My threat to national security

The place: Melbourne Airport
When: 8 days ago

I’m about to begin the ordeal of international travel, having just been checked in by Royal Thai’s polite and efficient counter staff. Next, the slow shuffle through the first security check. A glance at those already in line prompts the thought that this will be an interesting process to observe. Ahead, two women are veiled head-to-foot, each the apparent property of a bush-bearded gent of Middle Eastern appearance who is leading the way. Several places ahead of them, another hirsute flyer, this one in the floor-length white robes and skull cap of the ultra-faithful. The three have also left the check-in counters and taken their places, carry-on bags ready to be inspected. I’m about to join them when a security officer pulls me aside. She is small and round and waving one of those techno wands that can sniff out traces of explosives. My backpack is opened and tested and, as expected, given a clean bill of health.

“Just a random check,” she explains, and I nod. Fifteen years ago, I rode my reporter’s bicycle in a mad rush to the southern tip of Manhattan, where I then lived. I made it to the Financial District in time to be dusted by the collapse of the World Trade Centre’s second tower. Can’t be too careful, I know better than many, so I’m agreeability itself when told I can zip up my bag and proceed.

“No worries,” I say — then, just for the devilment of it, I suggest that if she wishes to check someone else, those shrouded gals and the bearded sorts might make decent prospects.

“Oh, no!” she says, and this is a direct quote, “we aren’t allowed to profile! That wouldn’t be fair.”

At this point I bite my tongue and shuffle to the next checkpoint, ready to empty pockets and place my laptop in its inspection tray. Ahead, the Islamic quartet has made it through the scanner without incident or delay. Such is not to be my lot.

“Wait here,” commands the young woman as my bag emerges from the x-ray tunnel. There is a problem, so I wait … and wait … and wait some more while other problematic passengers have their bags searched by hand. One is an apple-cheeked cherub who could be no more than ten years old. She has been sprung with one of those tiny bottles of shampoo they leave in hotel bathrooms. It is confiscated and her mother given a quick lecture about fluids and security perils.

Then it is my turn. Although carried for years, it now seems the key-ring tool I use for sharpening pencils and tightening the troublesome screws in my spectacles is a threat to safety and security. The device — identical in every respect but colour to the one pictured atop this post —  will have to be confiscated. This is a real surprise. A year ago, El Al gave the same device a clean bill of health, and Israeli security tends to a real-world thoroughness for obvious reasons. Then again, El Al also makes no secret that profiling is a key part of of its unblemished security record..

“This is ridiculous,” I say, careful not to invest the words with vehemence, as one of the benefits of growing older is the hard-gained knowledge that few specimens of humanity can inflict more grief than a petty official who thinks his or her authority has been challenged. I lodge a mild protest, a supervisor is summoned and an extended consultation ensues. The verdict is thumbs-down. It’s “a tool”, I’m told, and might be used to dismantle a jetliner. An Airfix model perhaps, but by no sane estimation an actual 747.

I surrender it without further protest but with what must have been an expression of unconscious and astonished disgust. On the return leg of my trip, the left lens pops out of my glasses. Being half-blind will be my small sacrifice to keep Australians safe from terror.

“I think it’s ridiculous, too,” the security guard mutters as computer, notebook, pens, books and magazines are re-stowed. “But you know how it is … just following orders.”

Fast forward to a week later and I’m in a cab and heading home, wondering how many dead mice the cat might have displayed on the coffee table in my absence. I check the latest news on my phone, reading the tiny screen with my one good eye, and see that Julie Bishop also was scanned and the security guard who singled her out suspended.

Silly woman, I think. The foreign minister should have worn a burka. As the quote and link below suggest, head of ASIO Duncan Lewis might even have given her a personal reference, there being no reason by his professional estimation for anyone, legislators least of all, to believe that Islam has anything whatsoever to do with terrorism:

“I don’t buy the notion the issue of Islamic ­extremism is in some way fostered or sponsored or supported by the Muslim religion. I think it’s blasphemous to the extent I can comment on someone else’s religion.”

Unless your more ardent acolytes of Allah carry tiny utility tools, of course.

— roger franklin

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