It’s Just the Dream’s File

It was one of those sunny days we’ve been getting between the snows, temperatures in the low 60s, while the buds on the trees and the early spring flowers stayed bundled up, wondering whether it was safe yet to take a peek.  

I decided to take advantage of the break in the weather and walk Scrappy over to the park.  He was almost frantic, trying to mark every tree we passed, and my arms were wearing out trying to tug him along.  “Let’s give it a break, Scrappy,” I told him, and dropped down on a bench beside Fred, one of our longtime neighbors.

When he didn’t immediately say hello, I looked at him more closely.  “Hey, Fred,” I said, “are you okay?  You look a little shaky.”  

“Hi, Ace,” he said.  “Sorry, guess I was preoccupied there.”

“No problem,” I reassured him.  “Something wrong?  You don’t look so good.”

“It’s nothing, really,” he said.  “I woke up in the middle of the night with a bad dream, that’s all.  I had a hard time getting back to sleep, and I haven’t been able to put it behind me yet.”

“Is it something you can talk about?” I asked.  “Maybe that would help.”

“There’s no reason not to talk about it,” he said.  “In the dream I left a copy of my psychoanalyst’s file about our sessions lying on the dining room table while I went upstairs to find a dictionary.  When I got back downstairs, I found Viola reading the file, and I just went nuts.”

“I didn’t realize you were seeing a ...” I began.

“I’m not,” he said.  “I’ve never seen a psychoanalyst or psychiatrist or anyone like that.  That’s all the dream’s idea.”

“Oh.  Hmm.  Okay, what then?”

“I screamed at her, I told her anyone could see that it was marked ‘confidential’ and she had invaded my privacy and done something unforgivable.  She kept trying to calm me down, but I wouldn’t have it.  I told her this was a breach of trust between us and that we were through.  She grabbed my arm and pleaded with me, but I shook her off and raged around the house, yelling and smashing things.  It just kept going on and on.  When I woke up, my stomach was churning, and I’ve been upset ever since.  And I don’t even know why.  It was just a dream.”

“Wow!” I said, “wonder what was in that file?”

He glanced at me sharply.  “There is no file,” he said.  “It’s just the dream’s file.”

“But the dream must have had some idea of what would be in a file like that,” I speculated.  “Maybe you have some secret you’re ashamed to have Viola find.”

“Sure there are things I’ve said or done that I’d rather Viola didn’t know about,” he said.  “But after thirty years of marriage, she’s seen and managed to forgive the worst of me.  I don’t think this is about what might or might not be in a file.”

“So what’s the issue then?” I asked.

“I keep trying to figure that out,” he said.  “It has something to do with respecting each other’s privacy.  With honoring the other person’s right to decide whether or not to share something with you.  With the boundaries of intimacy.  And she didn’t ask.  She just saw it and picked it up and read it.  I felt violated in some horrible way that I can’t quite explain or describe.”

“That must be pretty important to you, if you were going to call it quits after thirty years of marriage and three kids.”

He hung his head wearily.  “I guess so.  I just don’t know why the whole thing came up in my dream.”

We sat there silently for a while, both caught up in the aftermath of something real in the unreal.

Finally I broke the silence.  “This may be a long shot,” I said, “but have you been paying any attention to the news reports on ways the NSA is spying on all of us?”

“Not much,” he said.  “Why?”

© Tony Russell, 2014

It’s Not News, It’s Propaganda, Part 2

“You said that the F.B.I. cleared Edward Snowden of acting with anyone else or as part of a spy ring.  Why are we even talking about this then?  How can Mike Rogers pretend the F.B.I. report doesn’t exist, go on TV, and accuse Snowden of being a spy for the Russian secret police?”

“When you’re trying to sell a lie,” said Tom, “you don’t acknowledge the truth and apologize.  You don’t shut your mouth and slink away.  You ignore the truth and boldly repeat the lie.  You repeat it over and over, and in this case Snowden’s attackers got TV talk shows to offer them a forum to spew their falsehoods on three major networks on one Sunday.  Tell me, doesn’t that strike you as a bit strange--this massive, one-sided, simultaneous attack on Snowden?” 

