Soapbox Post

There is some irony in the fact that, as I was on my way to the Society for Risk Analysis annual meeting, I was accused of risky behavior at the airport. 

After my very first body scan, I was accosted by a security officer, ushered away from the crowd, and forced to unpack my over-packed suitcase. The alarming item was found, delicately wrapped in layers of hot pink tissue paper. Behold! It was a Deco inspired snow globe, clearly shaken from the disgraceful affair. After I debated the time involved in returning to the ticket counter to pay $25 to check my suitcase to save the $6 item, I surrendered the snow globe. In an odd fit of anger, amusement and astonishment, I probed the security risk with the officer to learn that they have a policy prohibiting snow globes. Trying to push out of my mind stark images of a desolate metal room filled with confiscated snow globes, I focused on her explanation of the policy. Since airport security cannot gain access to the magical juice, no snow globe is safe -- even if they contain only three ounces of glittering liquid.

How is it that we as a society have a policy prohibiting snow globes?

By what mechanism does an innocent pleasure-giver, a rare treat of slowness and sparkle, become transformed to a security threat? Given my obsession with plausibility – I was, in fact, on my way to the conference to present my recent work on the subject – I began to wonder what imaginaries are at play.

First, we have the climate of fear and a thwarted attack in 2006 thought to involve liquid explosives. The thing that didn’t happen – the liquid bombs killing people – became the justification for a whole host of interventions. From one particular almost event made plausible through intention, many other events have been imagined plausible, right down to my forsaken snow globe as a vehicle of mass destruction. While I venture (hopefully) that the TSA did not envision snow globe-packing terrorists, it is interesting that one scenario becomes justification for such a wide array of other policies.
 
Even more remarkable than the plausible future averted through my snow globe capture was my forced compliance. The experience of my limited agency is perhaps the most frustrating element of the snow globe affair. I could not revolt. I could not protest. While I was sad to give up one of the only non-religious holiday icons available, my disappointment would be sorely misplaced by getting angry with the officer whose only offering of condolence was a complaint form. As I doubted that any complaint would be more than futile and, considering the triviality of the issue, I acquiesced. However, my submission felt like so many other concessions I make, contorting to rules I believe are unjustified or paranoid. My lack of choice over everyday matters that require movement, behavior, voice and procedure is daunting.
 
While the snow globe affair seems mundane and inconsequential, it shines light on the difficulties at getting to the root of who is responsible as well as difficulties of correcting injustices – however slight – in our massively distributed, complex society. More than sharing a lesson with you about not traveling with snow globes this holiday season, I ask you to notice how you are involved with futures not of your making. Notice how imagined futures far removed from your control shape your own behavior.
 
I am sorry snow globe, to abandon you there. Ours was a future not to be.