the idiocy of water

Before pleasure comes pain. That's often the case, but when traveling it's almost inevitable. Distant shores beckon, delights on the plate, the sun, the good life. But in order to get there, one has to survive transportation. This is best, i.e. with least pain, done on a train. Walk up to the station, get on the train, sit down, relax. Car is good too, though one of the traveling party has to do the work and congestion can seriously darken the experience. The worst mode of traveling, though unavoidable for long distances, is the plane. It's not only that it's the most cramped by far, the most cattle-train-like, the most dehumanizing. It's all of this, but most of all, it's the surreal theater that serves as security that has to be survived before starting the journey. I've written about this before. I have to write again.

On Friday afternoon, I made my way to Stansted in a good mood. I was with a friend. He was going back to Belfast after a week of work in London; I went down to Marseille for the weekend. Our flights departed within minutes from one another. It was a happy coincidence. The banter of friends that see each other too infrequently bridged the time on the train to the airport and then in line for the security examination effortlessly. We unloaded our bags, coats, laptops and liquids onto trays on the conveyor belt and stepped through the X-rays. All was good, there was no alarm. Watches, belts, cell phones and wallets were not on us for the moment, traveling on their own through much stronger X-rays. We avoided being patted down lovingly.

Then a screener with a tired face approached me, holding in his hands my bag of liquids: "Are these your liquids, sir?"

"What's wrong?" I asked. "The bottles are less than 100ml each."

"Your bag is too big," the fellow said. "It must only measure eight inches by eight inches. Do you have a pound?"

He told me I would need to be escorted back outside the secure zone to purchase a plastic bag of the approved size, stash the liquids in there, come back through security, and continue my migration to the gate as if nothing had happened.

"Is anything wrong with the liquids," I asked.

"No," he said, "your liquids are fine. It's the bag that's the problem."

This was news to me. When had the humble plastic bag become a crucial weapon in the fight against terrorism or, I was wondering with increasing confusion, in the terrorists' arsenal? I didn't ask; the man was just following procedure. He didn't confiscate the bag and destroy it. In fact, he kept me from taking the liquids out. "Sir, these need to stay in there until you get a smaller bag." The pain of nonsense was throbbing through my brain. Was there a security problem or not?

"You need to get a smaller bag, sir."

"Can I just put the liquids into my backpack and go to the gate?" I asked.

"Most certainly not," he said, with the shock of the unthinkable in his face. "The liquids need to be screened in an approved bag."

"But you said the liquids were ok."

"We have to complete the screening procedure, sir."

"Can keep the old bag?" I asked.

"Of course, but you can't carry liquids in it."

So the bag wasn't dangerous, and the liquids weren't dangerous. It was the liquids in the bag that were dangerous. They were so dangerous that I wasn't permitted to continue my journey with them. Curiously, though, they were safe enough for me to return with them to the screening lines where several hundred people were packed tightly, slowly making their way to the metal detectors. Was it something inside the airport, maybe the duty-free shop or even the plane itself, that would react violently with the liquids in the bag to cause trouble? And why was I then not allowed to simply take the liquids out of their bag and put them back into my pack, which is what I did later anyway, after waiting in the same security line for another pointless examination?

But it wasn't even an issue of liquids in a bag, it was an issue of liquids in a bag inside the X-ray scanner. No one would have later kept me from transferring the liquids from the compliant bag back into the original bag that was considered too big. Did the liquids keep the memory of the bag they had been in for a few brief minutes? Or was it really only an issue with the scanner? But shouldn't security be concerned with airplanes and airports and not with scanners? If the liquids were just a problem inside the scanner, we could simply do away with the scanner and carry liquids onto planes as we've always done.

This was obviously not about security. This was simply about protocol, to be followed without thinking or questioning, and it doesn't make me feel secure in the least. I would prefer if screeners were trained to spot dangers and act accordingly, if they examined people and judged their behavior, if they effectively prevented breaches of security instead of ticking boxes. This would go a long way towards ensuring the safety of air travel. As screening is done currently it's unfortunately not about weapons or explosives. They're what caused the stiffer security procedures initially. But the screeners aren't looking for them. They simply take out liquids and pastes – water, soda pop, Nutella and cosmetics – that are beyond the allowance, just like customs that would confiscate booze beyond the two liters one is allowed to bring into the European Union. Screening for liquids has gone from security concern to volume management.

Maybe humor and hyperbole are inappropriate with regards to liquids and airplanes. It's an explosive combination. In August of 2006, a plot to blow up planes or duty-free shops or airport toilets with a homemade mix of clear liquids of unknown destructive potential was exposed and foiled. It is worth noticing that that wasn't thanks to airport security. British intelligence and police collaborated to detain suspects long before any damage could be done.

If that was an act of terrorism liable to be repeated (and why else would there be restrictions at all?), why is it still legal to carry clear liquids of unknown destructive power onto airplanes at all? Why the arbitrary limit of five containers of 100ml each? Would it take a liter to blow up a plane? Would it take ten liters? If so, what keeps twenty people from going to the toilets and pooling their liquid allocations into one big dangerous bucket. The liquids are not being checked upon getting on the plane.

It would make me feel so much safer if I saw at least a trace of logic in the proceedings that are acted out in front of weary travelers. As it is, I don't need this theater. On the other hand, as long as I can get worked up about idiocy and spend my time on the plane writing about it, the journey passes more quickly than it otherwise would. Before I've converted all my exasperation into coherent thoughts, I'm reminded by a terse flight attendant that my seat must now be put in the upright position, the tray table folded back, and all battery-operated electronic devices turned off. Touchdown in Marseille is only ten minutes away.