“Now that you mention it,” I said, “it does seem weird.  It’s just too great a coincidence to think that three networks all decided independently to feature attacks on Snowden on the same day.  Somebody had to have coordinated it.  Orchestrated it.  To pretend it just happened accidentally is as likely as numerous Japanese planes all just happening to descend on Pearl Harbor at the same time on the same day in 1941.”

Tom nodded agreement.  “I think of it as ‘the sound of one tongue flapping’,” he said.  “The congressional leadership on intelligence, the NSA,  the administration, and the main stream media have formed a chorus, all singing the same melody with the same lyrics, trying to drown out Mr. Snowden’s message.”

“I don’t know if many people have followed all the details, though, Tom.  It’s a lot to keep up with.”  

“I’m not sure people have to, Ace.  Besides looking at the evidence, which we’ve already done, there’s a different method people often use to decide who’s likely to be telling the truth.  It’s not based on a legal model, with evidence and witnesses, but it’s a rough-and-ready method that people have been using for centuries.” 

“You mean torture?” I gasped.

“No, no,” he said, startled.  “I mean just asking yourself what people stand to gain in a situation.  That often makes pretty clear who’s likely to be lying.”

“Ah, I’ve got it now.  Sure.  Shoot,” I said.

  “Not a good choice of words, Ace,” said Tom.  “Several anonymous members of our spy agencies have said they’d like to kill Mr. Snowden.”

“Oh, right.  Sorry,” I said.

“Anyway,” Tom went on, “What did Mr. Snowden gain when he decided to take his knowledge of the NSA’s secret surveillance to the public?”  Again he started ticking off points on his fingers.  “It cost him his well-paying job and his career.  It threw him into exile, separated him from his family and girlfriend, held a strong likelihood of capture and long-term imprisonment, exposed him to personal attacks and slander, and--as I mentioned--drew predictable threats of assassination.”

“That’s a lot to sacrifice,” I said.

“Those are losses--enormous losses,” agreed Tom.  “So what did he gain?  He’s poorer, lonelier, isolated, and under attack.  He knew full well what the consequences would be when he made his decision.  His only gains are intangibles: a clear conscience and the knowledge that he has offered the public a chance to make an informed decision on living under a surveillance state.  He says that if he ends up in a ditch somewhere, it still will have been worth it.”

“When you lay it out that way, he’s somebody you just have to admire,” I said.  “I don’t think I could do what he did.”

“Don’t think badly of yourself,” Tom said kindly.  “Cesar Chavez once said that ‘To be a man is to suffer for others.‘  I don’t think Chavez meant that in a sexist way; I think he meant that shouldering your responsibilities to your family, your community, or your country, even at great personal cost, is the price you must be willing to pay if you want to hold on to your self-respect and your integrity.  I’m sure that, faced with a similar choice, you’d make the right decision.”

I didn’t know what to say for a minute.  I hadn’t expected his last comment.  It may have been the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me--and I wasn’t sure he was right.  “Thanks, Tom,” I managed.  

“You’re welcome, Ace,” he said.  “You know, integrity isn’t easy or cheap.  If it were, there would be a Hallelujah Chorus of whistleblowers in the NSA, and congress would be an honored gallery of respected public servants.  Edward Snowden was in a position where he had a choice to make, but in some respects, everyone he worked with was faced with the same choice.  He could continue to be a faceless part of an enormous secret bureaucracy that is striking at the very heart of our democracy.  Or he could be a man, expose the secrets and lies, and suffer the consequences.”

“Okay,” I said.  “So you've laid out what Snowden lost and gained.  But what about his attackers?”

Tom paused and thought for a moment.  “We can only make guesses as to what Mr. Rogers, Ms. Feinstein, and Mr. McCaul stand to gain,” he said, “but they stand to lose nothing--with the possible exception of self-respect.  They have cast their lot with the powers that be, and there’s safety and security in that.  They’ve received publicity and an additional measure of fame.  Their political fortunes will continue to prosper, since they’ve proven to be reliably on the side of  secrecy, control, and authoritarianism.  At the worst, they will remain well paid, powerful, and ‘respectable’.”  

