Over the last year, the U.S. Customs and Border Protection authorities have stopped some Somalis from boarding planes. A few of these individuals have been put on the no-flying list despite the fact that they have not being implicated in any crime. It is said that their profile made them security risks. While many good reasons exist for the authorities to be vigilant, given that criminals would like to harm our citizens, maligning entire communities because of the deeds of a possible few is unjustifiable. This would in fact be tantamount to what was called "collective punishment of the tribes" in colonial Africa. Discussion of these issues was something I was familiar with only from a distance and on the margins — until recently.
 
My young daughter and I were on a trip to visit her grandmother in Ottawa, Ontario. We flew from Minneapolis to Detroit, where we changed planes. As the airline staff called us to board in Detroit, we proceeded to do so. I saw a number of uniformed Customs officers swoop into the jet-bridge. We were the first to enter the area, and I was immediately called to stand aside. I assumed they would ask me the usual question about how much money I was carrying. However, the affair became more complicated. The lead officer asked me where I was going, and I responded "Ottawa." He wanted to know why I was going there. I told him I was taking my child to her grandmother who lives in that city. Subsequently he asked the famous money question and I replied that I was carrying about $250. He asked if he could see where I keep my money. I took out my wallet and opened it for him, but he took it from me.

At this point I realized that the few other passengers who were questioned were kept for a just few seconds, and most of them had just to show their passports. But the officer continued looking through my wallet. As he emptied its contents he came across a number of business cards, one of which had the name "Crystal Hotel." He asked me if that is the hotel where I am going to stay. I said that that hotel is in Eritrea, as its address shows. He then saw the business card of the American ambassador in Asmara and asked me if I knew him; I replied that I met him there.

On to the backpack
When he was unable to find any incriminating material in the wallet, he turned into unpacking my backpack. His first encounter was a sheet of paper, which had three lines of writing on it. He saw "Mogadishu's address" on the page and I could see he was mildly excited; he asked what this was. I told him that 'Mogadishu' is the nickname of a family friend. Next he asked who "hooyo" is and I replied that this is "mother." He asked what my "mother-in-law's" name and address were, and I told him the information he wanted is on the sheet of paper in his hand. He further inquired why I am taking my child to her grandmother. I countered because she is her granddaughter. He continued with his search and came across two old calendar books with addresses and numbers on them. He examined them and asked me why I was carrying these, to which I responded "for references." By this time all 30-odd passengers had taken their seats in the plane and everyone was waiting for me.

As he pursued his exploration he realized that I had a second bag. He instructed one of his colleagues to check that bag, and a few minutes later the officer came back and said "diapers and baby stuff." Disappointed with this, he took all the papers I had in my backpack. He flipped through them to see if incriminating stuff would fall out, and then started checking the contents. One was the introductory chapter of a book I am writing. After this he saw a paper with the title "Piracy in Somalia" and inquired what this was. I responded that I am reading about piracy as I am writing about the subject. He asked why I am writing about this and I told him that I am a scholar and we write books and papers!

As he came to the end of the search I could sense his disappointment. He finally told me that I could go. Twenty minutes had elapsed since he stopped us; we walked into the plane to take our seat. I glanced across the length of the plane to see what the complexions of other passengers were like. It turned out that I was the only person with Somali features and dare I say Muslin name. We arrived in Ottawa and the reception at the Canadian immigration could not have been more courteous and simple. They treated me more honorably than the authorities of my America.

Hoping for a search-free return
I hoped the experience in Detroit was a freak exception, and I had two enjoyable days in Ottawa. But little did I know what was in store for me at the U.S. Customs and Border Protection post at the Ottawa Airport. Returning to Minneapolis on June 15, I went to the airport two hours early as prescribed, checked my luggage, and went to passport control. There I handed my passport and boarding pass to the U.S. Immigration officer on duty. He flipped through the pages of my fat passport and joked that I have a lot of air miles under my wings. I smiled at him, but after a minute he asked me to come with him to a waiting area. He told me that another officer would call me in due course. Ten minutes later a Chinese-American officer came and asked me to come with him to a stand. There he began asking questions.

His first query was why I was in Ottawa; I gave the same answer as in the previous day. He went on to inquire about my personal details. I told him that he has that information in my passport, which was in his hand. He asked what my father's name is and I told him. Subsequently he asked what my last name is and I responded that it is Samatar, as the passport says. He asked about my mother and her birth date and last name. He asked why my mother does not have the same surname. I explained that in the Somali culture there are no last names. He asked for my driver's license, and at this stage I queried what was going on. He told me that they wanted to authenticate my identity. I replied that his colleagues in Detroit checked my particulars two days earlier and asked if that was not sufficient. He paid no attention to the remark and stayed the course.

Time goes by, plane takes off
I asked if the process of selecting to question me was random and he responded in the affirmative. He then left and another half an hour lapsed before he came back with a second officer. At this point they had brought my suitcase from the airline and told me that they wanted to search it. The second officer flung open the suitcase and took out the three shirts, sweater, and two trousers. The first officer picked out a piece of paper that was at the bottom of the case. This was a photocopy of my wife's passport. He asked whose passport copy this was and why I was carrying it. I inquired whether it was a crime to do so. He did not like my response.

When they were done with the suitcase, I told them that I found the entire process unprofessional and demeaning, and added that if they want to authenticate my identity then it appears their information gathering and retrieval system must be inadequate since they re-did the same job their colleagues did in Detroit. I also expressed that as an American citizen I found it offensive that I have been selected for this search without any cause. Interestingly enough, as my time with them was coming to end another Somali-American from Texas was brought in, but his trial was relatively short. Finally, the officers asked me if I wanted to see the supervisor, but I declined the offer. Despite this a supervisor showed up and asked if I had any questions for him. I told him that I have one question: Was I selected randomly? He said no. I queried why I was singled out for inspection. The officer would not respond to this concern. By then I have been with these folks for over an hour and have already missed my flight.

I could not help but reflect back on a Voice of America radio debate that I had participated in just a few days earlier about President Barack Obama's speech in Cairo. I wondered if Obama is the good cop and these folks are the bad ones in a new American saga! I am now in the process of accessing the information Homeland Security has on me via the Freedom of Information Act. In the meantime I am left with a nagging feeling that I have been profiled by the Customs and Border Protection, and that given my frequent travel this will not be the last time.

Abdi I. Samatar is a professor and chair of the Department of Geography, University of Minnesota.