This indeed is quite disturbing…
Original Message From “Muzaffar Iqbal” =====
I arrived at Toronto airport at 1:50 pm (December
12, 2002) after a four
hour flight from Edmonton. I had one hour to clear
US customs and immigration before boarding my flight for
Washington DC. I had been
invited by the George Town University’s center for Christian-Muslim
understanding for the meeting Of the Advisory
Committee for planning a
major conference next year, “science in the Islamic
World.”
At the immigration counter, I hand my Canadian
passport to one Kulczyk,
who scans it and stares at his computer screen. He
asks the usual
questions: where are you going, why, for how long.
I explain.
Then he looks at his computer screen again and
after a few seconds, he
turns off the screen, picks up his stamp and walks
to a counter behind all
other counters; this one says: Immigration
Supervisor. But on his way, he
meets
another officer and says something to him. “For
sure,” the other officer
says, “for that you have to second him.”
Mr. Kulczyk talks to his supervisor and comes back
to me. “Come with me,
sir,” he says. I follow him to another office.
There are 10 other people
sitting there, including a very old woman on a
wheel chair. They all look
upset and exasperated.
I sit quietly and wait. Time passes. Five
immigration officers
continuously walk in and out of their offices which
are made by erecting
walls in the hall where we are all sitting. People
are taken in, they are
interviewed and some come out in tears, others are
given some papers and
still others are being fingerprinted and
photographed. Everything is
happening in slow motion. No one is in a rush.
2:45: My flight is at 3:00. Will I make it?
“Aslamo Alaikum,” the person sitting next to me
says quietly. We talk. He
is an Afghan who has lived in the United States for
more than a decade. He
came to Canada two ago to visit his cousin. Now he
cannot go back. “I am
US citizen, but they say they cannot find my
citizenship records in their
computers. They have called my wife, my employer,
everyone, but still, I
am sitting here for the last four hours.”
The old woman on the wheel chair is also sitting
there since morning. She
only speaks Persian. She does not understand why
she is being held. No one
explains.
New passengers arrive. Each one in fury. But after
a while, they resign
to their situation and sit. Some talk to each
other. There is one
Anglophone, all others are from somewhere outside
North America. Five
passengers who were brought to the room after me,
were processed while I
was sitting there.
3:50: I go to the Supervisor, an Afro-American. “I
have already missed my
flight. I understand your need for security, but
you have no right to
disrupt people’s lives. Can you tell me what is
going on. Is there an
order? Why are others being processed and I am
held.”
“Sir, we are doing our best. Some cases are more
complicated.”
“I understand, but if I could make the 4:50 flight,
I would appreciate
it.”
“I will see, just have a seat.”
I go back to my seat.
Ten minutes later, the supervisor passes by. I get
up. “O, just a
minute,” he says, as if he has just recalled
something. He goes to a room
and returns.
“Someone will be with you shortly.”
When I am called, I go to one of the side rooms
with an officer.
“So, you are a Pakistani citizen,” he says.
“No, I am a Canadian citizen, you have my passport
in front of you.”
“I mean you were born in Pakistan.”
“Yes.”
“When were you in Pakistan last time?”
“2000.”
“Where else have you been?”
“Since when?”
“During the last few months.”
“Saudi Arabia, Spain, England, Kazakhstan.”
“What were you doing in Saudi Arabia?”
“I went for Pilgrimage.”
“Kazakhstan?”
“A UNESCO conference.”
“What do you do?”
“I am a writer.”
“I will be back in a few minutes.”
He leaves the room with my passport.
He returns after 5 minutes and asks the same
questions, more or less.
I repeat my answers.
“Come with me,” he says, “this is not my computer.
We need to go to
another office.”
In the new office, he tells me that he will have to
enroll me in the
program called “Special Registration Procedures for
Visitors and Temporary
Residents.”
The way he said it, sounds like a reward air miles
program that would
allow fast entry to the US. He gives me a piece of
paper, which is a
photocopy of a brochure by U.S. Department of
Justice, Immigration and
Naturalization Service (Form M-526(09/11-02).