“So they made out pretty well in the deal,” I said.

He held me with his eyes.  “That’s the world’s way of looking at it, Ace.  There’s another way.  ‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’” 

That’s what makes conversations with Tom so unsettling.  You’re having a conversation at a normal level about some topic, and then suddenly he takes you to a different place entirely.  I didn’t feel corrected exactly.  More like uncomfortably enlarged.

“We can’t read their minds or hearts,” Tom went on.  “We don’t know what their motives were or what pressure was brought to bear on them.  Still, from the outside, it’s hard not to be skeptical.  Perhaps they were attempting to divert the public’s attention from their own collusion in hiding the extent to which the NSA is spying on all of us.  The Constitution expects congress to put a check on attempts by the executive branch to grab dangerous power.  Instead, these leaders have acted as bipartisan enablers for the dismantling of democracy.  It goes against the grain to speak of people that way, but what else is there to do when they’re apologists for the construction of a police state that makes 1984 look like Summerhill?”

“You seem to be describing them not as real leaders or powerful decision makers, but as servants of someone or something else,” I said.

“I guess I am,” said Tom.  “Despite the high offices Mr. Rogers, Ms. Feinstein, and Mr. McCaul hold, I believe it would be a mistake to see them as anything other than pawns in the hands of the national security state.  Mr. Snowden has challenged the nature and the intentions of the security apparatus, so he must be condemned, slandered, discredited, or silenced by any means necessary.  Now, in both a geographic and a spiritual sense,  he's beyond their control, and that must infuriate them.  In a way few of us can claim to be, he is a free man.  He has been willing to risk everything to share that freedom.  I just don’t know if the rest of us are willing to take the risk of joining him.”

“Why’s he doing it, Tom?  What motivates him?”

“That’s a good question, Ace.  Who knows?  It’s hard to discredit him in the usual ways, because his critics can’t pin a label on him and pigeonhole him. I’ve come to think of him as an ‘odd prophet.’  He’s leading a solitary, almost cloistered life, devoid of luxuries and even ordinary things most of us think of as necessities.  He’s living the lifestyle of a monk, but doesn’t seem to be religious.  He’s not preaching fire and brimstone, nor is he a political firebrand, out to destroy capitalism on the one hand or to promote socialism or communism on the other.  He’s not a Democrat or a Republican.” 

“So we’re stuck with thinking of him with negatives?  What he’s not?”

“I don’t think so, Ace.  He’s an honest man and a courageous man.  He seems patriotic; he has been careful not to damage our country.   The best way I can come up with to describe his motivation and faith is that they’re those of a good systems analyst: ‘garbage in, garbage out.’   He approaches democracy as if it’s a kind of computer for making decisions.  Citizens need clean data coming in.  Instead, we were getting bad numbers and lies, and that was something he ultimately couldn’t tolerate.  So he provided us with clean data--the truth about the NSA’s spying--and said now the decision is up to us.” 

He stopped.  “Thanks for listening to all that, Ace,” he said.  “That was almost as good as shoveling snow.”

“You’re welcome,” I told him.  “If you’ll hand me that shovel and hold my dog for a minute, I think I could use a dose of that manual meditation myself.”

© Tony Russell, 2014

Big Brother on Steroids

Uncle Jimmy was in for the holidays, and I pulled him aside after dinner last night.  I knew he was going to leave early Monday morning to drive back up to his job at the Pentagon, and there was something I wanted to ask him about.

“Jimmy,” I said, “I saw a headline on Yahoo!  What’s the deal with Bernie Sanders asking the NSA if it spies on Congress?  That’s crazy talk, isn’t it?  Why would he even think such a thing?”

Jimmy looked surprised.  “The NSA's spying on people in Congress was the first thing I thought about when Snowden’s revelations started popping up,” he said.  “Any intelligence service, sooner or later, targets the people who are supposed to oversee it.  Sooner, usually.  That’s where their money comes from, and where the power lies.  When news came out that the NSA spies on the UN, and then that it spies on the leaders of our allies, it was obvious these guys are operating in a free fire zone.”

