Friday, May 12, 2006
Stop it, Michelle. Just stop it.
You're embarrassing yourself. And you're making us all sick to our stomachs. Here's Michelle Malkin on a charming little encounter she had with an NSA security guard today, on a trip to the National Cryptologic Museum in Fort Meade, Md.:
One interesting thing happened worth sharing: When I missed the turn for the museum, I had to drive through the guard booth. Because I officially entered the NSA premises uninvited, I was pulled aside into the parking lot by security. They asked for my driver's license and my Social Security number. And then one security guard looked me straight in the eye, unembarrassed, and asked if I was a citizen.So Michelle's for profiling brown people. We all know that, yada yada yada. But one can be for some distasteful security measure that must be taken (I am not saying I am for profiling, this is just for the sake of argument) - without openly reveling in it. And when that unfortunate, but necessary security measure is taken against you, yourself ... the normal response is not to say, "Thank you, sir, may I have another?"
I couldn't help it. I answered affirmatively and then told him: "I guess I'm not supposed to editorialize, but it is really refreshing to hear a security guy ask that question out loud without apologizing." He and his colleague chuckled. Appreciatively.
My own personal tale: Upon arriving at Honolulu International after being abroad for nearly three years, I was asked by customs officials to accompany them on a little trip to "the room". You know, the one where "that" happens. Most definitely not fun. But also not as horrible as the movies would lead you to believe.
Anyway, while I was obviously unhappy about having my nutsack handled by a very large (but thankfully, very gentle) Samoan man*, I understood why this was happening to me. Namely, that my battered passport showed all kinds of border crossing stamps, from Thailand to India, Japan, Malaysia and elswhere, and then back to Thailand. Exactly what you'd expect to see on the passport of an expat working in Thailand who had to periodically deal with visa issues ... but also what you might see on the passport of somebody moving drugs around, or being otherwise up to no good.
The point being that I understood why I had been red-flagged, and I was okay with that. And I wasn't about to make a case for my "rights" or any such crap ... 'cos I just wanted to get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible and with no bruises on my colon.
But was I going to thank the guy with my balls in his hands and his finger up my ass for doing a heckuva job to protect America? THE FUCK I WAS! Like, thank you for singling me out as a model scumbag and anally probing me? Would anybody with a shred of personal dignity do that?
But that's essentially what Malkin did ... obviously over a personal affront much less offensive than what I went through, but still. And her - I don't know, dare we call it self-hatred? - is so enormous that she brags about it on her blog.
Disgusting. And more to the point, pathetic.
As an epilogue, the big customs agent was in fact apologetic to me. Both before the probe - when he said, "I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to come with me." - and after, when he said, "I'm sorry about that, but I was just doing my job."
And you know what? I appreciated that.
*Don't be jealous, teh l4m3!
UPDATE: Psychoanalyis from afar, and with no qualifications, is extremely inadvisable. But I can't help it. I am just struck with how the above linked post by Malkin seems to reveal some sort of split personality. Like, there is Michelle, the Filipina ... and Michelle Malkin, the insane, crypto-racist wingnut pundit. And while Michelle, the Filipina might have felt somewhat nonplussed for being so obviously singled out over her non-white appearance, Michelle Malkin, the mainliner of Kool-Aid, was able to completely compartmentalize that experience ... and in fact, view it from a detached perspective as happening to some disembodied "suspicious brown person", and hurray for that!
Like I said, armchair psychoanalysis ... inadvisable. But fun.