My unexpected border story

and what I learned from my detention

Last October I traveled to Portugal to walk the Portuguese Camino. After landing and grabbing my carry-on bag from the overhead bin, I headed to passport control following the signs (all in English) at the international airport in Porto.

On every previous trip abroad, my interaction with border control agents had been quick and perfunctory. After a quick glance at my U.S. passport and then at me, I would be on my way. Not this time. The border control agent looked at my passport and then back at his computer screen. He did this several times. I could see that something wasn’t right.

Finally, he picked up a phone and said a few words into the receiver, which I couldn’t hear through the secured glass window. In seconds another man approached and asked me to follow him. We entered a small, windowless room, and he motioned for me to sit, closing the door behind him.

Nothing like this had ever happened to me, but I was confident that, whatever the problem was, it would be cleared up quickly. After all, I am not a stranger to international travel. And besides, I am an American, with a valid passport, no criminal convictions, and what I thought was a clear travel history.

His first question surprised me. It concerned my departure from the Netherlands in May 2023, more than a year earlier. I had lived and worked for nine months in The Hague, but when I left, I de-registered at the Stadhuis van Den Haag or city hall and surrendered my temporary residency permit. I had even filed my income taxes. I thought I had left the country on good terms. I said all of this to the person across from me, who made no comment.

He flipped through the pages of my passport, stopping now and then to read a stamp more carefully. His question, though, seemed to suggest that there was a problem, and I began to worry. I was trying to pay attention, despite having just arrived with little sleep after a trans-Atlantic flight. Finally, the man stood up to leave. He said, “Stay here,” and then left.

Fifteen minutes or so later, an agonizingly long time in that situation, another man entered the room and demanded to know how much money I was carrying. Nothing more about my departure from The Hague. I said, “I don’t have any money.” Carrying U.S. dollars to Europe didn’t make much sense.

“You know that you’re required to carry a minimum amount of spending money for travel within the Schengen zone, don’t you?” He was referring to the 29 European countries that, by agreement, have no border or passport stops along the various national borders. I told him that I was planning to get euros at the first ATM I could find after leaving the airport. After a minute of silence and no eye contact, this second man left the room as well.

In all, I spent nearly two hours by myself in that room. I had no idea where my carry-on bag had disappeared to. My passport, too, was no longer in my possession. I had my phone and texted my wife that I had landed safely but let her know that I had been unexpectedly detained at passport control. Because of the time difference I knew that she would not read my text for another few hours.

The experience was, in a word, troubling. I was treated politely throughout, but no reason for my detention was ever given. A half year later, I am still shaken by the experience and have no idea what I did or was suspected of doing. Someone eventually came to get me and walked me back to the uniformed passport control agent who was first concerned about me.

Later that day, over dinner, I told my story to friends – one an African American woman, the other a South Asian immigrant to the US, both friends of my niece who was also present. Their reaction was telling. My niece’s friends laughed and teased me about "my first" run-in with law enforcement, implying that for them such incidents were normal.

Their casual joking about something that had been so jarring to me was a stark reminder of the privilege my white American male identity usually affords me.

My detention in Porto was inconvenient, but ultimately harmless. For many others, however, border encounters carry far higher stakes. Border agents can search phones without a warrant and detain individuals without a clearly stated cause, and that raises serious questions about personal liberties and due process. While countries have a right to protect their borders, the balance between security and individual rights feels increasingly precarious. And for many of those who are detained, the experience must be traumatizing in ways I cannot begin to imagine.

My experience, though minor as these things go, served as a powerful introduction to a reality many navigate far more frequently. It’s a reminder that beneath the surface of travel brochures and planned itineraries, there exists a complex and often opaque system of border control that can impact anyone but disproportionately affects certain nationalities and racial groups.

As we navigate an increasingly interconnected yet wary world, understanding these realities, and advocating for transparency and accountability, becomes ever more crucial.

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I've recorded more than a dozen podcasts to promote my new book. Here are two, including a Presbyterian Church podcast!

A Matter of Faith (PCUSA) podcast

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