This blog post is from one of two emails that I sent to my subscribers several years ago after taking a trip to “la República Dominicana” (the Dominican Republic).

It involves a frightening experience in “aduana” (customs) in the “aeropuerto” (airport) in “la República Dominicana” (Dominican Republic).

I call the experience “Colombian Profiling.

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When I arrived at the airport in Santiago, República Dominicana, there was a form that I had to complete for “aduana” (Customs). And one of the questions on the form asks what country was I arriving
from. Of course, I told the truth and wrote “Colombia.”

When the agent from “aduana” (customs) read my form and saw that I was arriving from Colombia, he asked me “¿De dónde viene?” So I confirmed, “Colombia.”

When I said Colombia to him his eyes lit up and he “gritó” (shouted) the word “¡COLOMBIA!” as if Colombia was the Land of Lepers.

With my American passport in my hand I then attempted to explain to him that I am American. But it was too late . . .

Two burly custom agents were ushering me off with my “maletas” (suitcases) to a room where supposedly my bags would be thoroughly checked.

The first thing that I noticed about the room was that on nearly every spot on the 4 walls of the room there were pictures posted of people who were caught attempting to smuggle drugs into “la República Dominicana.”

Some of the pictures showed people who had unsuccessfully taped bags of “cocaína” or other drugs to their waist. There were also several pictures of people were stripped down to their “interiores” (underwear) with pictures of drugs taped to the legs or other body parts. There were also lots of pictures of people who were caught with drugs in their “maletas” (suitcases).

But what caught my attention most was the nationality of everyone in the room who the customs agents wanted to check.

There were 2 “colombianos” (males), 1 “colombiana” (female), and 1 “boliviano” (male). And me – an American who had been traveling from Colombia.

The customs agents then took the Colombian woman into an adjoining room with her “maletas.” Occasionally, when one of the customs agents would leave the room where she was being checked I would take a peek in the room and see that all her belongings were spread out on a table.

After about 15 minutes it became apparent that the agents in the room did not find any illegal drugs on her so they allowed her to leave. But not exactly . . .

I noticed that two of the agents seemed to be escorting her somewhere. So I asked one of the agents where were they taking her. “Al hospital” (to the hospital). Thinking to myself, “pero ella no está enferma”
(but she’s not sick), I then asked him “¿Para qué?” (for what?)

And that’s when he told me for a “radiografía” (x-ray) of her “estómago” (stomach).

The agent’s next words were “te toca” (your turn).

Knowing that they could check my bags if they really wanted to, when I entered the room I immediately told them go ahead and check my “maletas.”

But they made it clear that they had no interest in checking my bags. In fact, they didn’t even bother to check my bags!

They asked me to “firmar un formulario” (sign a form) stating that I consented to a “radiografía de mi estómago” (xray of my stomach).

I told the customs agents that a “radiografía de mi estómago” would reveal nothing but a “desayuno típico” (typical breakfast) of Colombia consisting of “arepa” (Colombian tortilla), “huevos revueltos” (scrambled eggs), “chorizo” (sausage), and “queso” (cheese). And if they were truly that interested in the “gastronomía” (cuisine) of Colombia, then they should take a trip to Medellín, the home of Pablo Escobar.

Needless to say, they did not find my “broma” (joke) or “chiste” (joke) funny.

And they continued to insist that I sign the consent form while they claimed that “la República Dominicana” is a “puente” (bridge) commonly used by Colombian “traficantes” (drug traffickers).

That’s when I let them have it . . . .

I made it clear to them that “Soy Americano” and “Soy abogado” (I am an attorney), and “para nada” (no way) I am going to sign that form. “¡Olvídalo!” (Forget about it!)

I also told them that although I am not Colombian they were unfairly discriminating against Colombians and that this was a “violación de mis derechos” (violation of my rights). I even requested to speak to someone from the American Embassy.

Finally, they let me leave without any search of my bags or the “radiografía” (x-ray).

A little later, while still at the “aeropuerto” and waiting for a taxi, one of the Colombian men who was searched approached me and invited me to share a ride with him in a taxi.

But not before he started to “se burla de mí” (make fun of me) by saying to me “¡Soy Americano! Y yo soy
abogado. Esto es una violación de mis derechos!

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It may have been “gracioso” (funny) to him. But “me astustaron” (they scared me) when the customs agent wanted to take a “radiografía de mi estómago.”

On the way to our hotels, the colombiano and I stopped and had a “cerveza dominicana” (Dominican
beer). The popular brand of Dominican “cerveza” is called “Presidente”

There was one interesting cultural observation that I made about my new Colombian friend . . .

He told me that he did not find the search at the airport offensive or unreasonable. (They checked his bags thoroughly). Even though I told him that the check was not random and not based on any suspicion other than the fact that he is Colombian. His response to that was that only someone who is carrying drugs would find such a search offensive or unreasonable. And that it was true that many Colombians transport drugs so the customs agents were justified for searching him just because he is Colombian.

I guess freedom from unreasonable searches and seizures was not one of his treasured liberties.