POST-SCRIPT . . .

I keep forgetting to tell you ... I am currently reading a book (I know, I know, I haven't gotten through half of "Truman" yet, but I'm getting there!) entitled Body of Secrets: Anatomy of the Ultra-Secret National Security Agency From the Cold War Through the Dawn of a New Century," by James Bamford (also author of "The Puzzle Palace," which is next on my list, naturally).

People like me should not be reading books like this, because I believe everything I read. There are spies among us? I believe it. My government listens in on my telephone conversations? I believe it. Agents sit holed up in windowless cement rooms unencrypting international communications, at this very moment? I believe it. The United States spies on its allies? I believe it. Agents sit in hovering aircraft watching wars unfold and tape recording every moment? I believe it. Agents can't tell people what they do for a living and their only friends are other NSA employees who also can't tell people what they do for a living? I believe it. The United States and the Soviet Union came THIS CLOSE to World War III dozens of times? I believe it. The American government was going to unleash terror on its own people and blame it on Fidel Castro? I believe it.

I believe it, and I LOVE it. That sounds like a terrible thing to say, but it's not really. I thrill to the thought that technology is so advanced and so beyond my ken, that events occur or don't occur, and tragedies are averted, and world civilization lives on in tight equilibrium, thanks to those who are intelligent and learned enough to keep us going, in secret. I thrill to the idea that these agents have the world's very life in their hands, and they commit their lives to anonymous and dangerous and intense service, never being thanked or acknowledged or recognized. I am amazed that the nations of this world spy on each other, and in so doing, maintain a fragile peace driven mostly by deterrence. I chuckle nervously at how countries go around flicking each other in the forehead, back and forth and back and forth, and we are only just learning about all the behind-the-scenes maneuvering that prevents the flicking from turning into nuclear bombing. I marvel at those who dedicated years to breaking codes, winning wars, obtaining intelligence. I spit upon those who turn on their countries for financial gain. And of course, I question my role as a citizen of this world, where nothing can be taken at face value, where our reality is probably largely fabricated, and where asking questions creates even more questions.

I LOVE this book.