Riding towards calm

Yesterday was frenetic. All cylinders firing and no focus. There are so many things on my brain right now and a corresponding tendency to let my racing heart, and the tightening in my chest dictate my emotions and decisions. But I don't want to do that. I want to make the best decisions - not the ones that are driven by desire or expediency.

I sold the wooden wardrobe from Italy to some guy named Dave on Craigslist. It was the last hold-out for my Apartment storage cage. Now the darned thing is empty and I can stop paying the rental fee.

I didn't want to get caught in the same trap of mindlessness today - so I got on the bicycle and road to Bethesda for a sushi lunch. Afterwards sat on a bench and did a 24 minute seated meditation. This turned out to be important. My racing heart eventually slowed, and the breathing became more regular.

I biked to Georgetown then, and waited for Shelley to join me. Salad, fish, Pinot Grigio, then home again.

boxes

I spent the day moving things. Rented a storage unit, bought boxes and tape, and started dumping things into boxes. Lots of lifting. Lots of climbing. Physically exhausted now. Took the car back to Shelley but was too tired to bring my bicycle for a ride back. Walked to the metro. walked home. Must sleep.

Moving on

Up early this morning to take Shelly to the train station. She spent the night in my apartment because the ceiling in her bedroom is being patched. I'm glad she was here. Some of my old fears are back and I need the company.

There were entire months in 2012 when I worried someone might try to harm me, when I kept a go-bag tucked under my desk with 1,500 Euro, a toothbrush, and a passport, when I stashed my electronics in the closets of friends and in the lock boxes on the base so my evidence wouldn't suddenly disappear from my home. I don't know that the boys from MIVD would have actually physically harmed me, but I don't know that they wouldn't have. I always waited for the day when I might be snatched from the street, and I knew that I would kick and punch and scratch and bite and get some piece of someone under my nails and in my mouth. Now I have another rogue element: a person in my old company who has the long memory and bad intention to fuck with my accesses years later. What motivated this sudden maliciousness? Why wait all this time, and then malign my reputation?

It could be a matter of routine: someone getting promoted needed to make sure all the loose ends were tied up, so they shot a hole in my reputation to limit my ability to come after them with a lawsuit. Or, it could be a single individual with a grudge, irritated that I didn't agree to their characterization of me, irritated to see the image I project on LinkedIN: successful and well-respected. If it is the latter, then I have more to worry about than this single stealth attack. Someone has some personal grudge and they're going to harm me if they can.

Without any justification for the statement, I'll say it feels "female" to me. With the exception of MIVD (or other cowards), men will generally fight you to your face. You'll each get in a few punches, shake hands and walk away. I tend to be more "male" that way - a direct confrontation. In contrast, this feels sneaky to me. Because I can't guess the motivations, I can't plan for their TTPs. I've had to take a few precautions to make it more difficult to fuck with me. I hate that I have to do this. 

This will not be a short process - clearing my name. I won't find resolution any time soon. I've filed the appropriate paperwork to begin to seek help, so I need to stay mentally healthy while the machine grinds on. This has been difficult. The knowledge of how this recent action will affect my life feels like someone is sitting on my chest. I go for long walks, lift weights, ride my bicycle, talk with friends, and meditate. Anything to stay physically and mentally well.

I ran a few errands today - divested myself of some books at the book bank, mailed some DVDs and clothes to my sisters, I picked up boxes and I'll start packing up my things -taking them to storage. I can't afford to stay here anymore. I've spent all my money and can't stay and perpetually play catch-up. In the best case scenario, I get back to zero. That's no way to live. There are too many things I want to do, too many projects to be part of and fix, I'm not going to waste my time on the things that don't matter. I've tried to recover things that were lost, and I couldn't do that. I'm finished here. When I wrote to E last month, the clock began to tick down for me. That was the most important in a series of realizations. And now I know I'm done. I need to leave. I'm not supposed to be here anymore.