“I will have to ask you a few questions,” he says,
“but I give you this
other information which I generally give out at the
end.” He gives me a
few more sheets of paper.
“If I could make the 4:55 flight, that would be
great.”
“We will try.”
“What is your postal address?” I tell him my
address.
“Postal code?”
I tell him the postal code which he mistypes. I
point out the mistake. He
corrects it and then moves the computer screen away
from my sight.
I sit back and quickly glance at the brochure. I
read: “You will be
fingerprinted, photographed, asked to show
documents, and interviewed as
to the length and purpose of your stay in the
United States.”
“Does this apply to me?” I ask, “this
fingerprinting stuff.”
“Yes,” he says, still looking at his computer
screen.
“I refuse to be treated as a criminal. I have lived
in Canada for 22
years and your Secretary of State has just assured
us that we will not be
discriminated on the basis of our country of
birth.”
“I will have to call my supervisor.” he said and
left the room, only to
return with the supervisor-the same person with
whom I had talked earlier.
“Let me explain to you, Mr. Iqbal,” the supervisor
says, picking up my
passport from the desk, “what this program is
about.”
Now I have a name. I look at him. He is wearing a
name tag: He is M.
Samuel.
“I have already read the brochure,” I say, “I
refuse to be treated like a
criminal. I have been invited by the Georgetown
University to help them in
planning a conference and I am not interested in
subjecting myself to this
treatment. Your Secretary of State was in Ottawa
recently and he made a
public statement that no Canadian Citizen will be
discriminated on the
basis of country of birth.”
“You know how politicians have to make such
statements,” Mr. Samuel says,
“but we have to follow the rules.”
“I understand that. But rules are only accessible
to you. General public
goes by what they are told through public
statements.”
“We have to protect our country.”
“Indeed, you have the right to do so, but you
cannot humiliate citizens
of other countries. There is an 85 year old woman
sitting on wheel chair
outside this room. Do you think she is going to
attack your country. she
can hardly stand on her feet.”
“We go by the rules, sir,” he says.
“I refuse to be finger printed. Our government has
also assured us that
it will not tolerate such things.”
“That is your choice. We will have to refuse entry
or say that you
withdrew your application.”
“That is fine.”
I quickly pick up my passport because just then I
gleaned from the
brochure that “If you decide that you do not want
to or cannot follow the
special registration procedures, you may be allowed
to withdraw your
application for admission into the United States,
but you may still be
fingerprinted,photographed, and interviewed by INS
inspecting officer as
part of the withdrawal process.”
The brochure also explains that all regesitered
persons are required to
report to the INS if they are staying more than 30
days, the registered
visitors can only leave the United States from
certain designated points
of departure and they must report their departure
to INS, failing which,
they
can be arrested, fined or both. If they travel to
different places in the
US, they are required to “bring documents to INS to
show who and where
[they]
are visiting.”
I realize suddenly that the registeration system is
much more than just
initial finger printing; it is a complete code of
apartheid based on
race, religion and country of origin.
“What happens if Air Canada does not book me on
today’s flight to
Edmonton?”
“They will put you on the next available flight, we
have an understanding
with the airlines.”
“But what if they have no seat? Will INS cover the
hotel expenses?”
“No, we do not have such provisions.”
“So, what would I do?”
He has no answer, he shrugs his shoulders.
I leave with the officer, who takes me to the air
Canada counter. No one
is now responsible for my wasted time.
The person at the Air Canada counter sends me to
the domestic counter and
there I am booked on a flight back to Edmonton. My
ticket is not
changeable, I cannot even return without a Saturday
stay but after a few
minutes of arguments, the supervisor waives the
conditions and the
additional charges and arrive back in Edmonton at
10:00 pm, 14 hours after
eaving.
Dr. Muzaffar Iqbal is the founder-president of
Center for Islam and
Science (CIS), Canada. Dr. Iqbal received his
Ph.D. in Chemistry from the
University of Saskatchewan, Canada (1983). He did
his post-doctoral work
at the Montreal Neurological Institute (McGill
University, Montreal,
Canada).