It was a typical day at the "Peace Bridge." A Greyhound bus carrying 52 souls which had left downtown Toronto bound for Buffalo was making the required stop at the U.S. border with the United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), and progress was slow. Buses leaving Toronto carry people from all over the world and the ICE was taking its time with anybody not carrying U.S. citizenship papers. The bus driver paced nervously. He began to worry that his passengers’ connections out of Buffalo would be missed. This was taking longer than normal. Ah, but he had been afraid of this: he had pulled out of Toronto with a full bus and with almost no U.S. citizens on board.

Two U.S. citizens on that bus were traveling home from a long weekend visit with friends in Toronto. They were bound for Pittsburgh and they were becoming concerned as well. If the 2 PM bus from Erie to Pittsburgh left without them they would be stranded in Erie overnight. One of the two wondered in a stage whisper why all "those people" did not have their papers ready. He knew that the ICE was doing its best to punish these foreign visitors who dared to enter the USA via a Greyhound Bus, but the anxiety brought on by standing in line for an hour and a half led to misplaced anger and to the feelings of superiority that those of European descent are accustomed to feel in such situations. Soon enough however this traveler would be brought down a peg.

The two Pittsburgh travelers were the last in line to see the ICE agents. In front of them was a family of three from Rumania. The Rumanians passed through and soon "next" was heard for the 51^st time from some unseen agent. In walked the first of the Pittsburghers and in 30 seconds he was through. "Next" and the last guy in line walked into the room. He presented to the agent a 49-year-old birth certificate and a valid Pennsylvania driver’s license. "Citizenship?" he was asked. "US," came the response. "Where have you been?" "Toronto." "For how long?" "Since Thursday." "Purpose of the trip?" "Just visiting friends." "Okay." Great, thought the traveler, now it’s on to Pittsburgh. But not so fast…

He entered the next room and was called forward by another agent. This agent had an emblem sewed on his uniform that said, "Customs." Once more the traveler handed over his worn birth certificate and driver’s license. "Where have you been?" came the question. "Toronto" "Where in Toronto?" "Dowling Avenue" "Why were you there?" "Visiting friends." "How long was your stay?" "Since Thursday" "What, with only this small bag?" "Yes." Soon the bag in question was open and the customs agent was pulling things out. He looked with questioning eyes at a small bag of Turkish coffee that he found. Glancing at the traveler to see if there was any sort of response that might indicate guilt or fear, the agent dug into the bag again. Out came a refrigerator magnet with a picture of a bison on it. "It is a gag gift," mumbled the traveler. With a grunt the agent set it aside. Reaching in again the agent pulled out a small sticker. "Shit!" thought the traveler.

The U.S. customs agent was holding in his hand a 2 inch by 4 inch sticker that had on it a drawing of a little person dressed in a tunic and sandals holding a sign. On the sign was a bomb shaped like the kind dropped from aircraft. Around this bomb was a circle with a line through it, "No Bombs." Above this drawing was the caption, "Who Would Jesus bomb?" With an ugly glance the customs agent set the sticker aside and now began to run his hand inside the bag as if looking for a secret pocket. Out came his hand once more, this time with a little booklet, "The Big Rock Candy Mountain" complete with illustrations done no less by the same artist who drew the "Who Would Jesus Bomb" sticker.

"Where did you get these?" asked the visibly angered agent. "At a bookstore in Toronto," came the answer. The traveler knew better than to tell the agent that these had come from an anarchist bookstore but he figured that the agent knew this anyway. The customs agent, feigning disgust slowly examined each page of The Big Rock Candy Mountain booklet. He picked up the sticker once more and holding it in front of the traveler’s face asked in a belittling tone, "What do you find so exciting about this?" The traveler, now feeling gallons of shame well up inside, kept silent and hung his head. The well-trained customs agent had done his job. But he wasn’t quite finished.

"Have you ever been arrested?" he asked. "Yes." "When?" "Just over a month ago, got the hearing this week." "What, that recently?" "Yes." "For what?" "For civil disobedience with a union." The agent walked a few steps over to another agent and handed him the traveler’s papers. Information was entered into a computer. Then with a look of contempt the agent tossed the booklet, sticker and papers in the direction of the traveler who quickly put them back into his small bag. Without lifting his eyes he left the room and boarded the Greyhound bus.

Within a minute the bus pulled away and entered downtown Buffalo. The traveler who was feeling superior to his fellows just an hour earlier did not feel so big any more. He had been shown his place.

Thank God for the brave men and women of the United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement now part of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security.

The threatening sticker