The queue moves forward. I reach passport control, and I pass through it, and the man is left behind.
In recounting this incident afterward, I find myself running into difficulties. For instance, I find myself relying on the details of the man’s physical ugliness to prove the badness of his character. Searching for a specific example of someone else’s being upset or offended by him, the only person I can prove he offended was me. On another day, a perfectly polite man is probably to be found directing the crowds in the customs hall, assisting the elderly, apologizing for the crush, helpfully explaining things to people whose English is uncertain: He would make a good story about individuality as the basis for all hope.
By telling this story, I am trying to substantiate my fear that discrimination and bullying are used against people trying to enter Britain, my country….