Flying While Arab

I'm an American Muslim, an Arab-American--and I'd felt suspicious of my own people. Was I guilty of profiling?

BY: Rhonda Roumani

A few weeks ago, I boarded a Virgin Atlantic flight from Los Angeles to London. Behind me sat an Egyptian man and his son. They spoke Arabic and were obviously somewhat devout-I heard Muslim phrases such as Insha'allah (God willing) echoing behind me.

I fly frequently-across the United States, across the Atlantic. Over the last few years, I have flown from New York to Los Angeles, from Los Angeles to London, from London to Beirut countless times. I have never worried or felt fear.

But this time was different. The man and his son had sparked suspicion in me. I found myself listening to their conversation. Something troubled me, but I wasn't sure what-so I decided to monitor them. I understand Arabic. If something was up, I would know.

Maybe it was the harrowing details of the September 11 Commission Report released before my departure. Reading transcripts of passengers' conversations with loved ones during the last minutes of the hijacked planes had made my stomach turn. On Sept. 11, 2001, I was a graduate student in New York City. I had seen the smoke billowing from the two towers that I had used as my compass in the city--and I saw them collapse.

Or maybe it was the security alerts issued in the days before I left Los Angeles-we're at a yellow alert, orange alert. No, wait-we're back at yellow. No, orange. Or the incessant talk of an "imminent attack."

Soon after take-off, the older man got up and took out a cell phone. My heart started beating faster. Strange behavior?

I paused, then turned around and spoke to them. "Cell phones aren't allowed in the middle of the flights," I told him in Arabic.

He was surprised. Maybe I was the one who was acting strange. After all, I had been watching them through the corner of my eye, listening to them over the whispers or passengers and announcements over the loud speaker.

"Yes, I know. We are not using them. Where are you from?"

"I am originally Syrian," I said.

He replied with a smile.

We spoke briefly. By then, I was calm, but troubled. I--an American Muslim, an Arab-American, a Syrian-American--had felt suspicious of my own people. Was I guilty of profiling- of accusing innocents of "Flying While Arab"?

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