That definitely wasn’t what I wanted to hear.  “What I don’t understand, Jimmy, is that Sanders asked a ‘yes or no’ question,  but the NSA didn’t give him a ‘yes’ or ‘no‘ answer.  Sanders asked, ‘Has the NSA spied, or is the NSA currently spying, on members of Congress or other American elected officials?‘   And what the NSA wrote back was, ‘Members of Congress have the same privacy protections as all US persons’.”  

Jimmy laughed.  “Oh, Sanders got his answer all right.  ‘The same privacy protections as all US persons’ means Congress members don’t have any privacy protections.  None.  Zero.  The message the NSA is sending loud and clear is ‘YES, we spy on Congress and other elected officials--and people in the administration too.  You didn’t think you were exempt from the spying that you’re approving for everybody else, did you?‘  The NSA did everything but give Congress the finger with that answer.  It makes you scratch your head.  Did those people in Congress really think that the great fishnet in the sky had a catch-and-release program for them because they’re big fish?”

“Wait a minute,” I said.  “What do you mean when you say that having the same protections as all US persons means they don’t have any protections?”

He gave me a look of disbelief.  I get that a lot.  “Lord have mercy, boy, don’t you read your own newspaper?  Or listen to the news on NPR?  Or get news somewhere?”

“Mostly the sports page,” I admitted.  “Actually, only the sports page.  Well, and the comic strips.  And sometimes my horoscope.”

He groaned.  I get that a lot too.  “An informed citizenry is the cornerstone of democracy,” he muttered.  “Okay, Ace, here’s what we know at this point.  Edward Snowden said these NSA programs ‘put entire populations under an all-seeing eye and save copies forever.’  The NSA collects and stores data on every phone call made in the United States.  They also track and store the information on hundreds of millions of cellphone users on a minute-to-minute basis around the world--including our exact locations at each moment, where we’re going, who we meet, and where we meet.”

“They’re tracking me everywhere through my cellphone?!” I asked incredulously.

“Yep.  The NSA also broke into the global data centers of Yahoo! and Google, which enables them to collect information at will about hundreds of millions of people.  They search our e-mails, our online chats, and our browser histories. They also bribed the company that provides encryption programs for computer security to create a ‘back door’ enabling them to enter and spy on supposedly secure data and communications.”

I was stunned.  “What does all that mean?” I asked, still trying to take it all in.

“Basically it means none of us have any privacy when we use any electronic communication device, or when information about us goes into any electronic data system.” 

My mind started racing over things I’d looked at or written online.  Whoa!  “That’s scary,” I said.

“It sure is,” Jimmy said.  “There’s a saying that ‘information is power.’  Nobody in the world has ever had anything even close to as much information as the NSA.  If that saying is correct, the NSA is now the most powerful institution in the history of the planet.”

“Another saying is that ‘Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely’,” I threw in.

“That too,” Jimmy agreed.

“But now that Congress members know their lives are under a microscope just like the rest of us, they’ll do something about it, won’t they?”

“Well,” said Jimmy, “from the NSA’s standpoint, that’s the beauty of it.  Congresspeople are just as human as the rest of us, with the same weaknesses and vices--maybe even more, because the sheer expense of running for office, along with the lure of the political spotlight, guarantees that Congress will have more than its share of the ambitious, the vain, and the power-hungry.”

“So?”

“So while members of Congress are thinking about the NSA’s response, they’ll also start thinking about that stretch they spent in rehab.  About their confessions to their AA sponsors, which they thought were private.  About the affair they’re having with a staffer, and the e-mails they’ve sent each other and the telephone calls between them--all part of their NSA record.  About the bribe they took for a vote.  About the information on their medical record--now converted into an electronic health record which the NSA can break into.  About lies they’ve told.  About their gambling habit.  No need to go on; you get the idea.”

“It doesn’t take much of a scandal or hint of weakness to derail a political career,” I mused.

