The incarceration of Jesus Christ: What he might encounter at US immigration
December 22, 2015, 12:50 AM IST Chidanand Rajghatta 
Chidanand Rajghatta
Chidanand Rajghatta
Chidanand Rajghatta is The Times of India’s US-based Foreign Editor, long-time Washington DC scribe and sutradhar, and author of The Horse That Flew: How India’s Silicon Gurus Spread Their Wings.
The picture of Jesus Christ as a tall, blonde, Nordic man – generated by Westerners/Europeanists – is so ingrained in our mind, that people often forget he was actually a middle-easterner (or West Asian, as we say in India). This composite by a British artist (see below) may be closer to the real picture, although one would guess that with growing following, he might have been better groomed.
How would he have been treated if he had landed at a US airport? If you think the following narrative is misleading please look, once again, at the picture.
At an airport security and immigration counter somewhere in the US, an immigration agent scowls at a bearded, scruffy, swarthy passenger wearing a dishdasha or thobe (a long white robe) who has just arrived on a flight from the Middle East:
“Sir, can you please step aside. You will have to undergo a secondary inspection.”
During secondary inspection, the immigration agent’s boss: “Your full name, sir?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“It says Jesus F Christ in your passport, sir.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.”
“What does F stand for, sir?”
“Told you. I … Forgot.”
“F is for Forgot?”
“Yes.” (Mutters an F-word under his breath)
“Date of Birth?”
“December 25.”
“Nice work. Born on a holiday. Place of Birth?”
“Bethlehem, in Palestine.”
“Palestine?” (Boss agent’s eyes narrow)
“Yes, Palestine.”
“Know Hamas?”
“Thomas? Yes, he was one of the twelve Apostles. Doubting Thomas they called him.”
(Doubtfully and suspiciously) “Oh yeah? And why is that?”
“He didn’t believe I was resurrected.”
“Really? And when were you resurrected, sir?”
“Easter Sunday.”
“Another holiday. Nice work. And where is Doubting Thomas now?”
“Oh I don’t know … last I heard, he went to Irrr … I mean Mesopotamia, and then further east, to preach the Gospel.” (Eyes narrowing even more)
“Further east? Afghanistan? Pakistan?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t send even my motherin-law there.”
“Mother-in-law? You have a motherin-law? It doesn’t say anything about your being married here in your passport.”
(Shrugs) “Well, you know …”
“Languages spoken … Mother Tongue?”
“Aramaic …”
“Arabic?”
“No, Aramaic …”
“Hmmm … So travelled anywhere lately?”
“Oh, the usual places … my regular stomping ground … Jordan, Syria, Egypt, Iraq …” (Sits bolt upright and asks sharply)
“Attended any camps?”
“Of course. I was healing people.”
“Step this way, sir. We’ll have to take you to a tertiary inspection. It’s in a place called Guantanamo.”
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