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At the end of World War I, lawyer-sociologist Max Weber took a close look at the relationship between Germany’s defeat and its leadership’s manic attitudes about state secrecy. Government had used national security concerns to strangle the nation’s nascent democratic institutions, Weber concluded. They had used security classifications to stifle democratic debate and even discussion within the nation’s own bureaucracy. He didn’t question the need for caution about military secrets in wartime. But Weber noted that for every legitimate invocation of secrecy concerns for military purposes, there were a dozen illegitimate claims designed to cover up matters which were politically embarrassing, or actually even corrupt and criminal.
In the age of Bush, America had an opportunity to learn for itself the truth of Weber’s theory. A good example comes in the operations of the intelligence community. Under a pervasive cloak of state secrecy, politically wired senior figures were able to develop a flourishing corrupt relationship with contractors. More details emerged today from sentencing memoranda filed in the case of former CIA No. 3 Dusty Foggo (whose case has been discussed at length by my colleague Ken Silverstein):
The documents provide an unusually detailed account of his misdeeds within the top ranks of the nation’s clandestine service. They recount how Foggo’s colleagues repeatedly accused him of improper liaisons with foreign nationals, how he allegedly assaulted a foreigner who bumped his car, and how — from his perch at CIA headquarters as executive director — he bullied the agency’s office of general counsel into hiring his subperforming longtime mistress and then transferred the woman’s complaining supervisor. For nearly three years, Foggo concealed that his childhood friend Brent Wilkes was the principal figure behind a company for which he had arranged lucrative CIA contracts for supplies and aviation services. The improper deals were exposed in part because Wilkes was separately bribing a congressman. The FBI raided Wilkes’s offices in 2005 in that probe, eventually laying bare his extensive and secret ties to Foggo and the CIA, according to the government’s account.
Foggo’s deceits wasted more than $1 million in public money, according to a long and angry memo filed by three prosecutors with the acting U.S. attorney in San Diego, who oversaw the probe and wants U.S. District Judge James C. Cacheris to impose a stiff sentence. But the account also raises new questions about how a field officer who repeatedly set off ethical alarms was able to ascend in 2004 to a position where for nearly two years he oversaw the CIA’s day-to-day worldwide intelligence-gathering operations.
But is the investigation and prosecution of Dusty Foggo evidence that the system can contain the problem, notwithstanding secrecy? Hardly. Among other things, the U.S. Attorney who pressed the matter and brought Foggo to justice, Carol Lam, was dismissed, and the Justice Department’s own internal probe points to substantial evidence that the dismissal was for improper, politically-motivated reasons. Her inquiries were apparently bringing her close to information that powerful figures in the Bush White House wanted to keep secret.
More from Scott Horton:
Conversation — March 30, 2016, 3:44 pm
Joseph Hickman discusses his new book, The Burn Pits, which tells the story of thousands of U.S. soldiers who, after returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, have developed rare cancers and respiratory diseases.
The new docudrama The People v. O. J. Simpson: American Crime Story (FX) isn’t really about Orenthal James Simpson. It’s about the trials that ran alongside his — those informal, unboundaried, court-of-public-opinion trials in which evidence was heard for and against the murder victims, the defense and the prosecution, the judge, the jury, and the Los Angeles Police Department, to say nothing of white and black America. History has freed us from suspense about Simpson’s verdict, so that the man himself (played here by Cuba Gooding Jr.) is less the tragic hero he seemed in the mid-Nineties than a curiously minor character. He comes to the center of our attention only once, in Episode 2, at the end of the lengthy Ford Bronco chase scene — which in real life was followed by a surreal cavalcade of police cars and media helicopters, as well as an estimated 95 million live viewers — when Simpson repeatedly, and with apparent sincerity, apologizes for taking up so much of so many people’s time. It is an uncannily ordinary moment of social decorum, a sort of could-you-please-pass-the-salt gesture on a sinking Titanic, in which Simpson briefly becomes more than just an archetype.
Amount an auditor estimated last year that Oregon could save each year by feeding prisoners less food:
Kentucky is the saddest state.
An Italian economist was questioned on suspicion of terrorism after a fellow passenger on an American Airlines flight witnessed him writing differential equations on a pad of paper.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”