palestinian father with a German-born son was waiting for clearance. A Brooklyn born American-Palestinian with her husband was waiting for clearance. These were some of the individuals that I ended up talking to while I was waiting for the clearance. There were several others with similar looks and stories that I did not get to talk with. Meanwhile, several European looking individuals went through the security clearance after a quick wait or without any wait at all.

After short conversations with the other waiting individuals, I began to get a little impatient. I told myself that if I did not get an answer by two p.m., I would go to the small area where my security clearance papers had disappeared and would try to talk to someone who knows what was going on. Most of the passport inspection area staff and the security officers were women between the ages of twenty to twenty-five and some men. One of the women waiting there told me that these young women are fulfilling their required military duty. Instead of being assigned to the field, which is considered a dangerous duty, most of the women are assigned to these security jobs.

Most of these security offers were carrying guns, which had given them a false sense of power in their young age. Except for the first security officer who had visited the US, they were inexperienced in dealing with visitors and were primarily relying on racial profiling to refer individuals for further investigations. In their racial formula, anyone with an Arab background from the age of twenty to fifty had to undergo strict interrogations and additional security checks. Those not fitting this profile were whisked through with a three-month visa stamp.

It was almost 2 p.m. and there was still no sign of getting a security clearance from that back room. I got up and asked one of the young women officers who managed the security clearance process. She told me that I should go inside the office. In the office, a young woman receptionist sat behind a small desk.

“I’ve been waiting for three hours for a security clearance,” I said calmly and continued “Is there anything I could do to expedite the process?”

“No you cannot. You must continue to wait.”

“Can I talk to the supervisor?” I asked. She pointed to another woman, who was a bit older and had been sitting next to her listening to our conversation. I went up to her and repeated, “Is there anything I can do to expedite the process?”

. “We get our clearance from Tel Aviv and as soon as I have any information, I will let you know. I am waiting for a fax from them. There is nothing that I can do from here.” It was difficult for me to accept that answer after having spent three hours in the waiting room.

“Can I talk to your supervisor?” I pressed on.

“I am the supervisor and I don’t have any supervisor.” Her face was getting red from my inquiries.

“This security procedure is unacceptable,” I said feel increasingly upset. “ I’d like to file a complaint. Can you give me a complaint report?”

“I don’t have a complaint form.”

“I will be filing a complaint with the American consulate then and will also write to the local newspapers,” I said unwilling to let her intimidate me. She suddenly got up from her chair, her face completely red by now.

“You must leave the room,” she said in a loud and rude voice. By this time, the first young security officer who had interviewed me had entered the room. He witnessed her rude attitude. I verbally complained to him about the supervisor and left the room. As soon as I came out, the rest of the Arab-Americans passengers who were waiting asked, “What did they say?”

“The officials were all very rude,” I answered, shaking my head. All of them sat down shaking their heads. I felt as if we were in a collective prison where our crime was that we were Arabs or Muslims. Israel is afraid of having its own people come back to their homeland and claiming their links. It may create disruption in the daily routine of Israelis, which is problematic. Of course, disruption to Palestinian lives is of no concern to Israel.

Another half hour passed and an officer called one of the Arab-American women waiting with me. After a few minutes of additional questioning, she was granted the security clearance. I had a nagging feeling that I was not going to get the clearance and started thinking about returning back to Jordan. For me, it was simply a waste of time and money and nothing more. However, what if I had to make an interview appointment? What if I had a sick relative that I had to attend to or some other emergency situation? The security officials made it clear that we did not have any control over our time and destiny simply because we were born with the wrong ethnicity or religious background.

Another hour later, someone from the back office came out and asked me a few more questions about the names of the hotels where I was planning to stay. She went back with the additional information and I continued to chat with another Arab-American woman. She was raising her children in Jerusalem and went back and forth every three or six months. She told me that it was much easier to deal with Americans as compared to Israelis. “They just don’t have a heart,” she told me. I visualized the red face of the supervisor from the back room and nodded my head in affirmation.

Another half hour later, two men and two women approached me and told me that I needed to undergo additional questioning in a separate room. I followed them to the entrance area.

“Go into that room and leave your hand luggage here,” said a woman as she pointed to a smaller room.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“We are just going to ask a few more questions,” said one of the guys who looked like he was in charge of the group. He exchanged looks with the other three, and something about their glances made a sense of fear seep through my body. I imagined them taking me inside the room, beating me with a baton and later publishing a story of some kind to cover it up. Initially, I was a bit hesitant to go in the room but then I decided to follow. I wanted to see what were they going to do to me. A young female security officer escorted me to the smaller room. “Undo your hair. Remove everything from your body,” she ordered, once we were inside.

