Originally Posted by Hax, July 21st, 2012
It's a long enough title, but hell, at least you know what it's about. Experiencing the Israeli border control
Prologue: A short personal history!
I've never felt discriminated against anywhere. Althought it's indeniable that being of Arab descent often lead to questions (“Are you a Muslim?”), jokes (“My roommate is a terrorist”) and a one-time negative approach (“If you're of Arab descent, you can't be culturally western”), I've never felt the kind of discrimination with which blacks (in the United States), Jews (in the 19th century, particularly in eastern Europe) or gypsies (in eastern Europe as well) were confronted. As such, being raised in a pretty protective environment surrounded by people who tended to respect for what I do, rather than what I look like or where my father's from, I regard myself as a pretty laid-back guy who tries to take life as it comes, and by all means not to seriously.
What is your father's name? What is your grandfather's name?
Now most people I know are aware that on June 18th, 2012, I left for a two-and-a-half week trip through Israel (with a one-day stop in the Occupied Territories) and Jordan. As my passport had been sent to the embassy beforehand and I had met with the Israeli consul responsible for tourism twice, I did not expect any trouble at all.
Passing through Schiphol went relatively easy (even though I shouted the word “cocaine” a bit too loudly for most standards), and even though I got a red sticker in my passport which meant that I'd had to be double-checked (which in all fairness, was standard procedure as I was travelling on a second passport) we were able to leave with all body cavities left untouched and boarded the El-Al flight to Tel Aviv at 12:15, as according to plan.
We arrived in Tel Aviv around 5:00 PM. It may just have been bad luck, but as we touched down, several other planes touched down simultaneously, leading to pretty long lines at the passport control. The mood was jovial, we had arrived in Israel without crashing unexpectedly into the Mediterranean and nobody had tried to blown up the airplane. Things were going, by all standards, totally okay. However, as the line progressed, I was unfortunately the last person to go to passport control. That's where the trouble started.
The moment I handed over my passport, I still didn't expect any trouble. After all, I'd already gone through a background check, and if they wouldn't have allowed me entrance, they'd have done it beforehand, right? Some two minutes later, I started to expect trouble. After another half a minute, the officer looked at me and said; “What is your father's name?”
Well, damn. The moment he asked the question I didn't really feel welcome anymore. Still, there's no point in being a dick about it, so I just answered the question.
The border officer tapped on his keyboard and proceeded to ask another question: “What is your grandfather's name, if you can remember?” “It's Yousef, but he passed away before I was born.”
The officer stretched his back and looked me in the eye.
“Right. I'm going to keep your passport, would you mind walking back and going to that room?”
The Arab Corner of Shame and Humiliation
He pointed to a small room on the far side of the hall. I was taken aback and didn't really know how to respond, so I just nodded and said “Well, sure”. I don't really remember what I was thinking at that point, but I walked to the room he'd so kindly pointed towards and sat down in one of the chairs.
There were Arabs everywhere. I thought: "Ah finally, compatriots". I decided against trying to start a conversation, as it would probably have compromised the security situation and have turned the border patrols even more hostile than they already were. In any case, there was free wifi (it's how they keep the Palestinians in line, of course) and I started checking my Facebook.
In any case, I certainly didn't expect to be held up for any more than thirty minutes but it turned out I was wrong. And as my phone battery lay dying, I couldn't help feel that for the first time in my life, I was doing something wrong just by looking the way I did and having the ancestry I had. I must confess that I've had my share of better moments. Systematic discrimination is difficult enough to describe. It also opens up somebody to empathising with people who weren't born into a protective environment in which everybody is pretty much equal. I suddenly understood why people were throwing stones.
After two hours, nobody had showed up with my passport. In the meantime, I had already called the person responsible for the trip, and as I had no idea how long it was gonna take, I told them they should probably go to the hostel.
It's Starting to Get Repetitive
Finally, after about two-and-a-half hours, there was a woman who came in carrying my passport and asked me to come along. I was taken to a small room with a single computer and with three women running about, talking to eachother in Hebrew and for the first five minutes, they didn't even pay any attention to me. It was only when I tried calling one of our travel companions again that one of them said: “You can't call people in here”.
Fine, whatever. I hung up and the woman turned towards me.
“What is the purpose of your stay in Israel?”
You'd think they'd have known by now, with the whole Israeli security apparatus.
“I'm here with a group of twenty students from the Netherlands, and we're here on a study trip.”
No change in her expression.
“Where are you going?”
“We're going to stay in Israel for about one and a half week, we'll be visiting Ramallah for one day*, and finally we'll be going to Amman for about a week, before going back and taking the plan to Amsterdam again”.
Still no change in her expression. Instead, she took out a paper and a pen and put them in front of the desk. I looked at her with a blank expression (or so I hoped).
“I want you to write down your phone number, your mobile number as well as your email address”.
Doing The Right Thing
The right thing to have done at that point was to have laughed in her face, tell her she could go to hell, demand my passport back and call the Dutch embassy and either go into Israel without giving my personal details (which they already had in any case, so what they wanted them for is a total mystery). The thing is, at that point you're not really thinking clearly, so I just did what she asked.
“With whom are you going to Ramallah?”
At last, I finally had a really good answer ready.
“Yeah, see, we're going with the same guy who was a guide to ex-president Clinton”.
She didn't look too amused, so she just said: “Okay, you can go back to that room, we'll be giving you your passport in a couple of minutes”. I replied: “And then I go into Israel?”. She looked even grumpier, so I just decided to leave it at that and I walked back to the Room of Many Probings
After another half an hour, finally they came back with my passport and told me I could pass into Israel without going through the border control again. Relieved, I took my passport and immediately felt re-united with my identity. I marched past border control and showed my passport to the two border officers standing there before entering the hall of Ben Gurion airport. I'd finally managed to get into Israel.
Epilogue
Now for the stinger: as soon as I'd passed the border, the first thing I noticed is that I wasn't able to see my co-students anywhere, which was understandeable, as most of them had gone to the hostel beforehand. So while I was standing there gawking, looking around like a helpless lemming in front of a cliff, a police officer came up to me: “Can I see your passport, sir?”
Oh god, not again.
Note: I would like to stress that in the end, I really enjoyed my time in Israel. Apart from the border checks, which happened three times (entering Israel at Ben-Gurion, leaving at Allenby and coming back at Allenby (strangely, leaving Ben-Gurion was no problem)) the Israeli people appeared quite aloof, but were in fact mostly really friendly and open-minded. To a large degree, the notion of Israel as a state where people of many different origins are able to live together relatively well. Noteable exceptions are south Tel-Aviv, which has a large population of black immigrants and certain parts of Jerusalem. Regardless, apart from what happened at the border, the Israeli public made me feel really welcome and made sure I really enjoyed my time there.
*Eventually, we didn't go to Ramallah, but to Hebron/al-Khalil instead, which was a much more interesting and enlightening experience.
