Classified Woman (13 page)

T
he day after I was fired, I began looking for an attorney, which proved difficult. Good, affordable attorneys willing to take on the FBI and Justice Department are a rarity in Washington, DC. As far as government watchdog and whistleblower organizations go, none of them call back unless you happen to be famous. (It took me years to understand the game: high-profile cases are cash cows for many of these groups, who use the funds they raise to pay the salaries of their staffs, none of whom are whistleblowers.)

After a long, frustrating search, Beryl Howell (Senator Leahy’s chief counsel) helped me get in touch with Kohn, Kohn & Colapinto, a DC law firm with expertise in whistleblower and employment laws. The firm’s chief investigator, Kris Kolesnik, had worked for Senator Grassley and was a seasoned investigator in whistleblower cases, especially those involving the FBI. It seemed a perfect fit.

Matthew thought that lunch—just the two of us—might be a good idea. In a house full of in-laws and relatives, we tried not to talk about the case, but so much was happening so fast. The date sounded perfect. The day too was perfect, sunny and unusually warm so early in May.

We met at a quaint family-owned café in Old Town Alexandria. During our lunch we discussed my upcoming IG interview; I would be accompanied by my attorneys. It was a relief to have someone who worked for my interests and stood by my side for a change. While we waited for our coffees, my cell phone rang. It was my middle sister, Lena. She sounded shaken up and asked when I would be coming home. We were only five minutes away. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Something happened?”

“That’s okay … I’ll wait until you get home. We just got some news from Turkey. It doesn’t sound good. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

My stomach clenched. “I think it’s my grandmother,” I told Matthew. “I think she’s dead. I’ll have to go to Turkey if that’s the case. I won’t let threats or the bureau stop me from being there for my grandmother.”

He reached out and held my hand. “You don’t know that it’s about your grandmother. Don’t jump to conclusions, Sibel. And no matter what, you cannot go back to Turkey—ever. You know very well what they’d do to you over there.”

When we walked in the door, my mother and sisters were seated around the family room in a state of abject gloom. My mother gave me the look: she was
furious
. I stepped into the middle of the circle. “Well? What happened?”

“I got a call from our neighbor in Istanbul,” Lena calmly explained. “They said three Turkish police officers came to our house and knocked on our door several times. Not finding anyone, they went over and knocked on our neighbors’ door and asked them about my whereabouts. They told our neighbors that this was their second visit; they had an interrogation warrant to serve me with, and that if I didn’t respond to it in seven days, they’d come back with an arrest warrant.”

I froze. The day I had dreaded for the past two months had arrived. My nightmares had come true. I avoided my mother’s eyes. “Okay,” I said to Lena, “I want all the details. Did they leave the warrant with your neighbor?”

“Yes,” she said. “In fact, the father—my neighbor’s father—is very well connected with the main police HQ in Istanbul. He made a trip there and spoke with his contact. His contact, a high-level officer there, said that the source of this particular warrant was MIT [the main intelligence agency in Turkey], and that he couldn’t find out any more details since it was considered a sensitive intelligence matter.”

I looked at Matthew then turned to her again. “Lena, I want you to think, and think very hard. Can you think of any unresolved matter, any financial dispute, any parking tickets …
anything
from the past? Think hard and respond honestly and truthfully.”

She shook her head no and I believed her. Lena lived the life of a young, outgoing woman who never bothered with politics. Why would anyone from Intelligence want to interrogate her? There could be only one answer, and the thought sent cold shivers through me: Melek Can Dickerson, who was specific in her threat; she had named Lena and repeated her address.

I got the neighbor’s number and arranged for her to fax us the warrant right away. Then I baby-sat the fax machine and counted the seconds. Fifteen minutes later, the one-page warrant slowly emerged, with the logo and stamp of the Turkish police. I read the four short sentences over and over: this was a warrant for interrogation; it cited certain laws and stated that arrest was the penalty for not showing up in seven days. I had to think fast.

I called my new attorney, Dave Colapinto, and bombarded him with questions. Sensing panic, he patiently went over what we might do. Together we decided that notifying Congress and the Office of Inspector General (IG) were the best options under the circumstances. I was to translate the warrant into English, then draft a short letter with an account of the events leading to the warrant; then fax everything to him. He would send the entire package, along with his letter requesting help, to the offices of Senators Grassley and Leahy.

It took me an hour to prepare the letter, translate the warrant, and send them to Colapinto. This helped me focus my anger and frustration on something other than simply being a victim—it made me feel of some use, rather than helpless in the face of something unbearable happening to my faraway sister. Now I had to go downstairs, talk to Lena and try to calm her down; and then, inevitably, face my mother.

When I went downstairs, my sister had already gone to bed. My mother was at the kitchen table drinking herbal tea. I pulled up a chair.

She quietly sipped her tea for another few minutes, which felt like hours to me. I knew what was coming and dreaded it. She was waiting for an opening. I began.

“I’m so sorry for this situation. I didn’t go looking for it, and I didn’t choose to get involved in this mess. I chose to do the job for my country after the terrorist attacks, and as I was doing just that, I stumbled upon this, I tripped all over it. I hope you understand that, Mom. I had two options: to lay down and sink quietly, keep my mouth shut and deny its implication for the country and our national security; or to take a stand and fight it—fight all the way to get the truth out and to have the issues addressed—for everyone’s sake: yours, mine and the people of this country. Obviously, I chose the second option; the fight has just begun.” I’d said the entire thing without a pause, and by the time I finished I realized I was out of breath. Now it was her turn.

