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We’re told we live in the ‘Age of Terror’ post-September 11th. But I actually think it’s the ‘Age of Insecurity’. We’re afraid of attack and subversion so we build barriers and increase security…think APEC and airport check-in procedures. The irony, though, is that these measures drive fear and breed insecurity.

How did you feel when Sydney was locked down for APEC with wire fences, police checkpoints and enforced public holidays in the name of safety? Did all that make you feel more protected and secure or just more conscious of your fear and diminishing freedoms?

The same is true of airport security procedures. I’ve recently returned from two months in Europe with Heathrow – London’s monolithic terrorist target – as my British Airways transit hub. The much criticised and publicised 'one-bag policy' (introduced for security reasons)enforced at Heathrow reportedly jearpordises British Airway’s viability and, I can tell you from personal experience, it threatens to render transiting passengers temporarily insane.

I’m actually concerned that I may turn up on one of those voyeuristic airport docu-dramas as a ‘problematic passenger’ after taking on a ridiculously inflexible security officer during one particularly traumatic transit through Heathrow. The one-bag policy made me snap. This policy permits only one small carry-on bag on planes leaving from, or transiting through, the airport. The problem is, you are allowed to get on flights heading for London from any other airport in the world with two carry-on bags – say, for example, a small handbag and a laptop bag. But when you try to transit to your connecting flight - big trouble!

Case in point: I arrived at Heathrow, en route from Amsterdam to Manchester, successfully navigated the intestinal passenger transit lanes with my two bags, but got deflected at security by a burly bloke on a power trip who insisted I shove my laptop into my tiny handbag to meet the ‘one-bag’ policy requirements. Already tired and cranky after flights delayed by storms and general incompetence, I tried at first to politely point out that square pegs don’t fit in round holes. But the 'burly one' was less than amused and told me I’d just have to go back and put one of my bags in my checked-in luggage – for security reasons. Logical solution you might think…not! My luggage had been checked through directly and was already making its way onto the connecting flight without me.

I tried to rationalise with the 'burly one', but to no avail. So, at his feet, I grunted and groaned and shoved and poked (swearing under my breath deliberately loudly enough for him to hear) and somehow I managed to sandwich these two bags together by removing my travel documents, newspapers and books – all of which the rules stipulated that I could carry in my hands in addition to my one piece of luggage. But the resultant tower of collapsed baggage was a ridiculous site and it was so cumbersome that the security officers on the x-ray machines simply removed one bag from the other and scanned them separately while I struggled with my piles of books and documents.

Once I made it through security, in a lather of sweat, I breathed a sigh of relief. But it was premature. I was required to clear customs at one of Heathrow's domestic terminals, but the computers at the checkpoint had crashed, thanks to an attempt to install new security measures, including connection to an Interpol database. Trouble was, the highly efficient folk at Heathrow didn’t have a back-up plan for the upgrade, so when the computers went down, the lines at the customs desk just grew and grew…along with passengers’ anxiety, stress and anger.

The old British approach to law and order just exacerbated the problem – when a plodding bureaucrat came whistling along with a laptop (but without the power cord which he took another 20 minutes to locate!) it was isolated for processing EU passengers only. The old divide and conquer approach! So, Americans, Canadians, Australians and all other passengers without EU blessing watched their line grow and grow while the EU passengers leaked one by one through the barriers. Flights were being missed by the minute and tension grew at a faster pace.

So, guess who decided to speak up again to try to negotiate a more equitable solution to the processing? Yep, that would be me. Once again, though, there was no reasoning with the power-wielders. “It’s just the rules…we process EU passengers first and we won’t process any other passengers until their line is cleared” said the woman in charge. “But” I heard myself challenge “that line will never end…it just keeps replenishing because it’s so slow moving…see (I pointed to the never-decreasing line) ...wouldn’t it be fairer to alternate the processing of EU passengers with our queue?”. She wasn’t amused. “Where are you from?” she asked. I answered “Australia” and got this typically class conscious response: “Yes, well that may be the way you do things down there but it’s not protocol here…now calm down and get back in line!”. I was calm, but that was a real provocation...nevertheless I bit my tongue. However, by that stage I’d become a sort of customs queue bolshevik and the mob behind me was ready to revolt. Fear breeds restriction which, in turn, breeds anger and danger. Luckily at that point another lackadaisical airport clerk came wandering along with a second laptop and tempers were checked as the line finally started to move.

Contrast that experience with my travels to New Zealand this week. While Sydney airport threatens to compete with Heathrow in terms of security and frustration, at the other end, in Dunedin, it's a whole other world. In NZ, there is no 'War on Terror'. When we checked in for the return flight on ‘Freedom Air’ I reluctantly pointed to the large wall clock I was hoping to carry on board in addition to my handbag and laptop. I expected rejection, but instead I got: “No problem, it’s a full flight but we should be able to find a safe place on board for that”. I did a double take.

I thought for sure there’d be trouble at the security checkpoint…this was after all a large clock with prominent hands and mechanical components – tick, tick, tick. It was so big it only just squeezed through the x-ray machine with a shove from a remarkably cheerful security officer. But when it made it through to the other side of the machine, the operator asked sternly “Who belongs to this” pointing at my clock. “Ah, me” I said tentatively. “Gee, it’s a beautiful clock!” she said “Do you mind if I ask where you bought it?” I laughed and offered up the shop name. Then another bloke in a security uniform picked it up, handed it to me and, proud of his wit, said “There you go, take that with you and watch time fly!”

I walked onto the plane with a big smile on my face and tried to remember if this was what it was like before the ‘War on Terror’ and the 'Age of Insecurity'.

"The only real prison is fear, and the only real freedom is freedom from fear." - Aung San Suu Kyi
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