Stuff doesn't matter so much to me. I'm going to get rid of as much as I can. Whatever I do next, I can live a spartan life. Hell, I wanted to live in a tent in the desert with a bunch of dudes fighting bad guys - so I'm probably fine with an intermediate solution: something that is tidy and small and that lets me do something interesting in the work hours.

My friend Maggie is expecting her first child in a week. I'll be able to meet the new little guy, maybe spend time at her house, helping her get settled in. I want my friends and family to be okay and comfortable and to have good relationships with their children. I wish that being around their children wasn't so difficult for me. I wish that part of my soul didn't have such a ragged wound in it. Maybe some day it will heal.

Prayer for S

May you be safe from harm.
May you be free of suffering.
May you be healed, where healing is needed.
May you experience peace.

I love you.

Sunlight and Bicycle ride

I needed to be on the bicycle by 0900 this morning to meet Joy for coffee downtown at 1000. At 0400 when I was still not sleeping, I thought, "crumb. I'm never going to be able to wake up in time." But anxiety is the best alarm clock.
In my sleep I stacked and sorted and dreamed up universes where there was never a privacy invasion, where Sjors and I were left alone, where I did not now have to fight the 32nd-order-effects resulting from that malicious genesis. I dreamed about my former employer and wondered why they would make such an effort to attack my reputation and ability to work now. It seems nonsensical from a business perspective. What could have roused such malevolence? I think my crime was my lack of penitence. I refused to adhere to their archetype of a repentant sinner. I'd done nothing wrong. I was not ashamed. I refused to wear the "A" stitched on my shirt. I will not repent for loving someone. I will not repent for defending myself against a criminal attack.
I woke unassisted at 0748. My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it. The arteries in my neck throbbed painfully.
Joy found a nice cafe where there were chocolate almond croissants and beautiful cappuccinos. We chatted, then strolled to Logan circle where we talked some more and did a 10 minute breathing meditation together.
Meditation calms me, brings me back to the present.

Difficult and dark

It isn't really surprising that today was a difficult one. I could have predicted it: after yesterday's mad rush to find answers - to learn how deep the damage goes, and to identify its nature.

I didn't want to have to fight again. I've never wanted to fight. I only wanted to be left in peace. But here I am, once again, fists raised. This is no way to live, tensed for another battle. But what's the alternative? Give up on ever having a meaningful career? No. I must fight.

Last night was a bad one. I was up at 3AM, pacing the apartment like a caged animal. I'm trying to breathe because this is important. There is a perpetual disagreement between my old coping mechanisms (ruminating, running, bicycling like a maniac, researching, and producing) and the skills I've recently acquired: mindfulness, and meditation. With the exception of a 4AM meditation in order to sleep again, I'm afraid my old coping mechanisms won the day.

Today I got out of the house as quickly as possible. I got into the sunlight and strolled. I went to Whole Foods and got bread, milk, eggs and spinach.

I filed a report tonight. I should have done it months ago - but I wanted to leave well enough alone.

Chapter Twelve: Analysis

Before the boys from the MIVD invaded my life, I assumed covert intelligence operations were necessary for national (and international) security.  Throughout my interactions with Sjors and during my correspondence with Mac and his group, I presumed their work was necessary. I even considered the MIVD’s invasion of my privacy as justified if they truly thought I was a security threat. In fact, I often felt irritated because I thought the group wasn’t doing their job competently. If these men were part of the team designated to protect us from the next terrorist attack, I sure as hell didn’t want them to be amateurs. In the words of Dr. Anneke Sibyl: “If I can see you doing it, you aren’t doing it right.”

As I review the narrative in these pages, I’ve begun to question this assumption. So I ask now: does the United States and its allies have the right intelligence organizations and practices necessary to identify and counter existing and emergent threats to national and international security?

I address this analysis at the United States and its allies.

There’s no question the nature of the threat has changed.  In the past two decades, the Cold War dynamic has given way to asymmetric threats arising from non-state actors. Small groups with limited resources, united in ideology or criminal enterprise, have wielded devastating disproportionate effect on civilian populations and superior militaries.  Al Qaeda, AQIM, Al Shabaab, Boko Haram, and ISIS/ISIL (or DAESH) are a few organizations whose names we know from their barbaric attacks on civilian “soft” targets, their fanatical dedication to impose extremist ideology on the rest of the world, and their frighteningly effective terror campaigns.