“No, we definitely operate with a strange standard,” said Jimmy.  “‘For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God,’ according to the Good Book.    But that doesn’t help somebody at the ballot box.  And if the congressperson feels fairly secure about his or her own life--which sure isn’t guaranteed--, what about their spouse, their kids, their brothers and sisters?  When you get right down to it, we’re all vulnerable.  And now congresspeople are on notice.  If you don’t vote right,  if you try to stop the NSA or even make an effort to curtail its power, they can hurt you.  Really hurt you.  Your life is an open book to them, and they wouldn’t hesitate to make a best-seller out of it.”

“What’s gonna happen then?  Can the NSA keep on getting away with all this?  It’s like Big Brother on steroids!”

Jimmy frowned.  “It doesn’t look good,” he said.  “James Clapper, the Director of National Intelligence, lied under oath back in March of 2013, when Ron Wyden asked him if the NSA collected any type of data at all on millions or hundreds of millions of Americans.  ‘No sir... not wittingly,’ said Clapper.  Just three months later, in June, NSA director Keith Alexander lied to Congress when he claimed that 54 terrorist plots had been thwarted through use of mass phone surveillance.  Eventually Alexander admitted that the number 54 was entirely fictitious, that maybe one or two plots have been affected in some way.  At a bare minimum, both should have been fired immediately and the NSA reined in.  Both could and probably should have been charged with perjury and contempt of Congress.  But neither paid the slightest price for lying.  Which probably gives you a pretty good indication of the leverage they have over Congress.”

“I don’t get it, Jimmy,” I said.  “What you’re describing sounds more like a police state than the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

“Those are your words, not mine,” he said.  “I’d be careful not to use them in an e-mail or on a telephone.”

© Tony Russell, 2014

Feeling Insecure About the National Security Agency

Kevin burst in the door.  “Dad!  Mom!” he shouted.  “Mrs. Eleutheria has been arrested!  We had a substitute for Civics this morning, and they don’t know when she’ll be back.”

“Arrested!?” said Patty.  “Mrs. Eleutheria?  What in the world is that about?”

“Her daughter Janis is in our class.  She said four FBI agents came to their house at 6:30 this morning and made her mom go off with them.  Mrs. Eleutheria hadn’t even had her cup of coffee yet.  They told her she had been under surveillance and was being ‘detained on suspicion of terrorist activities’.”

“We’re all under surveillance,” I said.  “But terrorism?  Mrs. Eleutheria?  I never would have suspected her.  She actually seemed like a nice lady.”

“She is a nice lady,” said Kevin, “and she’s a great teacher.  She makes her class exciting.  She doesn’t just make you read the book and then answer the questions at the end of the chapter, like some of the other teachers do.  She gets you working together on understanding issues, so you end of doing all kinds of research on your own and really dig into them.”

“Did she have a secret life?” I wondered.  “Is she an Arab involved in some plot to blow up the Statue of Liberty or something?”

Patsy gave me that look--the one that causes the hair on the back of your neck to curl as if it has just been singed by a flame.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Ace,” she said, “We’ve known Helena Eleutheria since Janis and Kevin were in kindergarten together.  She’s more patriotic than either one of us.  Furthermore, she’s Greek, not Arab.  Also, there’s nothing wrong with being an Arab.  Stereotyping Arabs as terrorists is as dumb as stereotyping Americans as ill-mannered, ignorant, overweight tourists.  And I shouldn’t have to remind you that Mrs. Eleutheria is presumed innocent.  By our legal system and by you and me.  Are we together on all that?”

“Oh, absolutely,” I said hastily.  “I just, uh ....”

“Good,” she said.  Then she turned to Kevin.  “Did Janis have any more information?”

“She told us the FBI agents weren’t saying much.  But her dad thinks it may have to do with our class.”

“Your class?  What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s this video that all the kids have been looking at on the Internet, where Russell Brand tells a BBC guy that the current political system is corrupt, lopsided, and serves the interests of the ruling class.  He says voting is a waste of time because it’s rigged to present lousy choices.  People keep voting for the lesser of two evils, and things just keep getting more evil.  He says there’s going to be a revolution, that he doesn’t have ‘a flicker of doubt’.”  [The video Kevin refers to can be seen at http://www.commondreams.org/headline/2013/10/24-6.]

