In Baghdad, I had to go through an earlier model of the machine before I was allowed to enter a courtroom for the trial of Saddam Hussein. That seemed reasonable at the time. There were millions of Iraqis who wanted to kill Saddam, or to at least disrupt his trial. The blurred-naked-photo-machine didn’t bother me then.
It did bother me as I stood with my feet in outlines on the floor and my hands over my head, palms pressed together in Los Angeles. It bothered me even more as I watched a girl who couldn’t have been more than 7 years old forced to assume the same undignified position. I watched her mother help the girl, showing her how to raise her hands in the correct position.