This past weekend, when traveling to compete in a Model United Nations Conference, I witnessed the more personal repercussions of racial profiling, a government-sanctioned policy many Americans seem to accept as morally questionable but do little to change. Many members of Model UN are international students with unusual looking passports, and as such, we expect a certain amount of delay and usually get a laugh from some of the silly questions from security. However, the targeting and suspicion one specific student in our group faced was like nothing I had ever seen before. The scrutiny towards this young man, an American citizen whose family is from Pakistan, was degrading and embarrassing, all because he happened to share a last name and skin color with people involved in an act of terrorism years ago.
In speaking with my friend at the gate, he brought up some intriguing points: the fact that the rhetoric around terrorism continues to drag Islam into the equation, the comparison to other political situations where religion was never a factor (note that members of the IRA were rarely, if ever, referred to as Catholic extremists) and the frustrating feeling that America is not moving beyond racism, but instead exchanging an old race problem for a new one. However, what I remember more than the strong points he made was the obviously shaken look upon his face. He had been stuck with an offensive and ill-fitting label, but was powerless to remove it. Like any individual, so many different words could be used to describe him, yet the only words people working at airport security seemed to be able to grasp were brown, Arab and terrorist.
Sadly, this sort of discrimination based solely upon one's appearance does not only take place in airports. The streets of Nashville are filled with stories of almost laughable questioning of young black men, because according to our justice system, being young and black is a potential crime worth investigating. How do policies that systematically tell people that based upon the color of their skin, they are not to be trusted inspire confidence in our government? This scrutiny toward these young men conveys only one clear message: We do not trust you because you are not like the rest of us.
In these moments of such blatant injustice, it's hard not to get frustrated and feel this struggle is yet another David and Goliath, but without the happy ending. Fortunately, history shows the American story is one of increasing, though often begrudged, inclusion. I can only hope someday soon this problem of intolerance will be solved and pledge to do as much as I can to be a part of that solution. But until then, I am sorry, my friends, for you do not deserve this.
Anna Elliott
Junior
College of Arts and Science