The success of these organizations reflects their use of what is known in military circles as fourth generation warfare. That is, the battleground is broad and dispersed, with no distinction between “civilian” and “military” targets. Such groups use existing technology to recruit, directly attack Western culture, and conduct highly sophisticated psychological warfare campaigns and terror operations.  To counter this fourth generation threat, intelligence agencies must gain timely and actionable information about the plans and personnel within these groups, while countering the ideological campaigns which promote and support their activities. This requires a high level of dynamism and reach, and a singular urgency because failure of intelligence means loss of life.

Unfortunately, practices of intelligence organizations often have unintended negative consequences, or “blowback” which expose the U.S. and its allies to increased instability, international hostility, and terrorism. Revelations about large scale meta-data collection by the NSA have resulted in loss of public trust and support. Drone strikes have resulted in civilian casualties, terror, and psychological harm, spawning a new generation of people who distrust us and are, therefore, less sympathetic to our efforts and more likely to harbor our enemies; imprisonment has radicalized and networked people who would not otherwise be a threat; the morally repugnant CIA torture program has damaged lives and cost the U.S. the moral high ground; spy programs in “friendly” countries have cost the U.S. the trust and support of our allies.  These second- and third- order effects of covert operations are particularly dangerous because they undermine our ability to succeed against terror groups. We require the support and collaborative efforts of global partners and we require the trust and self-reporting of societies and groups that would otherwise harbor or breed terrorists. 

I argue that the existing intelligence programs are ineffective in identifying and countering the threat, not because they receive insufficient support and advocacy from lawmakers but because, even in their best and most optimum functioning, they cannot be expected to adequately address the threat. Indeed, they aren’t designed to do so.

Our current intelligence organizations and methods were forged in the paradigms of the Cold War. In the state-versus-state model, each group has a disincentive to escalate (since escalation would result in deadly consequences for both), and there is a central power who can choose to disregard or take offense from covert actions, control blowback from covert operations, and with whom we can negotiate. An unsteady, “cold” equilibrium may be reached with our opponent. The current paradigm has no such controls. Our enemies have no national interest and no disincentive to escalate; there is no “truce” that can be reached because the ideology of our enemies requires our complete destruction. Terrorists are embedded parasitically in local populations which they use for sustenance and human shields, and they leverage fear, hostility, and superstition to radicalize indigenous populations. A traditional war of attrition isn’t possible in this paradigm since collateral damage from our covert action and attacks are used by terrorists as political motivation to foment hostility towards the West and perpetually replenish their ranks. 

In spite of this altered human terrain and the severity of the unintended consequences of our actions, we seem reluctant to reexamine our assumptions about using methods that were developed in a different era for a different enemy.  Instead, we feel an increased urgency and a corresponding willingness to bend the rules or trammel individual liberties. We “double down” on our intelligence investment. After all, what’s the alternative?  How can we fight an expanding and dynamic enemy without a proportional investment in intelligence personnel and technology?

Consider that the investments in intelligence operations should be qualitatively different than those required during the Cold War. In the Cold War, intelligence value was proportional to technological improvements. Spy planes and satellites and signals interception could give valuable information.  But our enemies now are more subtle and defeat our technology using simplistic, even primitive methods.  They operate in complex human, sociological, cultural landscapes: environments that don’t loan themselves well to technological solutions.  Even the largest and best-funded and technologically enabled intelligence service will never be able to be in all places, understanding local context and countering all threats. We can certainly manipulate or buy information or supporters to obtain greater coverage. But instrumentalist relationships as fostered by intelligence operators are not long-lived and will inevitably turn with shifting political winds or when a higher bidder comes along.

