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Is That a Bomb in Your Fisher Price Backpack Or…

January 14, 2010

Are you just happy to see me?  A New Jersey woman who can’t get her son off the no-fly list hits the nail on the head:

“Up your arms, down your arms, up your crotch — someone is patting your 8-year-old down like he’s a criminal,” Mrs. Hicks recounted. “A terrorist can blow his underwear up and they don’t catch him. But my 8-year-old can’t walk through security without being frisked.”

It’s been seven years and the Feds can’t get a eight-year-old off the list.  Don’t get me wrong: I have no problem with pat-downs and screeners that render travelers naked.  These are necessary things to have because the gummint couldn’t proverbially find water if it fell out of a proverbial boat.  And no, you don’t deserve any sympathy because you’re shy—you never had the inalienable right to get on an airplane, even if people think you have the right to Ned Ryerson’s insurance coverage.

This does point to the larger question, however, of why we are still strictly using names instead of dates of birth.  Especially given the fact that there are just under a thousand ways to spell Muhammed (okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration).  We had Abdulmutallab’s DOB on file (which would have made him a hundred times more identifiable), but word on the street is that we couldn’t use it because of the ACLU and that lot’s whining about civil liberties infractions.  Thanks, guys.

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