She shook her head, narrowed her eyes and began in a low voice. “Remember what your grandfather always said about working for or getting involved with the government? He said,
Stay away from the government—it involves nothing but mud, dirt, corruption
. There are so many ways to make a living; there are so many jobs to be had, and there are so many businesses and people to associate with. Why would you choose to get involved with the government here, and of all its agencies, why in the world would you pick the worst part of it—intelligence and law enforcement, where all the fascists, crooks and despots get together? Why?”

Now
I
shook my head. “Mom, this is not Turkey. You don’t know the government here. Things are different here. The laws and the way the government is set up is totally different from what you know—Turkey, Iran, Azerbaijan. In Turkey, there is no constitution guaranteeing freedom: freedom of the press and speech; there are no rights of due process … Here things are different. FBI doesn’t equal MIT …”

“No, that’s your mistake,” she replied. “You are the one who doesn’t understand. You are the one who is naïve; like your father, you are the one who lives in an idealistic world. That world does not exist, Sibel. Governments, be it Turkey, Germany, Egypt or the United States, are all the same. They want one thing: power; power to rule. They cannot tolerate truth or dissent. You either play the game with them by their rules, be a good team player, or they chew you alive and spit you out before you know what hit you.” She took a big, deep breath and went on. “In fact, I’d say it is worse here. Do you know why? Because at least over there the government doesn’t pretend to be such a goody-goody; they don’t pretend to be a great democracy; so people know what to expect from them and they watch out. Here, they pretend to be the land of the free and the government of the people. When in reality, as you are learning and paying the price for it, they are equally despotic and power-driven. And when that power turns against you, its force is far more destructive.”

I was doing my best not to explode. This exchange brought out all the bottled-up feelings I’d accumulated since I was a child. My mother had always made her resentment and disapproval of my father’s quest for freedom and justice loud and clear.

“No wonder things are the way they are over there in Turkey,” I lashed out. “When people assume an attitude and thinking process like yours, when they timidly look down and refuse to acknowledge their rights, when they accept despotism and censorship as a fact of life … they deserve what they get. I believe in what my dad taught me by example; I refuse to be victimized and live in fear. As he said, life is too short; you get to live this life once. You can either choose to live it in fear and intimidation, or to live it based on your principles and beliefs.”

She stood up and made her position clear. “You can choose to do whatever you want or believe, as long as you are the only person responsible for it—as long as only
you
pay the price for it. With what you decided to do, you have dragged all of us into it. You expect us to pay the price for what you have chosen. Is that fair, Sibel? Your course of action has put me, your sisters, and the rest of our family in Turkey in danger. Your selfish idealism is going to cost us all. It already has. I know what I think and believe is not going to change you or your decision. In fact, it never did. You are your father’s daughter; he spent his entire life in a never-ending search for nonexistent justice and ideals. Go ahead and do the same, I cannot stop you. But I am responsible for protecting my two daughters, my family. I have to do whatever I must to shield them from the consequences of your ‘quest.’ Just remember, you are not swimming against the current; this is more than a current—it is Niagara Falls!”

So there it was. She wanted me to quit, turn around and run, keep my head down and pretend that I see no evil, hear no evil. I tried my best to hold back the tears welling up. “I’m not the person causing this … this fell upon me. I’m sorry for you being affected and dragged into this. I understand your anger and your decision. I’m fighting this not only for myself, but also for you, for the country. I’m not going to quit, Mom. Obviously, you won’t stand by my side—”

She cut me off. “You won’t have anyone on your side. Just watch and see how every friend you have, everyone you’ve come to know and associate with, will desert you. I’ve been there and seen it happen. They will disappear from your life one by one.”

“Then so be it. At least I have my partner, Matthew, who stands by my side. My father didn’t even have that much. While you’re at it, why don’t you go ahead and disown me?”

I stormed out of the kitchen and ran up the stairs to the office, shutting the door behind me. I sank down next to the fireplace and closed my eyes. Hearing my own mother repeating Saccher, Bryan and those so-called legal advisors had begun to plant horrific doubts. What if she were right? Just three months in, I felt I was already drowning. If this were only the beginning, what would it be like to continue forward?

I looked up and the first thing that caught my eye was a photograph of my dad on the mantel. Young, handsome, with dark hair and olive green eyes, he looked at me right back. I could hear his words.

“Sibel … no matter how hard and excruciating, always stick with truth and justice; in the long term you’ll always prevail. Telling the truth and standing by it may come with its own punishment. Go ahead and take it, because the alternative will be much uglier and harsher…. We are given this opportunity, this life, only once: you can choose to live it with integrity, principle and honesty; or you can give in to fear, duck your head, timidly follow the unjust rules imposed upon you and live a life—but not
yours
.”

A soft knock on the door brought me back. It was my “baby sister” (we called her that owing to the difference in our ages). I felt protective of her, almost as a mother would her nineteen year old. I had to remind myself to treat her not as a child but as a young woman. Not easy.

“I heard your conversation with Mom, Sibel. I don’t know the details of those things that led you to this situation, but I want you to know I support you and what you are doing. I know our dad would have stood by your side and fought this together with you. I miss him so much. I’m not our dad, and I know there’s not much I can do to help, but I will stand by your side. You can count on me.”

My baby sister had grown up. Yet I knew that she faced real danger. “All I want you to do,” I implored, “is to focus on your studies, and
do not mention this to anyone
—not a single person. You have friends, some of whom you trust very much, but please let this issue, let these problems, stay right here. Do not say a word about this to anyone;
anyone
.”

She promised. As soon as she left, I began to think of everything I had to do to shield my family. Considering all the secrecy, classification and cover-ups involved, I was confident that this matter would be limited to a precious few, only those with Top Secret Clearance in the FBI, DOJ or in Congress. At the time, that gave me cause to feel somewhat relieved. I knew that the Dickersons, for example, had already reported us to the FBI targets, but I believed that threat was limited to what they could do to my family in Turkey, not anything here in the States.