“Do you want me to take off my clothes?” I asked in disbelief.

“No, just everything except the shirt and skirt.” In the next few minutes, she searched me intimately; the most invasive search I’ve ever experienced. I started to feel humiliated and I asked myself why I had to undergo such an extensive search to cross an international border. I was about to walk away from those penetrating hands running up and down between my legs, but I told myself to calm down and reminded myself that I wanted to cross the border to understand and witness the living conditions of Palestine so that I can teach my students from my personal experiences. I had read hundreds of books, watched several documentaries, and attended many conferences about the Palestine/Israel conflict. However, it was important for me to experience the everyday reality of living like a Palestinian. I needed to feel the pulse of the nation and for that purpose I had to step into the ring. I didn’t want to alter my plans because of this intimidation. It was a scare tactic, and giving into the fear would mean they had succeeded.

After she was done with the search, she brought me back to the pack of wolves waiting outside. They took me to an older man who started to ask me additional questions. This time the questions were about my relatives in Pakistan. “What are the names of your uncles?” he inquired. I visualized my old grey haired uncles playing chess in Islamabad and gave him their names. He wanted more. I gave him a few more names thinking in the back of my head of the futility of this investigation. What if I had a family member with radical politics? Would I give Israelis his/her name? I shook my head at his questions and told him that I would never cross the border through Allenby Bridge again and would tell every one about their rude and unacceptable treatment. He turned away unhappy.

My head was spinning at this time. Why did I have to undergo such humiliation and wait so long to cross a border? I had traveled all over the world and nowhere did I experience such a violating search. I was an American citizen but Israel did not respect its biggest supporter’s citizens when they happened to be Arab or Muslim. Rather it continued to investigate my heritage and the heritage of many other Arab-Americans around me. My tax dollars are used to build this investigation port so that they can humiliate and intimidate me.

Another hour passed. Another young woman called my name and stamped a three-month stay on a separate piece of paper. I walked from the glass booth to the customs. It was about 4:30 in the afternoon. The customs lady looked tired from her day of work and she quickly glanced through my luggage and let me go. I walked outside in the heat and found a bus going to Jerusalem.

I was among the last ones to walk out of the security area. The young Arab-American born in Germany was still waiting to get his security clearance. The bus for Jerusalem needed 10 passengers and the driver told me he would wait until it was filled. Around 5 p.m., I saw the German Arab man walking through with his security clearance. I smiled at him and shook his hand. “Congratulations,” I said in Arabic with an ironic tone. A few other Arab-American families came out of the security area also. Almost all of the individuals that I had seen stuck in the security area got the clearance. The border guards could not find an excuse to stop anyone. The only thing they could do was to intimidate and harass us and they were successful in doing it. Why do they do this? Of course, I don’t know for sure but I can take a guess that they don’t want people like us to cross the borders. We are not a threat to Israel security. We are a threat to deconstructing Israel’s myth that Palestinians are terrorists. We are witnesses to their crime of building new settlements in the lands that they had accepted as Palestine under the international agreements, of harassing Palestinians at the checkpoints under the name of national security, of destroying their economy, of building more walls and checkpoints by taking more and more land from Palestinians and imprisoning them through watch towers and tall walls, of employing military to protect illegal settlements, of keeping Palestinians unemployed so they are forced to leave their homes in search of work... In a nutshell, the Israeli government wants the entire Arab population to disappear so that they can claim all of Palestine for themselves. The presence of Palestinians in Palestine is a problem for Israel. Through deportations, imprisonment, and economic suffocation, Israel is making it very difficult for Palestinians to live in their own lands. Israelis are doing to Palestinians what Nazis did to Jews during World War II. The walled areas are increasingly becoming ghettos and concentration camps. I even saw graffiti posted on walls saying “Arabs to the Gas chambers.” They did not want me, and many others like me, to cross these borders and witness their crimes. Thinking about this hypocrisy, my eyes filled with tears. Sitting in the bus, I asked myself how long is this situation going to last. The wind blowing from Jerusalem whispered in my ears, “Conditions are going to change very soon…”

1 Israel controls the borders of free Palestine. Everyone including Palestinians and non- Palestinians need clearance from Israeli security before entering the areas called Palestine.

Irum Shiekh can be reached through info@progressivefilms.org.