Said the sign, rough and rude, hanging on the fence of an empty lot on the edge of the U-Street District. I paused. I pondered. I walked on and wondered: What is the mission of this shadowy Bureau? Misdirect pure hearts down dark capitalist paths? Send artists to law school and poets to jail? Stamp out creativity and compassion. Or is the mission more grand, more sinisterly global? Guiding countries to war and leaders to folly. Founded by CIA, funded by K street, fostered by CEO of Corporation X? Oh, the easy fantasy of complex conspiracy. Simpler to blame someone higher, more powerful: Senators and spies, one man and his Office, a secret Bureau, screwing our good intentions. But it’s an empty lot and a hollow explanation. We have misdirected ourselves, misguided our attention, stopped our eyes and our ears and our tongues. Destiny and judgment awaits.
