In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

In the aftermath of September , wars have been waged on two Muslim countries as part of a global war on terror. The image of the terrorist is undoubtedly that of a Muslim man, one who holds the Koran in one hand and carries a machine gun in the other. This image is particularly powerful in major airports of the United States, where I find myself from time to time. Every trip I take to the United States, often in order to attend a conference, is nightmarish. Each time I leave Canada for the United States I have to register at the border. Regardless of the fact I hold a dark blue Canadian passport, I still have to register because of my birthplace, Tehran. The fact that I was born in Tehran makes me a special Canadian. For me, every border crossing has to take place at a port where the U.S. Department of Homeland Security (USDHS) has a branch. The ritual is as follows: I present myself at the border to an immigration officer, and he gets up and asks me to follow him—reluctantly, because I have just created more work for him. People behind me in the queue stare at me and feel frustrated because I am a person with a problem who has delayed their departure. On one particular occasion I needed to use the washroom, and the immigration officer told me I could not leave without a guard. A security officer was called to follow me to the ladies’ room, stand outside until I was out, and accompany me back to the Department of Homeland Security. It was hard for me to understand how I had lost my status as a respectable citizen and become a potential terrorist. I kept asking myself at what point had I turned from a beauty into a beast, from a respectable citizen who could use a public washroom freely into a suspect who needed to be followed by a guard. To continue the ritual, once I am in the Department of Homeland Security office, I am asked to sit and wait while the officer hands my passport to another officer. My luggage is put in a designated area, and I am not allowed to touch it until I have been cleared. The next step is a long wait, after which finally my 6 Saving Iranian Women Orientalist Feminism and the Axis of Evil ROKSANA BAHRAMITASH ——————————————————————— ——————————————————————— 101 CH006.qxd 5/28/08 7:36 PM Page 101 name is called. I enter a room. Often my heart is pounding and my hands trembling , and I am not always able to control my emotional reactions to the proceedings . I am fingerprinted, every finger. Often the computer does not register my fingerprints because the lines on my skin are fine. As a result, the fingerprinting process takes a long time and often has to be repeated several times. After the fingerprinting, I am photographed, and then I wait again while the computer finds my profile. I have a long profile—I found this out once when I was asked several questions about a trip I had taken twelve years ago. I had forgotten about it and as a result I did not give the right answers; the officer had to remind me of certain details. At the time, the expression of fear in my face alarmed the officer, who had to comfort me and tell me that there was nothing wrong and that I should calm down. Sometimes the computer takes a long time to find my profile. Finally, the officer hands me a form; I fill it in and the process comes to an end. He stamps my passport and I am set free. I leave the room to pick up my luggage and head toward the door, passing the large dogs that are waiting outside the office. The same process is repeated when I leave the country. I have to leave from a border where there is a USDHS, and go through one terminal after another in order to have my passport stamped. If I fail to do this, my next entry can be refused. On a couple of occasions I have failed to register when leaving, and this has caused major delays. Undoubtedly, border crossing must be even worse for Iranian men or all men of Muslim background, because it is the Muslim man who is the terrorist suspect. Although Iranian men and...

Share