What we need for long-term protection, access, and information are genuine relationships and collaborations. We want partners we can trust to look out for our interests, understand local human terrain well-enough to identify and subvert threats, and proactively protect us, even when we don’t know to ask for it. Unfortunately, practitioners of intelligence operations are trained to lie and deceive as a matter of course. If we want true trust partnerships with allies, these are not the men to create them.

In reconstructing the events in this book, I was struck by the bizarre contrast between the philosophy and practices of the MIVD and those of the U.S. military capacity building mission, APS.

From its inception, APS was designed as a “Transparent” mission.  Ship deployment schedules were unclassified, and military “partners” from dozens of countries were encouraged to collaborate on an internet-based communications portal. Staffs were comprised of mixed European, African, South-American, and U.S. personnel. At its largest, the APS mission included multiple international naval ships and training efforts. The objective of the mission was to “improve the capacity” of local maritime institutions. There’s some evidence that this occurred. But, more important than this, APS provided an excuse for like-minded personnel in worldwide militaries to meet, work together, and build personal relationships, collaborations, and lines of communication.

Unlike covert operations which are founded in deception and which promote instrumentalist relationships, the transparency of missions like APS foster trusting and lasting relationships. Naomi and I understood this in Dakar in 2013 as we realized our best chance for security in the event of an attack against our hotel rested with our trusted Senegalese military partners. I haven’t been involved in the APS mission since I left Naples in the summer of 2013, but the relationships and collaborations continue and I’ve watched as our African and European partners identify enemies and fight battles that would otherwise come to our doorstep. I receive calls and messages from African Partners who share the “ground truth” of their situations with me, including Cameroonian Special forces operators fighting Boko Haram in Northern Cameroon. I suspect that the quality of actionable intelligence would be improved if operators didn’t feel compelled to somehow trick it out of the unsuspecting rubes; if relationships with our partners were frank and open and collaborative, rather than coercive or secret.

Relationship building has traditionally been seen as the role of the Department of State. But the Department of State is a diplomatic, not operational, entity. Real, actionable, relationships are created when the relationship is mutually beneficial to all operators. Therefore I suggest that there needs to be a new breed of intelligence operators – men and women who are trained in transparency, rather than deception, who work openly and frankly to build long-term relationships and collaborations with their counterparts in foreign militaries and law enforcement organizations.

There is still a role for “traditional” covert action as practiced by civilian organizations such as the CIA, and military organizations such as the MIVD. In the asymmetric battlefield, there is a need to infiltrate terrorist organizations and target bad actors. This requires deception and ethically ambiguous action. But widespread use or misuse of intelligence capabilities should be sharply reined in – not only because such practices are unethical but because they are often ineffective in the current threat environment, or even counter-productive to our security.

The MIVD’s illegal intrusive actions in my life were frightening because of the insouciance of the practitioners. These men were accustomed to deception and invasion and felt no hesitation in deploying their methods and techniques against someone who obviously posed no real threat. This was specifically in violation of Article 13 of the Dutch constitution which protects the right of privacy (specifically, the privacy of correspondence and the privacy of telephone). I was appalled by the casual manner of the manipulation and coercive tactics used against Sjors, and the damage and invasion of my personal life and career. 

According to ethicist Dr. David Perry, proponents of Intelligence operations suggest that the role of intelligence officers in countering grave external threats is thought to excuse them from certain ordinary moral constraints. It offends my sensibilities to know that the actions of the MIVD which had such devastating personal and professional impact cannot be justified under any claim of necessity. In fact, my role in assisting the Dutch military in their capacity building mission, African Winds, a mission that served Dutch interests, was cut short because of the illegal and pointless interference by the MIVD.

In this analysis, I’ve avoided talking about Sjors because our experiences represent a greater truth that needs to be told. I will talk about him now. There are no words to describe what it meant to lose him. I don’t know what became of Sjors, but not a day passes that he is not on my mind. Time hasn’t diminished the peculiar way he lives in my heart. The pain I feel is not only because I miss him, but because I hate what his organization did to him.

