by NADIA ZAFFAR
There is something about the way our world is set-up that makes it clear that people with the uniform have the power. While standing in front of a uniformed individual, you as a person amount to nothing. Your word has no value, your argument no reason and perhaps your being, no existence. The uniform represents the system. And behind that system stand rules, structure, and discipline of which you are not a part.
…
“Ma’am,” says the uniformed security agent at Chicago O’hare International airport. “ARE YOU UN-DER-STANDING WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU?,” she says , breaking down syllables … and my very spirit.
You reply, thinking there’s the off-chance of a possible conversation that will help us both arrive at a mutual agreement. But that is a mistake on my part.
Never assume they will deign to talk even if there is no one waiting behind you in the line and the airport is deserted. And as I walk away, trying to grasp why the encounter bothers me so much, I am reminded of similar situations faced before.
When I used to live in Malir Cantt in Karachi I had to deal with uniformed people every day on the way home. And even though I had an authorized ID card for myself, and a permit for my car, there was hardly a day when I was not stopped and questioned.
“You live here?” asks the uniform.
“Yes Sir,” I reply, the meeker the better.
“Your car registration number is not on your ID card,” he observes grandly.
“Sir, there are 5 cars numbers on there, they put the one I use on my father’s card.”
Silence
Then, sometimes I would hurriedly say: “Sir please, I come here everyday, I live right over there, you can see it from here, please let me go home. Please I would really appreciate it, sir, thank you.” He would nod as if granting me the biggest favor ever allowing me to go to my own home.
At other times I questioned: “I have an ID, I have a car permit, why are you stopping me?”
“Ma’am, please take your car to the side,” he would say with a dismissive hand gesture and disdain in his eyes. And from that moment on I became invisible. There was nothing I could say that he heard and there was nothing I could do that he saw.
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