Is asking drivers for ID in Arizona so different from cops in Italy asking train passengers for passports? Travel writer Paul Theroux on how the new law compares to other countries'.
These people who are protesting being asked for identification by Arizona cops—have they been anywhere lately, like out of the country? Like Mexico, or Canada, or India, or Italy, or Tanzania, or Singapore, or Britain—places where people in uniforms have routinely demanded my papers? Chicago White Sox Manager Ozzie Guillen is offended ("as a Latin American") by the Arizona law and recently claimed that all illegal immigrants are "workaholics." Has he been back to the land of his birth lately, Venezuela, and expected not to be asked for his papers? Ozzie, tell the police in Ocumare del Tuy, "I'm a Latin American," and see if that will end the interrogation. And spare a thought for the policeman two days ago who was gunned down in the desert by a workaholic drug dealer.
The request for papers is not just a line in Casablanca. I have been hearing the question my whole traveling life. I had an Alien Registration Card in Britain and got occasional visits from the police at my home, to make sure I was behaving myself. Seventeen years in Britain as an alien: papers. Six years in Africa: "Where are your papers, bwana?" Three years in Singapore: another alien identity card and immense red tape in that fussy, litigious bureaucracy.
As for the U.S., it is annoying, but understandable, especially in a country with 12 million illegal immigrants using the public services. "Who are you?" is a routine question: The necessity to identify yourself to authority is something that happens every day.
You can't check into any hotel in India or China or buy certain railway tickets there without showing your passport and having all your details recorded. So why should an Indian or a Chinese in the U.S. be surprised if he or she is stopped for speeding by a policeman in Flagstaff and asked for a proof of residence?
Brazilians comprise the fastest-growing ethnic community on Cape Cod. They represent the whole social scale, from God-botherers, roofers, landscapers, and garage mechanics, to petty thieves and drug dealers. A large proportion of them are illegals, working off the books, indignant that they would ever be asked to identify themselves.
Ever been to Brazil? I have. "Where are your papers, meester?"