I go to the American Embassy to renew my passport. Not having been there since before 9/11, I walk up to the front entrance only to discover a small sign that says Please enter through the Sussex Street entrance. As I start to walk around the building, I notice the amount of barriers present. After 9/11, the Embassy requested that the city put up waist-high cement barriers to eliminate an entire lane of traffic in front of the entrance. Behind the cement barriers are fat posts placed into the sidewalk strong enough to prevent a car from crashing through, and behind that is a high steel fence running around the entire building. If this is what protects the Embassy in Ottawa, I can hardly imagine what protects the Green Zone in Baghdad.
Walking around the building, I can’t help but think the barriers are a wee bit of overkill. I arrive at the back and discover there’s a small entrance where two lines form, one for people needing visas and one for Americans needing Embassy services. No one is in the American line, so I go up and the guard tells me I can’t enter with my shoulder bag. I head back to the car, toss in my shoulder bag and return, ready to be escorted into a small screening area like at an airport. I pass through the screening area no worse for the wear except I’m minus my keys (which they will hold until I come back out), pass through a small courtyard and into the Embassy.
Passport services is down the hall and to the left. A woman who provides the passport services is behind some thick glass at one end of a small waiting area. I go in expecting to see a picture of President Obama, the 44th President of the United States. There isn’t one. Was I mistaken that they had one for Clinton? Against one wall, I notice a framed piece of information. It’s from the U.S. Selective Service from 2001, and is informing its readers that there is no plan to implement a draft at this time. Uh? I hadn’t heard much from the Selective Service since I was in my teens during Vietnam. Then, on a different wall, is another piece of information, from 2002, telling American citizens to be aware of the potential threats against them because they are American. Why are they still up? I begin feeling like I have entered an edifice of fear. The Embassy seems like an homage to a single emotion. I want to tell it to relax a bit, to breath deeply. If I knew where its shoulders were, I’d give it a back rub. Has nothing changed since 9/11? Is the Embassy caught in a time warp from which it can’t escape, or is it there of its own choosing? Or am I--a left-leaning, peace-loving border mongrel--a naive soul not willing to admit we live in a dangerous world?
Days later, I head down to Atlanta on business. I notice again how the Alert Level announcements have stopped. No more Orange threat levels, no more reminders to watch abandoned bags or your fellow passengers. That's a good change. Soldiers en route are still commonplace in the airport, but what’s clearly gripping people is the economy. The TV monitors in the waiting areas are tuned to the news. Are the “green shoots” real? Is housing coming back? My bible, the U.S.A Today, is full of grim economic reports. Same diet, different flavour. What’s the cost of feeding people fear for so long?
Walking around the building, I can’t help but think the barriers are a wee bit of overkill. I arrive at the back and discover there’s a small entrance where two lines form, one for people needing visas and one for Americans needing Embassy services. No one is in the American line, so I go up and the guard tells me I can’t enter with my shoulder bag. I head back to the car, toss in my shoulder bag and return, ready to be escorted into a small screening area like at an airport. I pass through the screening area no worse for the wear except I’m minus my keys (which they will hold until I come back out), pass through a small courtyard and into the Embassy.
Passport services is down the hall and to the left. A woman who provides the passport services is behind some thick glass at one end of a small waiting area. I go in expecting to see a picture of President Obama, the 44th President of the United States. There isn’t one. Was I mistaken that they had one for Clinton? Against one wall, I notice a framed piece of information. It’s from the U.S. Selective Service from 2001, and is informing its readers that there is no plan to implement a draft at this time. Uh? I hadn’t heard much from the Selective Service since I was in my teens during Vietnam. Then, on a different wall, is another piece of information, from 2002, telling American citizens to be aware of the potential threats against them because they are American. Why are they still up? I begin feeling like I have entered an edifice of fear. The Embassy seems like an homage to a single emotion. I want to tell it to relax a bit, to breath deeply. If I knew where its shoulders were, I’d give it a back rub. Has nothing changed since 9/11? Is the Embassy caught in a time warp from which it can’t escape, or is it there of its own choosing? Or am I--a left-leaning, peace-loving border mongrel--a naive soul not willing to admit we live in a dangerous world?
Days later, I head down to Atlanta on business. I notice again how the Alert Level announcements have stopped. No more Orange threat levels, no more reminders to watch abandoned bags or your fellow passengers. That's a good change. Soldiers en route are still commonplace in the airport, but what’s clearly gripping people is the economy. The TV monitors in the waiting areas are tuned to the news. Are the “green shoots” real? Is housing coming back? My bible, the U.S.A Today, is full of grim economic reports. Same diet, different flavour. What’s the cost of feeding people fear for so long?
No comments:
Post a Comment