Here Comes Trouble - Michael Moore [128]
“Why haven’t you said anything?” I asked.
“Like I said, we were just getting ready to. Please take your seat.”
I felt a bit nauseous as I walked back down the aisle. One of the people traveling with me asked me if I was OK.
“No,” I replied. “We’re not OK.”
At that moment, the pilot went on the intercom.
“I’m afraid we have some bad news, and I want everyone to remain at ease as we are all fine,” he began. “There has been an incident in the terminal that has caused them to shut the airport down. It appears to be a terrorist attack directed at the passengers on the El Al flight next to us. The attack seems to be over and we are not in danger. We just ask that you remain in your seats and we will give you information as we receive it. Thank you.”
So you’re sitting on a plane full of Arabs and Muslims and you get a friendly announcement like that. And you’re not just sitting on any plane, you’re sitting on the Jordanian plane, next to the intended target, the Israeli plane. What’s the mood on your plane? Everyone continues leafing through their complimentary in-flight magazine, Better Homes and Jordan? Flight attendants apologize for the inconvenience and announce that the headphones for the in-flight movie will be free? Complimentary apple juice and honey-roasted peanuts? Bulletproof vests for first class and duck-and-cover for the rest of us?
No. The plane turned into a panic zone. Not a boisterous one, but a fearful, quiet one where the passengers settle into a feeling of near suffocation. They know that they are all—all—instant suspects. Those of us who aren’t Arab avoid eye contact and sit still in our seats. Being on an Arab-filled flight on an Arab airliner helped one recall that these things usually end badly—and they usually end right here, on the airport tarmac, right where we were sitting. The Munich athletes and their captors were killed on the tarmac. So was an American soldier on a hijacked plane, brutally beaten to death and dumped out the door of the jet and onto the tarmac. Raid on Entebbe? The Israelis came in with guns blazing at the Uganda airport. And then there was the Air France jet. They just went ahead and blew that sucker up. On the tarmac.
Another hour goes by, and there is a knock from the outdoors on the main cabin door. Airport officials have wheeled up a metal staircase to the forward cabin door of the plane. The door opens and on come men in uniform carrying guns. They are not from catering.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may we have your attention. The Austrian officials have boarded the plane and they would like to see everyone’s passport, so if you would be so kind as to cooperate with them we would greatly appreciate it. This should not take long.”
Due to the color of my skin and the lack of any decorative scarf on me, I was pretty much a safe bet and was probably not who they were looking for. But who are they looking for? I thought the attack was “over.” They ARE looking for someone on this plane!
None of this felt good, and it didn’t matter that I wasn’t an Arab. I looked over at our group leaders with eyes that asked, What the fuck?! Thanks for taking me on this trip to improve the image of Arabs! We’re off to a smashing start! Can’t wait to see the next stop on the trip! Scenic ride to a crowded West Jerusalem bus stop at rush hour and a “hey-did-anybody-leave-their-bag-here-BOOM!”
I lived in Flint. I lived near Detroit. By 1985, the murder rates in both cities vied with each other to lead the nation. I was not unaccustomed to danger or random acts of see-ya-in-the-hereafter. But this was not that. I had found myself inside a terrorist incident where I am told that people inside this building have died.
They do not tell us the whole truth: that a total of forty-two people have been hit with bullets and grenade shrapnel. Worse yet, they have not told us that, at the same exact moment the attack took place a few paces from us here in Vienna, another group from the same terrorist organization has opened fire inside Rome