<nettime> Incident at YYZ Toronto International Airport

[Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>]

Incident at YYZ Toronto International Airport


We were in Toronto for the HASTAC Conference at York University.
We left Sunday late afternoon. At the airport we checked our bag.
We then took the bag through customs. We went through several
stages. We had the bag tagged. We showed our boarding-passes and
passports everywhere. We filled out the customs declarations. We
waited in lines. We went through a long line. Azure had her
boarding-pass stamped. The Canadian official forgot to stamp mine.
We went through another line. We turned things in. I was stopped
two stops later and told to return to the Canadian official. The
line to reach him took a half hour the first time. I walked two
stops back. I reached a U.S. official who had allowed us through
the first time. I said do I have to go through the whole line
again. I was annoyed. He told me I was being rude. He started
yelling. He told me one of the three Canadian soldiers present
would escort me back [it was to booth 20]. He was furious. He said
if the soldiers have time. He said be polite to them. He said
don't interrupt them. He said be nice to them. He was glaring at
me. And for a moment I felt I was in a foreign country, the United
States of America. He was bullying. His sarcasm was stupid. His
insults were flat. His eyes impaled. Other people watched. He kept
his eyes focused 'in that male gaze way' on me. He wanted me to
challenge him. He wanted to arrest me for something. He wanted to
humiliate me. I said nothing. The soldier was fine, the Canadian
official joked with me, the U.S. guy let me through. I didn't look
at him. People afterwards asked us what happened. I didn't know.
All I knew is that here was an ugly bullying American who liked a
uniform and didn't like me. Who wanted to arrest me; more, I was
sure he was going to hit me. I kept thinking: here's the police
and here's the police leakage across the border. You check INTO
the United States while still in Canada. Canada, throw them out.
I thought: this guy owns guns. I thought: this guy wants _action._
I thought of his pleasure: humiliation. I wanted to strike out at
him. I was powerless _there._ _There_ was _here._

I came back to the States and played cura and did this piece:

http://lounge.espdisk.com/archives/1115 (best)
http://espdisk.com/alansondheim/stations.mp3

I wanted to play as many styles as possible in as short a time as
possible. But it's long. I want to wrap the strings around his
eyes. I want to slam him to the ground. He turns me ugly. He turns
me enemy combatant. He turns me _collateral damage._

I don't play guns with cura. Of the music: cura _cures._




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