1984 in 2008

At the end of the long fenced-in walkway was a small kiosk and revolving entryway that could be locked with the push of a button. We had to show our passports to a young Israeli soldier behind bulletproof glass and proceeded across an empty parking lot. We passed a large poster covering a piece of the wall from top to bottom. “Peace Be With You,” it wished us in English, Arabic and Hebrew. “Peace Be With You,” from Israel’s Ministry of Tourism. Other than this colorful sign everything was grey, blocky and bulletproof.

We proceeded into another covered walkway and descended into a cold and sterile building where we cued up for our departure out of the West Bank. Metal bars wound around the floor keeping us all in line while another remotely controlled vertical turnstile regulated the flow of people entering the next room. We waited, hearing voices being projected over a loudspeaker in the next room where a large x-ray was barely visible around the corner. We waited, as two by two the line grew shorter.

The x-ray machine was sandwiched between two large bulletproof window. A tall man about twenty stood behind one with a large semi-automatic riffle. The other room was vacant. Cameras were pointed at us from every angle. A woman’s voice shouted directives at us, “Show me your passport!” and “Keep moving.” We waved our passports around in the air in front of the cameras. We spoke into the air saying that we were still waiting for our bags to come through the x-ray. The conveyor belt started moving again. “Keep moving,” she repeated still out of sight somewhat reminiscent of the Great Oz – confused, angry and invisible.

Our bags came through and we grabbed them and proceeded to stand in front of one of four doors. The door’s sign read “Wait for Green Light.” We waited. The green light lit up and we shuffled into the next small room where another empty bulletproof window sat and another door stood closed and imposing. Cameras and speakers placed to allow for the soldiers to conduct invasive strip searches without placing themselves in harms way. Luckily our U.S. and Canadian passports gave us a pass on such antics. We waited in front of the next door for its light to turn green.

The door opened onto a larger room where we joined another line. We waited to show our passports and Israeli visas to a young pierced female soldier. Most of those in line were tourists or foreign aid workers, but some were Palestinian. We watched one of every few get turned back, all Palestinians. Those who were approved based on the permissions they presented were also subject to a fingerprint scan before passing through the final turnstile. We were approved and walked out of the blocky maze-like structure, nodding goodbye to another heavily armed soldier lingering behind the final bulletproof kiosk. The next time we passed through, the dehumanizing mechanical nature of the experience stayed the same, but the route changed. Different doors led to different rooms. Changing the path would prove to be challenging for those hoping to plan and execute an attack. Keep them guessing, keep them in.