Schneier on Security

Eva van Loon • January 23, 2010 3:50 AM

The TSA brutalised me at the WA truck-crossing border for over 2.5 hours. Probably there was training going on, for the expected surge of visitors to the Olympics, but that’s no excuse.

I was waved over. Then the car keys were demanded. I was marched inside, where I had to stand up for over two hours. I was not allowed to leave, visit the bathroom, etc.–basically false imprisonment. Then the entrapment phase: demanding I sign a declaration that I wasn’t carrying anything. I said, “There might be something in the car, as I didn’t have a chance to check….” Then a TSA doll walks in with a tiny Mandarin Orange box, about 6 x 5 x 5″. I’d totally forgotten about it. It contained maybe four or five minuscule mandarins. The TSA guy leaned close. “These are from CHINA!” he snarled.

OK, OK, I must be a terrorist!

He went through every scrap of material in my wallet, saying, “This will help you; this won’t help you,” as if my execution was slated for the next hour.

When he and he cronies retreated to their computers and private corners, doing who knows what, I began to cry. I’d been robbed the day before and wasn’t feeling too strong. I cried for 45 minutes straight.

They came back, wanting me to pay a $300 fine. I told them I don’t have $300. They said, “You have credit cards.” I told them the credit cards don’t work, but if I give them permission to try them, it’s an admission of guilt. I won’t do it.

They can see my next words are, “I want to call a lawyer.” I’m thinking of how it’s three hours earlier in HI and I can call my lawyer friend there–as if that will do much good. I’m still crying. All I want to do is drive down to Bellingham, pick up my books, and come back to Canada. Right away.

They don’t know what to do with this soppy old female. They give me a notice: I’m being fined up to $20K. I kid you not. No address, no process for protest or dispute on the page. They want me to sign. I won’t.

They ask for a statement. I give them one, making clear the false-imprisonment and entrapment facts. They let me go, with the stupid page of accusations. Apparently there will be a hearing, date and place and terms unknown, and I may be fined into bankruptcy. I have no idea what to do with it, but I get into the car. I feel raped. My car doesn’t quite feel like mine. I wonder what they’ve done to it.

I spend all of 47 minutes in the US, crying the whole time. I’m still crying when I get back to the Canada Customs. If they give me a hard time, I’ll probably commit suicide or kill somebody.But all they do is have me pay the GST on the books I came to pick up.

For days I feel dirty, besmirched, diminished. Although I lived there for many years, I want nothing more than never again to have to go through the effing US of A.