Hanson, at left, moderating a SAJA event with Phil Scheffler, executive editor of 60 Minutes; March 1997 in NYC. Also see: www.hansonhosein.net

HANSON HOSEIN is currently a Middle East producer for NBC Nightly News based in Israel. During his assignment, he has covered the Israel-Palestine peace process, the Kenya embassy bombings and the South Asian nuclear crisis, the Balkan conflict, and the 1999 earthquake in Turkey, among other stories. In April 2000, Hanson was one of the winners of the David Kaplan Award for International Tevelvision News Coverage from the Overseas Press Club of America. Mike Wallace of 60 Minutes presented the award, which was for NBC's coverage of the Kosovo crisis. He previously worked for NBC Nightly News in New York as a producer for its "Fleecing of America" series. A lawyer-turned journalist, Hanson is a Canadian of Indo-Caribbean descent. He has a BA in economics from the University of Western Ontario; an LLB in civil law from McGill University; and M. en droit in international law from the University of Paris; and an MS in journalism from the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism. He is licensed to practice law in New York and Massachusetts. -30- Jerusalem Report March 15, 1999 Beards and Borders An essay by Hanson Hosein WHAT BOTHERS ME most about international travel is airport security. Although I'm a television news producer with a relatively clean record, I still find myself getting a little self-conscious when it comes to crossing foreign borders. That's because I have a dark complexion, fast-growing facial hair and an Islamic-sounding last name. It has gotten me into some trouble in the past, and it continues to do so, especially because I am presently based in Israel for my news organization. In this part of the world, your Canadian passport only gets you so far, and then after that, you are merely suspicious along with the rest of the swarthy. Which was why I always shaved just before getting on a plane. So why did I do it? Why did I grow a beard? The last time I had sprouted a dark thicket of facial hair was during an exceptionally cold winter in Montreal while I was still a student at McGill. I got rid of it then because icicles had begun to form on my chin when I went outside. But now was different. It was time to take a stand. If border guards already suspected that I was a terrorist, then why beat around the bush? Let them target me at first sight. I would relish the challenge, even if it got me into even more trouble. The event that set off my defiance occurred just before Christmas. I had driven my car to Ben Gurion airport, where I was going to leave it while I was away. But before I could even get to the terminal, and although I was beardless, Israeli security officers pulled me over in my car, after having examined my passport at the checkpoint, and noticing my last name. Despite my having lived in Israel for over a year, working for an American network as a journalist, and being a Canadian, they insisted, over my protests, on searching my bags, my person, and my car (engine, trunk, and upholstery for traces of explosives). I was furious, hence the catalyst for the beard. Upon my beard's premiere, after my return to Israel, I felt like a terrorist walking the streets of Tel Aviv. Were people looking at me? Did women clutch their purses a little tighter? Were those security officers at the entrance to shopping malls searching through my bag a little more carefully? It was almost a relief when I had to travel to Jordan to cover King Hussein's return. A Jordanian colleague of mine had once told me that not to have facial hair was effeminate. So off I went with a two-week old beard into the land of the bearded and free, where the much-loved monarch and I even shared a similar-sounding name. But upon my arrival in the Hashemite Kingdom, I was picked up by a cleanly-shaven Jordanian driver. And the majority of men whom I met during my assignment there were either of similar countenance, or had neatly trimmed mustaches. I began to worry that I was looking a little unkempt with my straggly beard. Even in the Arab world, I was an outsider. And when we returned to Tel Aviv, Israeli security could not have been less interested in me. I even passed through security and customs faster than my Israeli-born cameraman. I was beginning to feel a little foolish, especially when many of my friends were telling me how good the beard looked, including my chic Israeli hair stylist. The icing on the cake was my solo encore at Ben Gurion Airport, as I was set to depart for Rome one weekend. By now, my beard was full and menacing, or at least so I thought. But the men in uniform barely looked at me as I drove by them. The guy who took care of my car at the Hertz parking lot thought I was Italian, a fellow passenger asked me if I was English, and the woman at the duty-free check-out counter assumed that I was Israeli. To add insult to injury, it took me five minutes to pass security at the airport -- record time; those who are familiar with the stringent security procedures there know that interviews can last up to an hour and culminate in a strip search. So maybe I was wrong all along with my hang-up about having facial hair. Perhaps I even look less menacing and more distinguished. I had called my own bluff, and my fears and assumptions had proven totally unjustified. But I wager that my social life will suffer; I hear that women hate men with beards... -30-