Comey Consciousness: Been There, Done That

Until about a year ago, there was a big manila envelope ‘way down in the bottom of my filing cabinet that contained a stack of memos, letters, copies of grant applications and other correspondence.

On top of the stack, was a “narrative” explaining what the stack represented and why it had been compiled. And that narrative sounded just like the opening statement James Comey released the night before he testified.

I compiled that stack of info when I was Federal Programs Director for a small reservation school district in which two administrators had gone “rogue.” They were a husband and wife team who’d begun as teachers and gradually worked their way into administrative positions.

They had their eyes on the two top jobs, though. And had decided that the easiest way to get them would be to make the two people who already had them seem totally incompetent.

This wouldn’t be easy, because I and the other target had received stellar evaluations for several years. We had also created systems that worked, which is no small feat on a reservation. Hence, the kudos.

For a while, they cooed at and courted us both, to see if they could pit us against each other by dropping little snitty remarks. Like, “He’s a great guy, but…I don’t think he appreciates you,” or “She’s really good at her job, but…she’s kinda bossy, don’t you think?”

When the divide and conquer thing didn’t work, they bumped it up a notch. In my case, grant renewal forms and other important correspondence went missing, jeopardizing the millions of Bureau of Indian Affairs funding upon which the entire district depended. Plainly put, if those forms didn’t make it to D.C. by their various deadlines, the district would have to shut down.

Luckily, most of the secretarial staff were locals related to my Hopi husband in one way or another. So one day, a concerned relation handed me a big cardboard box that one of the schemers kept hidden away somewhere, and said, simply, “Go through this,” over her shoulder as she walked out of my office.

The missing paperwork, and much more, was in that box.

I removed only what I needed, and had her put it back where she’d found it. And once they discovered that my missing papers had been retrieved, the two culprits were shamed and shaken. I knew. But I hadn’t told.

Why? What was I up to?

Actually, nothing. I just wanted to keep that funding secure so all those kids could keep going to school every day. And okay, yeah, I enjoyed watching them squirm.

But I began writing memos — long, detailed memos — documenting every interaction I had with the two plotters, from that day on. One stack I locked away in my office. The other I took home and locked in that file cabinet. And when I left the job and the rez, I wrote that narrative I told you about, anticipating an investigation or even litigation of some kind in the not too distant future.

Both happened. But my documents spoke for me. I never had to testify.

So like Comey, I didn’t “stand up to” the schemers or go through the prescribed channels to report what was happening. Also like Comey, I’m not entirely sure why.

I suspect there’s something about working for the “feds” or about being a bureaucrat, I guess, that does that to you. When there’s something sinister going down, you just want to “CYA,” and make sure that you document everything.

I think it may be because there’s always something sinister going down. And you don’t really know who to trust. No one ever reacts to bad news the way you hope they will.

They’re afraid the powers that be will think they’re not able to hold down the fort. Or they get mad at you just for being the bearer of that bad news.

Things are supposed to just chug along, in a big government bureaucracy. The guys at the top really don’t want to hear about the little glitches in the system. They just want the years to march right along ’til it’s time to collect those coveted government retirement benefits.

So you hunker in your bunker and make sure there’s a paper trail that leads you out of the thick of things.

But I know this for sure. When your boss, be it a district superintendent or the President of the United States, sends everyone out of the room or pulls you aside and “suggests” something to you, you know what s/he means. You’re being asked to do something you probably shouldn’t do. Off the record, maybe, but the intent is clear.

I don’t think that’s something only the feds do, I think that’s universal. And savvy bureaucrats write that shit down and put it somewhere safe.

So as I listened to pundits sighing that Comey should’ve just told Trump to his face how inappropriate his veiled “ask” was, I smiled quietly.

They were right.

But I know Comey Consciousness firsthand, me. It’s how they “do” in D.C. And in the end, in some cases, it works really well. In a weird, sort of understated — and yes, underhanded — way.

You bide your time. You wait your turn. You look for openings, opportune moments that will have a whole lot more impact than just following protocol. Because you don’t know who to tell. Or what will happen if you trust someone else with what you know.

So all we need now are just a few more stacks of documents in a few more filing cabinets over there that document questionable conversations like the ones Comey had with Trump. And a few more brave souls decide they’re willing to do what Comey did with at least one of the documents in his stack so we can follow that paper trail right out of the nightmare we’re living right now.

Yeah, that Comey Consciousness dies hard, dunnit?

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Comey Consciousness: Been There, Done That was originally published in Extra Newsfeed on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.