Customer Security or Corporate Insecurity

Students returning home for Thanksgiving were warned to expect increased security at airports. The evening news advised air travelers to arrive at the airport two hours early and not to pack anything—tweezers, nail scissors, knitting needles—that could be considered a weapon in their carry-on baggage. We anticipated this increased airport security. It was the measures we weren’t warned about that came as a surprise.

Within the last month or so, all sorts of new rules have been enacted under the unassailable heading of “security measures.” Hoyts’ cinemas in the hinterlands no longer allow movie-goers to bring bags into movies—consumers are meant to believe that these draconian measures are for our own security, and not for the security of Hoyts’ tremendous concession markup. The Marriott Marquis hotel in Times Square, whose glass elevators tourists eager to zoom 45 stories above Manhattan have sardined into during countless past Thanksgivings, this year required room keys for entry into its lobby. Meanwhile, at Penn Station in New York City, no one without a train ticket could sit in the waiting area’s rows of grimy chairs.

Thus far, terrorists have attacked by perverting jetliners into weapons and by sending powdered anthrax by U.S. mail. However, despite myriad screens showing the vanquishing of evil-doers, there is no record of violent attempts on provincial movie theatres. Hotels in midtown Manhattan and shabby train station waiting areas have also come this far unscathed. The sorts of “security measures” implemented by these businesses are not designed to protect public security; instead, their sole intention is to protect the highly vulnerable security of businesses’ pocketbooks.

Hoyts cinemas benefit from a decrease in fairly priced food smuggled into its theatres. With fewer sightseers clogging its elevators, the Marriott has a happier paying clientele. And by roping off its waiting area, Penn Station prevents homeless people, the mere sight of whom might disturb Amtrak’s sensitive clientele, from drowsing on its chairs. Such baldly self-serving measures could never have been implemented in less anxious times without tremendous public outcry.

But in this nervous post-Sept. 11 America, the word “security” has become a Harry Potter-style cloak of invisibility, rendering unnoticeable all sorts of measures that would previously have roused our ire. We allow our bags to be searched and our IDs to be checked because we believe in makes us safer, because questioning such measures makes us look suspicious and calls our loyalty into question. Businesses are counting on our silent compliance because we all fear that others will think we have something to hide if we protest. We have become a nation of citizens too timid to cry out against injustices and violations of our freedom. The historical precedent for this sort of nation is not encouraging.

The irony of all these alleged “security” measures is that in the areas where increased security is needed, airports and the mail, there have been security breaches. Despite much-touted mail disinfection, a 94-year-old Connecticut woman died of anthrax in late November; despite increased security since Sept. 11, airports have allowed people with sharp implements and potential weapons board airplanes. At O’Hare Airport in Chicago, passengers managed to bring cleavers, stun guns and tear gas past security checkpoints; at Logan, a checkpoint was left unmanned while an employee took a break.

We need to be more credulous of freedom-sapping, revenue-increasing requirements masquerading as security measures. This is a war about terrorism, not about profit margins. Our efforts as a nation should be devoted to protecting the front lines—not businesses’ bottom lines.