Inside The Multibillion-Dollar Business Of Keeping Me Out Of America
Every few seconds the chatter in the lobby is punctuated by a succession of short, rapid cracks so loud I can feel the concussions in my chest. No one else seems to notice. The Phoenix Convention Center’s southern building is packed with hawkish-looking white men in muted suits who somehow continue networking amid the piercing sound. They’re all wearing convention badges around their necks that display their ominous affiliations: DOD, DOJ, DHS, Raytheon.