July 2006

Troubled over a ringing phone

by Guest Editor Jeff Tolman

Recently it was discovered that, under the guise of national security, the government has been collecting the phone records of average U.S. citizens. The theory, it seems, is that if we determine someone is a terrorist we can then recount their calls and perhaps find other terrorists.
This troubles even the most conservative part of me. Doesn’t the First Amendment allow me to talk to whomever I want about whatever I want as long as it’s not something outrageous like yelling “fire!” in a crowded theater?

Count me in as someone who wants terrorists found. But at what cost? Once I heard about calls being collected I began living defensively. No longer was a ringing phone the sound of a friend ready to exchange conversation. Suddenly, picking up the phone could link me unexpectedly to a National Security Agency database.

Dinner time. The phone rings. Caller ID tells me it’s my friend Frank. Probably he’s inquiring if I’m available to play golf tomorrow afternoon. But who knows? Frank is a known Democrat and has expressed some less-than-complimentary opinions about the present administration. Could someone who is trying to get a NASCAR track in our county (what is more American than that?!) be a terrorist? I’ve known Frank for 27 years. We’ve golfed and fished and traveled together. Through it all he has come across as a four-star guy. Is that enough, though, to be certain he’s not involved in international terrorism? I let the phone ring till the answering machine picked up his message: “We have a tee time at 3:30. I’ll see you then.”

A few minutes later my pal (at least he seems like a pal — though I haven’t seen his phone records) Dr. Cureusall calls. Again I struggle with whether to pick up the phone. Dr. C, a well-respected local physician, is probably calling to set up the monthly dinner he, his wife, Laurie, and I have. Could someone who heals the sick and injured be a terrorist? Though the odds are slight, I let the answering machine pick up the call.

“Wait,” I think, “the records won’t determine what was said, only who a suspected terrorist called!” Whether I take the call or not is irrelevant. I am part of Frank and Pete’s call lists even though the entire Tolman dialogue was “Hello, this is the Tolmans. We are unable to come to the phone right now. Please leave a message.” (This may be way too passive under the new phone-collection rules, I decide. My next answering machine message will be less oblique: “This is the Tolmans. We do not accept calls from terrorists or solicitors. Please take us off your call list immediately!”)

I am now sweating bullets, wondering if, involuntarily, I have somehow become wrapped in a National Security Agency conspiracy blanket.

Suddenly the phone rings again. Another potential terrorist.

The caller ID indicates it is my 76-year-old dad. My guess is he’s calling with a list of groceries he’d like brought to his assisted-living apartment. Dad has always seemed like a patriot. And having been born and raised in Wyoming, a perpetual “red state,” his leanings would seem to be with the administration. My paranoia, though, has me wondering how well I really know him. We were apart when I was in college and most of my married years. Maybe his politics changed then, and he has hidden his subversive roots over the four years he’s lived near me in Poulsbo. Maybe the administration is right: No one is above suspicion.

Just as I am ready to terminate my phone service (no use seeing how close you can stand to the fire), the worst of all possible things happens — the phone rings with an “unknown caller” notation on the caller ID. Could it be Zacarias Moussaoui? Richard Reid? Osama? Who could know? I nearly throw up as I watch the call end without a message being left.

Then my wits return to me. This is outrageous. McCarthyism with newer tools. If they want to put me, and those I speak with, in this pyramid scheme of hysterical, institutional paranoia so be it. In quick succession I call the local U.S. Attorney’s Office, the state Republican Party headquarters, the national Republican Party headquarters, and the White House. Those calls, I hope, like a continually forwarded e-mail, will spread the virus back to its source.

So here we are. In the land of the less free and the home of the monitored. Troubled over a ringing phone.