I am not certain whether it was my anger with the monstrous things the United States was doing in Iraq and elsewhere or fear of being humiliated at JFK that kept me away from the country since 9 But last week my wife and I broke our self-imposed restriction and turned up in New York. Oh, the horror stories we had heard of arriving passengers stripped by overbearing immigration officials, baggage ripped open and searched to the last underwear. And, of course, there were countless stories of instant deportation, even of journalists ‘‘in shackles and chains’’, as an internationally renowned correspondent warned us in London. In my nervousness, I sent an e-mail to a friend at the US embassy in New Delhi. Friends in London were warning us that we were embarked on the most challenging journey of our lives, made worse by my beard and obviously Muslim name. Within minutes I received a ‘‘To whom it may concern’’ note, an extremely flattering one, really. As an itinerant journalist, I have visited the US almost every second year since the ’70s. There is not one instance I recall when my faith was of any consequence to the people I met. Political Islam was a growing theme in the context of discussions on the Middle East, but there was never the faintest hint of the exaggerated caricature that Muslims would become after 9/11 to so many Americans with no first hand experience of Muslims anywhere. It was a strange feeling when I entered the vast immigration hall at JFK, fifty booths, from one end to the other, manned by severe looking officers, exuding hostility. We were directed to a young officer with gold rimmed glasses. He almost mechanically invited us to place, alternately, our two forefingers on an electronic device. Our fingerprints will now rest till the end of time in some giant American computer. Anti-climax is an insipid expression to describe what followed. Our passports were stamped in a jiffy and an indifferent looking customs officer waved us past the green channel without as much as touching our baggage. The expected misadventure had not materialised. The trouble with journalists is that we sometimes extrapolate from too narrow an information base. What does our experience at JFK prove? I can offer guesses. One, we have a 10 year visa of a type which has always in the past ensured swift passage. Two, we planned our travel well in advance. I suppose the minute an international ticket is purchased from a ‘‘reliable’’ airline, the information on the computer passes onto the global security network. Strict adherence to an itinerary enables ‘‘Big Brother’’ to keep an easy gaze on the passenger. A jerky itinerary and fluctuating schedules, invite scrutiny and investigation — and delays. US bound passengers are advised to break their journey at London if possible. This gives security systems one more reliable reference point. Above all, I believe the Indian passport has over the years acquired its own credibility, which helps Muslims too. Good manners at immigration and customs, however, must not detract from the fact that the country today is more divided than I have ever seen it before. The very first evening in New York I find myself at the high table at the Celtic Ball in the Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria. It is actually an all-Irish event — tycoons of Irish origin in the US and millionaires from Dublin and Belfast. ‘‘Where did this black tie set stand between Kerry and Bush?’’ I ask. ‘‘Over 70 per cent for Bush, I’m afraid,’’ says the lady on my right. This surprises me because Kerry, being a Catholic, would seem to be the obvious candidate for the Irish. That is not the case because word has filtered through the Catholic church that Bush’s conservative anti-abortion line makes him a more favoured candidate. This election is being held when the nation is still in the grip of national paranoia. At a dining table in one of the fancier east coast campuses a young professor of international affairs narrates the sad story of his friend in New York who believes ‘‘he has no future in this country.’’ ‘‘Why, pray, does he fear he has no future?’’ I ask. ‘‘Because he is certain that some terrorist in some basement is manufacturing a crude nuclear bomb to be dropped on New York,’’ the professor says, looking very earnest. Would you have expected professors of international affairs at Harvard or Columbia to make that sort of a statement before 9/11 without opening themselves to the charge of being irresponsible? But this kind of scare-mongering pervades all conversations. For example, it is a common belief that an act of terrorism — say, a bomb in a bus — before polling day would tilt the scale in favour of Bush. This is exactly the sort of conversation which opens avenues for conspiracy theories. There is unanimity that the country is in a hopeless mess in Iraq and nothing worthwhile can be salvaged from it. If that is the case then surely Bush must be deemed to be at a huge disadvantage. To the contrary, the sense of imminent danger, a sort of inexplicable post 9/11 psychosis, has possessed the American mind. Educated Americans can separate the war on terror dictated by 9/11 and the self-defeating adventure Bush embarked on by invading Iraq. But across middle America, Bush is seen as the commander-in-chief fighting an anti-terror war of which Iraq is somehow a part. Bush is on a precipice marshalling his forces, at a time when the enemy is being particularly vicious in Iraq. This is no time to push the commander-in-chief over the precipice. This inability of a vast majority of Americans to separate the war on terror from the Iraqi misadventure may cost Kerry the election. In other words, the key question in this election is: is Iraq part of the war on terror, or a deep hole in which America finds itself and that this hole was dug by George W Bush?