The Sjors I came to know was an intelligent, driven, patriotic, and remarkable man. Intellectually curious and ethically evolved, he came from a heritage of men and women who sabotaged Nazi endeavors, and smuggled and supported the displaced and the threatened. His intention in joining the MIVD was a noble one.  So, how was it that he was twisted and manipulated and used? Why did his organization deploy coercive methods against him, driving him to fear for his children? The practices of intelligence organizations generally include an element of coercion when it comes to agents or targets. It’s bizarre, tragic, and ironic that they deployed these tactics on one of their own.

My concern about the disproportionate emphasis we place on clandestine and covert intelligence operations, and the massive latitude we give these groups, is that they are not as effective as we expect them to be in securing our objective. Surely, these groups and their practices deserve another dispassionate look before we accept the traditional assumptions. At the very least, our criticism should be roused when the procedures of national covert intelligence organizations harm its practitioners or endanger or undermine the purpose they claim to serve. 

not a victim

I received some upsetting news this evening: MIVD's lie is the gift that keeps on giving. There's a "red flag"in an important database - and it blocks me from a job that I would otherwise get.

I feel strangely calm as I pull the thread on this latest piece of particular nastiness. This isn't the first time I've been slimed, and it wont be the last.

Last summer, when I began to write my after-action report on the events involving MIVD's illegal privacy invasion, I didn't realize how valuable this record would be. It's important for historical records, for legal records, and for personal peace of mind. I have a calm confidence that I've done nothing wrong. This is an important truth to know.

Victimization occurs when the target begins to internalize and believe that he/she somehow deserved or earned an abuse or attack. From a psychological perspective this makes sense because we wish to believe we have some control over our fates. When that control is taken away, we create a paradigm where we haven't lost control. "Its my fault because I didn't do such-and-fro carefully enough." "I deserved this."

But I know that this was not of my doing. This was not my choice. Bad things happened to me, but I did not ask for them. And I didn't behave badly. I will not be your victim.

Job interviews

I've sent out dozens of applications and now the interviews begin. I don't know where I'll go next, what I'll be. But it feels good to be moving on to the next thing. This slow trod, trying to recover the work that mattered to me: it may be over soon.

Decision

Another day at the office. Another set of mindless meetings. I'm half-asleep in my life now. I don't even half-try. I can't muster the will to care.
Went to the Marine base after work per my usual, ran, lifted weights. My brother called me as I drove home.
"You don't have to stay," he said. "You can leave anytime you want. You have an outrageously bizarre resume. If you could do whatever you wanted, what would you do?"
I thought back to my time aboard the Rotterdam, climbing ropes and shooting weapons with the Frogmen. I thought about working with Pcat, supporting operations. If I could have done it, I would have gone with them in a heartbeat.
"I would be operational," I told him. "I don't care where in the world. I would be operational, provide real-time analytical support to the tip of the spear."
"Then do it," he said.
Okay. I'm ready.

Its now been two years since MIVD took everything away and I haven't been able to regain even a centimeter. I've spent every dime trying to get the business started, trying to support operations in Africa, and haven't gotten anywhere. I'm in tremendous debt. I can't spend another winter here. I only came here because I thought I could regain ground. But I've lost everything and keep losing. I have to cut my losses. I have to leave. I have to get out of here.

I thought maybe I could build a normal life. But between the business failure and my inability to attach romantically (which I now understand) I can't expect that will ever happen. I will not ever be married. I will not ever have children. Sjors is gone. He isn't coming back. I will be alone. I understand that now. If I can't be normal, if I can't have what normal people have, then I need to go someplace where my life has meaning. I need to go where my life matters. It doesn't matter here, and I can't spend another winter in this place. I need to get out before the days start to shorten and the cold moves in.

Eve has a job, so she isn't relying on me anymore. That was my last real hang-up. I've started to reach out to my contacts. I'll find something as quickly as I can. I'll put everything in storage. Then I'm out.

A realization

It was 3AM before I went to bed last night. 4:30 before I could sleep. I've spent a very busy week and couldn't even tell  you what I did. I've been out of the house more than ever. Late at night: downtown walking around, visiting sites, having drinks with strangers, staying out until the bars and restaurants closed. I told myself, "This is healthy. This is what normal people do. Aren't you supposed to go out and do things?"

