To Serve and Protect

A sad and appalling incident making headlines today brought back a flood of memories for me. It seems that any news story involving some disabled person can elicit a strong response from me -- be it joy and wonder, or in this instance anger and pain.

Many may have read about Hannah Cohen, a disabled 19-year old woman who was beaten by TSA agents at the Memphis airport.  Complete details of the story and subsequent lawsuit are detailed here.

All of this brought to mind an incident we had at Portland International Airport two years ago. Jeannine, my daughter with Down syndrome, her father Tim and I were flying to Tucson: I was attending a health coach training meeting and Tim and Jeannine were tagging along to spend some time together at "a nice hotel," as Jeannine likes to say.

I have my own opinion about the current political state in which we live, but that aside, we had all our "papers" in order and proceeded to the cattle line to go through the security check point. It was all lovely as one of the TSA attendants, likely seeing we were traveling with a special needs person, approached us and invited us to go through the Pre-check line. "Wow," I thought to myself, "this should give Tim some relief that he won't have to worry about me making a scene!"

That was short-lived. Tim and I breezed through the line; then came Jeannine. She bantered with the agent, telling him that she was going to Tucson and would be staying in a nice hotel and going swimming and having a good time. What he responded I do not know, but the next thing I knew he was asking her how old she was. "Eighteen," she replied, and of course added that "I am going to be 19 next February."

He stopped her there and asked if she had any identification. She looked up, bewildered. He asked again if she had any identification. At this point I figured out what was going on and asked Jeannine if she had her identification card with her. She carries the "state issued" card with her, and just needed to have the question asked in a way she understood. She then told me she did not have her wallet with her.

Jeannine does not understand the concept of "traveling light," and when she goes anywhere, even if it is just an overnight, she will carry more clothes than she needs, more books that she will read, office supplies and photo albums. I will own this mistake; I told her that she did not need to bring everything with her on the trip and she decided she really did not need her purse or wallet. One has to have priorities, I suppose.

Anyway, the ensuing half hour was one that I do not want to have to relive. I suddenly found myself on the floor at the checkpoint, tearing my own things apart in an effort to find something that would satisfy them as to her identity. Did I have her library card? Yes, that wouldn't work because, while her name was on it, it was in her handwriting. The agent asked if we had any medication. Well yes, but it was in her checked bag.

By this time other travelers were backing up in the "Pre-Check" line, so we moved aside still trying to figure out what to do. Tim kept watching me: he was well aware of my opinion of this sort of violation of our rights, and I knew he was in fear that I would create a horrible scene. The agent made a phone call but would not tell us to whom -- I supposed it was to some next level up agent to get some direction. Seriously, this should be a no-brainer. Here is a young person with clear physical indications of developmental impairment, traveling with two adults who happened to have all the "proper papers." Couldn't there be reasonable accommodation afforded here?

The agent then approached me and Tim to let us know that they would have to take Jeannine aside and question her -- alone. My heart sank. I knew that this was going to take a very long time, as Jeannine's anxiety level increases in stressful situations. To be taken apart from her parents to go with strangers in uniforms? I knew that even if they asked straight-forward questions, she might not process them correctly and start giving answers that might not be 100% accurate. Things like her phone number (she knows several), her address (she can transpose numbers), where she was born (in a hospital and it rained hard that day).

Thankfully, this interrogation took place just a few feet from where we were standing. One agent was at a computer, another faced Jeannine to ask the questions. She was able to answer her name, birthday and how old she was. Then the agent asked her which parent she knew better, Mom or Dad. She looked toward me for clarification and the agent told me I could not help her. I just prayed that she would pick me, because of the two of us, Jeannine has more accurate information about me than Tim (she thinks Tim is 45 -- another story).

She chose her Dad and I just thought that we would end up -- all three of us -- in some FBI office being held on suspicion of something or other. What happened next was quite surprising. The agent behind the computer apparently had access to a database and funneled questions to the other agent. They asked her his birthdate (thankfully, not his age), what he did, where he worked (the specific address). She answered most of these questions without glancing our way, and apparently her answers were fine, because the next thing I knew, the agent asked that she and I go through the "special" screening process where we were wanded down, had our hands screened and Jeannine's backpack tested for I don't know what. We were dismissed with the caution that we needed to have some sort of identification for Jeannine on our return flight (duh).

By this time, our flight was getting ready to board and Tim sent me on ahead, the thought being that it was more important for me to get on the flight than either him or Jeannine. In the end we all made it; I called daughter to have her overnight Jeannine's wallet to us at the hotel in Tucson, making certain that her identification card was in it.

While I can appreciate the "efforts" our government is taking to keep us "safe and secure," in this age of "terror," somewhere along the way reason and sanity have been lost. Even though our incident with TSA did not end up with physical injuries like what happened to Hannah Cohen, I know exactly how Hannah's mother must have felt as she helplessly watched her helpless child, confused and upset, became a victim at the hands of those who are supposed to serve and protect us. It is also disturbing that at the click of a mouse, any information these agents need about us is available for use or misuse. At the end of the day, I know that in spite of Jeannine's need to be free and independent, I will just have to suck it up and continue to harass her about the things she needs to have to be a strong, independent woman (that is, her state-issued identification). I also know that when it comes to "serve and protect," we cannot and should not depend on anyone but ourselves to shield the most vulnerable in our lives.