“I don’t know who Russell Brand is,” I said, “but what did that have to do with your Civics class?”

“You sort of have to understand how Mrs. Eleutheria teaches, Dad.  She listened to what kids had to say about the video, and then she asked us whether the criticisms Russell Brand made were valid.  She asked how we could determine whether they were valid--what resources we could use.  She asked us whether we should pay any attention to what someone says when he admits he’s never voted in his life.  She asked if there were other options instead of revolution.  She asked us whether people had a right to revolt, and if so, under what conditions.  She asked about violent revolutions versus nonviolent revolutions.  She had us read the Declaration of Independence in the back of our books, and asked us why the revolution that established this country took place, and whether the reasoning given then still applies.  She asked people in the class to form groups and each pick a revolution that has taken place since the American Revolution, and see why it occurred, how it was justified, what its tactics were, and how successful it was in correcting the things that caused it in the first place.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” said Patty.  “She took something kids were already fired up about, linked it to our own history and world history, led you to wrestle with a fundamental document, had you think about source materials, caused you to do some serious thinking and analysis, and asked you to arrive at a justifiable conclusion.  That’s just great teaching!”

“We were learning a lot,” agreed Kevin.  “Some of the connections kids were making were really neat.  For instance, one girl in class pointed out that Pope Francis is saying some of the same things that Russell Brand was saying.  Francis called the current economy ‘a betrayal of the common good.’  And he’s talked about the need for ecological commitment, saying that ‘Work must be connected to the custody of creation.’  When Russell Brand shares some key ideas with the Pope, it makes you think he’s not just ‘a trivial man,’ which is what the interviewer called him at one point.”

“I must be missing something,” said Patty.  “What’s the harm?  We’re talking about a Civics class, and all of this discussion sounds like a wonderful way to get kids really thinking about our government and our current political situation.” 

“Yeah,” said Kevin, “but there was all this talk about revolution, and people were posting on Facebook about it and tweeting on Twitter about it and conducting searches on the Internet about it and having live chats about it.  And all of those things are being spied on by the National Security Agency.  Maybe the people running the government start getting antsy when they hear ordinary people talking about revolution.”

“Let’s not get paranoid, Kevin,” I laughed.  “Once the FBI actually sits down and talks with Mrs. Eleutheria, she’ll be back in the classroom by tomorrow.”

He looked a little doubtful.  “I’m not so sure,” he said.  “According to Janis, her father said that believing our government is some kind of benign force promoting freedom and democracy at home and abroad can be a dangerous delusion.”

“He what?!”

“He told her to look up what we did to democracy in Iran,  Guatemala, the Congo, and Chile.”

“Surely you don’t think...,” I began.

“I don’t know, Dad,” said Kevin.  “The kids in my class are really worried about her mother.  We feel pretty insecure about the National Security Agency.”

“Um, you weren’t posting anything about a revolution on Facebook were you, Kevin?” I asked nervously.  “Or tweeting about it?  Or researching revolutions on the Internet?”

“Just a minute, Dad, I think there’s somebody at the door,” he said.

“What!”

“Ha!” he said.  “Made you jump, didn’t I?”

“Kevin,” I said angrily, “this is no laughing matter.”

© Tony Russell, 2013

On the Side of Terror

“Congressman, you have a noon meeting with a group of peace activists who want to talk with you about your position on Syria.  And I should warn you that there are some TV vans down in the parking lot.”

“Ouch!  I’m meeting with some big donors at 11, another group of donors at 1, I didn’t have breakfast, and it’s already 10:30.  That doesn’t leave much time to prepare, Sally, but I think I’ve got this Syrian thing down pat.  I’ll just run through some talking points with you right now to make sure I’ve got them straight.  I can ask the peace group for their input, listen to them for a while, make my statement, and fake the rest of it.”

“Okay.  Shoot.”

