For Those of You Who Don't Know: I Hate Flying

By Katie Garra

For those of you who don’t know, I hate flying. If you know me well, you probably think this is ironic for me to say because I do love traveling. My reasons for disliking flying are many, however, they all circle on the fact that “flying” or “to take a flight” by process in our modern-day world is a dehumanizing and capitalistic endeavor. The practice of flying, going to the airport and dealing with parking, going through security lines, waiting in customer service lines, having to pay for baggage or having to pay $5 more for a bag of chips just because you had the privilege of buying it in an airport. Don’t even get me started on if a flight gets cancelled and the absolute chaos that brings to a customer service desk. The whole process of flying reminds me that I am a piece of the business model for airlines; cargo to be shipped however I’m still the one that paid for the shipping and I’m the one that pays for the snacks when the cargo gets hungry mid-shipping.

This isn’t meant to be just some rant about flying; because although I hate flying and feel dehumanized in the process, I had the opportunity to look at the process mirrored through a completely different perspective. 
 

I met Maria at Casa de Paz in Aurora, Colorado, an organization which provides temporary hospitality for people who are released from the migrant detention center in Aurora. She arrived with three other women at the Casa who had just been released from the detention center that day. Maria is an “illegal alien” awaiting a hearing to learn of the status of her deportation. After having been in detention first in Texas, and then moved to the GEO center in Aurora for at least three months, she was now released on bond and had made plans to go to Florida to stay with her family while she pursued her immigration case. When she arrived at the Casa, we helped her book a ticket to Florida leaving that night. 
 

If I thought airports made me feel dehumanized, I witnessed an even worse reality when I walked Maria to her gate. I had gotten a gate pass to help Maria through the confusing Denver airport, and my trip through security with her was more jarring than I expected. First, when the TSA agent was checking her bond papers, he acted very concerned as if he had never seen bond papers before as a form of ID. He called over his other colleagues because, yes, apparently, he needed at least 3 other co-workers to help answer his question about valid ID. I found this to be overkill and unnecessary; to bring this amount of extra and negative attention to my friend. We were told she was required to do a full pat-down procedure and have all of her belongings looked through, while all I had to do was take off my shoes and jacket and make sure there was no metal in my pockets. 
 

What created this difference between us? I hadn’t even bought a ticket. All I had done was show a US government issued ID at the ticket counter to get my gate pass. Maria had her bond papers; therein lay the difference. In the book Deported, author Tanya Golash-Boza mentions how before the September 11th attacks in 2001, there was no need to show a US-issued ID to get on a plane (85). She follows this up with an argument emphasizing how in the modern era, the US-Mexico border has been militarized, however, we can see that this has become the case for many borders. If we return to my own flying experiences, TSA security has increased even since 9/11 with x-ray body scanners being introduced in addition to metal detector gates and my favorite, the “liquids laws.” These are more trivial and inconvenient rules we follow but when we look at Maria’s experience going through security, her search is treated as a military mission. All of her belongings and her hands are wiped down to check for traces of explosive material. She looked at me with confusion as the agent searches her toiletry bag, and I am further confused by their treatment of her shampoo and tampons as hazardous material. Is this treatment necessary?
 

In addition to this extensive search showing the increasing militarization and securitization of any border, it’s also quite dehumanizing to any migrant who would have to complete this. I found the security agents to be very dramatic when handling her papers and her search and because of this dramatism, they made a spectacle out of her in the middle of a TSA security line. Part of this comes from the characterization of migrants as criminals, which has been especially prevalent under the Trump administration. Although the immigrant population in the United States has been increasing since the 1980’s, the violent crime rate has actually decreased 36% since it spiked in the 1990’s. If anything, this proves that increasing immigrant populations lead to an average decrease in violent crime, or that the two variables aren’t related at all. So why is this characterization so pervasive?

The immigration process has become increasingly criminalized over the past couple decades. Originally, immigration proceedings were treated as civil proceedings, however, the rise of the War on Drugs and enforcement-based migrant control as a part of the neo-liberal cycle have contributed to immigrants being criminalized. Golash-Boza speaks to this in Chapter 4 of Deported in regard to Jamaicans and Dominicans being disproportionately deported for drug violations. Jamaicans and Dominicans, like many of the men and women citizens who are convicted on drug charges in the US, are easily identifiable as black. The War on Drugs policies introduced by the Reagan administration in the 80’s have largely targeted black men and women, which also applies to migrants. 
 

While this targeting of people of color in the War on Drugs has contributed to mass incarceration in the US, it has also contributed to the mass deportation of migrants and continued the neoliberal cycle. When migrants get caught up in the War on Drugs due to their appearance or their collateral arrest by being in communities which are heavily policed for drugs, they are further labeled as criminal by the system, even though they may have been arrested on possession charges or by association with someone selling drugs. This labeling as “criminal” is only solidified by the media and public reactions to migrants, like the excessive treatment given to Maria in the TSA line. Creating a spectacle of migrants in public, like in a TSA line, only breeds more fear and misunderstanding about them and dehumanizes normal people. When I walked her to her gate, the look of relief on Maria’s face when I told her she didn’t have to go through another security check told me enough about how she felt about the experience. 
 

Golash-Boza also ties the War on Drugs back to the neoliberal cycle (145). She notes how mass deportation is similar to the mass incarceration which has been linked to the War on Drugs. While mass incarceration serves as social control for poor and minority communities, mass deportation works to discipline labor and act as social control for migrants. I couldn’t help but compare the situation of many migrants to Maria when considering labor as a means of social control. Although Maria had bought her ticket for her flight, which, speaking from a consumerist perspective, should have afforded her some dignity and rights, she was largely criminalized while going through security. Similarly, many migrants in the US work and pay taxes but are criminalized and never see the benefits of what they pay. 
 

So for those of you who don’t know, I hate flying. The feeling of dehumanization that I experience when I am a part of the “flying process” was magnified and reflected back at me through my experience with Maria. What becomes clear is we need to stop the dehumanization of migrants, both in public, like in TSA lines and also through law enforcement. We need to stop the criminalization of migrants through War on Drugs policies even though violent crime has decreased overall as immigration has increased. So what I choose to leave you with is--how do you feel when you fly? When you’re in an airport, do you enjoy the way you’re treated? Multiply that tenfold and maybe we can start to understand how it feels to be an immigrant in the United States.