The New Year is coming, like it or not.

I was sitting in the watch turn-over meeting at the Department yesterday morning. They do it at ten because the Watch Center that coordinates Homeland Security is in the District, and you can’t get there at rush hour. By ten, most people have got themselves sorted out. I got through the gate, did the credential check at both checkpoints and was in front of the last door with time to spare.

I took my cell phone and Blackberry off my belt and deposited them in one of the lockable cubbies on the wall outside the final door protecting the Watch. I pocketed the key and went in.

At turn-over the Senior Watch Officer read us the overnight report. There were some specific reports of vaguely ominous nature. It was more related to a police report than what I am used to, but that is fine. We are not dealing with a denied area where we look down from a satellite, after all. The report was a status on possible threats to the Homeland, and this being a free country, you can go where you want and do what you want, within certain broad guidelines. There is a lot of strange stuff going on all the time out there, and Watch exists to sort out the merely deranged from the actively malevolent.

I was an intelligence officer for a long time, and I don’t think you can ever stop being one. It is a learned culture that becomes part of you. It involves how to handle classified information, how to make reports, that sort of thing. But it is more. It is about seeing patterns, and when you do, who you tell. Trends and anomaly recognition, that’s us. And if we are good, the problem is taken care of and you will never hear of it. It is a culture more akin like a newsroom than a police station. If the reporters were authorized to take action on what they found, but that is a specialized field, and the analogy breaks down.

The Watch Center has members from all the Agencies and Departments in the Government. This Watch change featured a special appearance by a burly officer from a big city police department with a goatee and post-modern crew-cut. His jacket bulged with the hardware he was wearing underneath. He said there were going to be nearly a million people out in his town over New Years and he wanted everyone on watch to know who he was in case he had to call.

Then they went around the room, asking for reports from the watch standers. I looked down the row and the Park Police officer stood. His badge gleamed under the florescent light, nestled on his belt next to his gun. I thought that was curious. I have never carried a weapon inside a place of business, well, once, but that is another story. It is a different culture.

All the law enforcement guys do. I was surprised by the number of guns at the meeting. I looked over at the Special Agent from the Bureau who was waiting to speak. He wore a conservative shirt and tie. His Glock was on his right hip and balanced by a tasteful holster for two additional ammunition clips on his left. I marveled at his foresight.

I would probably only need the one already in the gun, and use it while waving wildly as I ran.

That is the cultural thing. I was up at the Capitol one time, going through the metal detector with a Special Agent. We had some minor business with one of the Committees. He politely explained to the Capitol Hill Police who he was, produced his badge, and quietly told me he was not surrendering his weapon. Just in case. The Capitol guards understood, being in the same tribe, and we went inside and did our business, ready for action.

You would think that putting the gun in the lock-box with your cell phone would be a reasonable thing, but it is not. This is visible issue that defines the cops. They must be ready to take action whenever and wherever necessary. Supposed there was a crime on the watch-floor, a watchstander heisting the Krispy Cream doughnuts? You have to be ready.

So the guns are different than cell phones. It’s a security issue. For the law enforcement guys, it would be just like asking the rest of us to remove our external genitilia at the door.

Copyright 2003 Vic Socotra