[Congressman, adopting a solemn tone]  “Syria is the newest battleground in the War on Terror.  Al-Qaeda organized the bombings of U.S. embassies in Tanzania and Kenya, as well as the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.  Like a cancer, it has spread its evil influence throughout Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, and now Syria.  It is number one on our list of terrorist organizations around the world. We cannot permit this menace to go unchecked.  We have fought terrorism in Afghanistan, in Iraq, and now we will not rest until we have eliminated the al-Qaeda movement in Syria.   [Pauses]  How’s that sound?”

“Uh, it sounds great, Congressman, just great.  One small correction, though, right at the end.”

“What’s that?”

“Well... in Syria, we’re supporting the al-Qaeda faction, not fighting against them.”

“What!  Are you sure about that?”

“Positive, sir.  The opposition to President Assad is now largely dominated by violent jihadist groups affiliated with al-Qaeda.”

“So this isn’t part of the War on Terror?”

“Apparently not, sir.  If it is, we’re now on the side of Terror.”

“Okay.  Scratch that.  How the devil could a thing like that happen?  It makes no sense!  What is the reason we’re so hellbent on attacking Syrian government forces, then?”

“The administration claims that Assad’s use of chemical weapons crossed a red line, sir.”

“What red line was that?  Who drew a red line?”

“President Obama says the world drew a red line when countries signed a treaty banning chemical weapons.  But ‘the world‘ didn’t decide to launch an attack on Syria for using them--just the U.S.  Which would make this a first.  So far there has never been a country that simply took it upon itself to attack another country for using chemical weapons. ”

“Well, regardless of who drew the red line, we should have the President’s back on this one.  The use of chemical weapons is horrible, inhumane, and a clear violation of international law.  That’s my position.”

“I think everyone agrees that chemical weapons are abominable, sir.  But there’s a complication with that approach that you might want to consider--well, several of them, actually.”

[Glancing at his watch, getting a little tense as he feels time slipping away]  “Can you give me a simple version of the complications?”

“I’ll try, sir. You mentioned that the use of chemical weapons is a clear violation of international law.  But if we were to attack Syria, that would also be a violation of international law, because Syria hasn’t attacked the U.S., and the UN Security Council hasn’t authorized the U.S. to carry out an attack.”

“So you’re saying it would be hypocritical of us to claim Syria violated international law, and then go ahead and violate it ourselves?”

“I did my best to avoid using that word, sir.”

“What are the other complications?”

“Well, we knowingly supplied Saddam Hussein with materials to make chemical weapons during their war with Iraq, back during the Reagan  administration.  So our hands aren’t exactly clean on the chemical weapons issue.  And our own forces used white phosphorus and depleted-uranium munitions when we attacked Iraq.”

“Sounds to me as if you’re saying we’re being hypocritical again.”

“I don’t know what to say, sir.  You asked me to lay out the facts.  That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

“Okay, okay.  But the facts certainly aren’t very helpful.  Any more complications?”

“A rather large one, I’m afraid.  The opposition forces in Syria also have chemical weapons, and may have used them.  Reports are also emerging that they have carried out bloody massacres, executed prisoners in cold blood, raped women, beheaded babies, and buried villagers with their throats cut in mass graves.”

“They what!?  And these are the people we’re supplying and supporting?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’re sure of these things?”

“The facts seem to be well established, I’m afraid.”

“Damn it!  I listen to our intelligence briefings, I read the White House press releases, I saw John Kerry praise the opposition in front of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, I pay attention to what Nancy Pelosi and John Boehner have to say.  So why is it that all of this stuff you’re telling me is news to me?”

“Uh, I really can’t say, sir.”

“Do you suppose it’s classified for national security purposes?”

“All of this has been widely reported in the world press, Congressman. There are even videos of some of these things on YouTube.”

“Listen, the White House and our congressional leaders need to get this information right away.  Type it up with footnotes and references, and draw up a cover letter over my signature.”

“Um, begging your pardon, but I’m pretty sure they already have this information.”

“What makes you think that?  Maybe they don’t read the world press or watch YouTube.”

“Maybe not, sir, but with the hundreds of billions of dollars we spend on gathering intelligence, and with the NSA’s monitoring of e-mails, phone calls, computer searches, and the like for foreign embassies, the UN, governments around the globe, and everyone else you can think of, surely they’re aware of these things.”

