I'll admit, I'm one of the people who went to the airport to fly home for Thanksgiving, ready for a fight.  I knew I had two options:  submitting to a full-body scan or a pair of hands down my pants.  Disliking the airport is nothing new, but as I stood in the security line I noticed I was shaking slightly, my heart was racing, I felt nauseous.  I had read about other people reliving trauma in this way.  I was prepared for anger, but here I was too, re-experiencing my own vulnerability.

Finding myself in the old-fashioned metal detector line, my anxiety quieted.  But as I watched people file through the scanner or the pat-downs, I wondered how they were feeling.

At home, reading the online news reports about the proposed resistance to the new security measures, I realized: it's just me, a bunch of white guys, and a few other white women, freaking out.  This is not the group I'm used to protesting with.  Although it may be a function of whose voices make the news, and not representative of reactions or values, I began to wonder.  Is my righteous indignation just white privilege?  I don't think much about getting pulled over and searched on a day-to-day basis, or about having parts of my body swabbed at the gynecologist because I'm in a "high risk" group (read this fabulous blog by our very own, Vanessa...