I stayed out all night Thursday. Friday. Saturday nights. At a bar, I met a nice looking man in his thirties. Considered trying to date him. That he is completely inappropriate (e,g, immature, an alcoholic, and fucking his foul-mouthed work partner) didn't dissuade me. I was driven by an agitated, cold, and detached energy.On Friday night I had midnight pizzas with three people I'd only just met. Last night, I walked city streets until I was exhausted and my feet were blistered.  At home, I tried to work on my laptop. I flitted from one task to the next. I lay in bed last night, restless, unable to sleep. 

Finally I tried a formal meditation. Focused on my breathing. As I became present, as the calm took over, a piece of the puzzle fell into place for me. I finally understood. 

This roving about; the walking; the aimless visits; the late night conversations with strangers and agitated, unsatisfying phonecalls with friends; studying languages; applying late night for jobs in far-flung places; looking for postings in Afghanistan and Iraq; this is what despair looks like for me. 

Two weeks ago, for the first time in years, I began to truly and sincerely hope again. I've never been able to stop believing that Sjors' soul is companion to mine: an unmovable faith that is tethered to faith in god because nothing I've ever known or experienced has felt so right and true.  So when I had a powerful dream about a child and woke with a calm inclination to reach out to E, I felt this was perhaps inspired by god. This belief was reinforced when E actually started reading my blog and continued for three days. He was only the second invited person to ever visit this site. Marie reads my words here - and so, uninvited, does MIVD. I felt so nervous about sharing the link with him. I could never have expected or demanded that he come. It was so comforting and validating to know that he did. Some untouched and tender faith was gently urged to life. If god had inspired this, maybe there was some higher purpose. Maybe it was possible and right to hope. 

I began to pray again. For E. For Sjors. I began to fast because I was raised to believe that fasting and prayer is somehow more potent to god: the humility an expression of faith. As I did for years, longing for Sjors, needing him more than I needed breath, I begged god to bless him, to inspire him and soften his heart toward me. 

I checked blog statistics. If E told Sjors about it, he would surely send him the link. If Sjors was receptive to me, if he read my words, he would remember me, remember who he was with me. The man I knew might be brought back to life. God, I prayed for a resurrection. One week ago I had dinner and drinks with Shelley, told her about my unreasonable faith, and felt calm and loved and hopeful and happy for the first time in years. 

But there was nothing. I bicycled hard on Friday, Saturday and Sunday to push away the worry. I wondered what E had thought about me when he read my years of personal thoughts. How might my writings come across to another person? Had he despised me? Maybe he didn't share my blog with Sjors because he agreed there was something wrong with me. Then, I thought: maybe he didn't share my blog because he knows Sjors loathes me. 

I imagined what it was to be Sjors right now. I remembered the way he blamed me for his professional losses. I remembered the darkness in his face at the train station in Amsterdam Centraal. I remembered the months of ugly messages. How was it reasonable to hope that this angry man would ever transform back into the vibrant, loving, kind person who had loved me? I never understood how he had become lost to me. After years of trying I was never able to bring him back. How reasonable was it to hope now? Flickering faith turned to despair. 

I understand now why I have been angry at every man I've been with: why I despise them for not being Sjors. I seek them out, let them touch me, laugh at their jokes, and move with them in the dark. I tell myself I'm moving on, that this action is a hope for the future, but this is a lie. Rather, these actions arise as an expression of a deep and profound despair. I despair that the man who is my soul's mate is lost to me forever. This was the despair that brought me to the beach in Boa Vista, took me to the roof in Yaounde. The blackness of my depression has only been the subtlest reflection of the horror and realization that I am damned. What is hell besides separation from the people you love most dearly and knowledge of their misery? 

Today, this self-knowledge stops me. I will not consider the reasonableness of my faith. I will not calculate the probability that what I wish will ever be restored. I will not put a time limit on an outcome. Love is improbable. God is improbable. This was never a calculation.