“But there must be some mistake!  How can you explain these... discrepancies between the values we’re claiming and the actions we’re taking?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Congressman.  I don’t make policy or speeches.  I just work here.”

“Well I’ll tell you one thing, Sally.  I don’t care what the leadership says, I’m meeting with the peace group in a little over an hour, with TV cameras running, and there’s no way in hell I’m going out there to come down on the side of a bunch of extremist, undemocratic al-Qaeda war criminals.”

“At this point, Congressman, I’m probably supposed to encourage you to do the cautious, politic thing.  But the truth is, sometimes you make me remember why I actually voted for you myself.”

© Tony Russell, 2013

Those Crazy Conspiracy Theories

The routine never varies here, so I was startled when there was a knock, followed immediately by a key turning in the door.  “It’s not time for breakfast yet,” I told Henry, the massive attendant.

“Get dressed anyway,” he told me.  “The Director wants you in his office in fifteen minutes.”

I’m a little slow on the uptake because of the meds.  “What does he want?  Did somebody report me for a violation?  Am I in trouble?”

He just shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Whatever it is, I’ve got half a dozen other patients he wants to see after you, so get a move on.”  And he slammed the door and left.

There wasn’t time to shave or shower--not at the rate I move nowadays--so I just pulled on my clothes, which was a struggle, because I’ve gained twenty pounds since I came here.  I was still combing my hair when Henry returned to escort me to the head man’s office.

To my surprise, the Director, who has always had an air of knowing what reality is, and he’s quite comfortable in it, thank you, looked a bit flustered.  “Charles,” he said, “you need to pack your things.  You’re being released at 10 AM.”

That stunned me.  The wheels in my brain roll through molasses, and it took me a while to process this unexpected turn. “Today?  This morning?  After all this time?  What’s going on?”

He looked decidedly uncomfortable.  “The Board has reviewed your record and decided there’s reason to believe your diagnosis is.. um,,, inappropriate.”

“My paranoia?  Those ‘crazy conspiracy theories’?”

He flinched, then nodded.

“When I thought somebody was listening to my telephone conversations?  And reading my e-mail?”

Another nod.

“And recording my Internet searches?  And tracking where my car went?”

He was looking increasingly awkward--a word I never thought I would apply to someone so self-assured.  Another nod.

“And those new members inside our environmental group chapter that I thought were government informers?”

“Yes.”

“And those people taking photos of our Occupy movement at the park?  And my suspicions that feds were gathering info on us and then sharing it with the banks, and the university, and the local police?”

He squirmed.  “Yes.”

“And the secret police--the NSA--lying to Congress about collecting information on millions of U.S. citizens?”

Yet another nod.

“And our government’s snatching people off the street without charges and not telling their families where they are or allowing them any legal representation and then hauling them off to secret sites in chains, with sacks over their heads, and torturing them repeatedly?”

Now he was actually sweating.  “Yes.”

“And the President’s having a list of people to be murdered using little remotely-guided drone aircraft?”

He just stood there, red-faced.

“And those same drones being deployed all over this country to spy on us?”

Once again he said nothing.

“But you’ve told me all along that I’m sick!” I pleaded.  “That I have ‘systematized delusions’ driven by ‘irrational fears and anxieties,’  that I’ve been seeing ‘threats that don’t really exist’!”

He gave a nervous cough.  “That judgment is now inoperative.”

“Inoperative?”

“No longer in effect.”

“I know what it means.  You’re saying all those bizarre things are actually happening?  That I’m not suffering from delusions?”

“Documentation now exists to substantiate all of those occurrences,” he said, his hands beginning to tremble.  “When they’re facts, they’re obviously no longer delusions.”

My hands have been shaking for years now; I recognized the symptoms. “I liked your version of reality better,” I reassured him.  “There was always some comfort in thinking maybe I was crazy.”

“‘Reality’s just another word for someone else is screwed,” he said, with some sadness, then came around the desk, shook my hand, and wished us both good luck.  My time was up.

© Tony Russell, 2013