Much is being made of the extensive and debatably invasive questions asked of applicants seeking to live out their West Wing fantasies with the impending Obama/Biden administration. The initial article by Jackie Calmes seemed to take a humorous how-dare-they approach, but the sources cited therein provided all of the justification the transition team might need.
It would appear that the team is simply keeping their game up and remembering history. Remember the fun of Nannygate, one of the first micro-scandals to spring forth from the nascent Clinton administration? Perhaps you don’t and your life is the better for it, but since nobody wishes to repeat the dumber events of our nation’s political history, White House applicants must now declare if they’ve ever employed undocumented immigrants as domestic help. Confession is good for the soul, even when lack-of-forethought (or outright stupidity) is the only sin involved.
What makes the new list of 63 questions noteworthy is just how much they recognize not only the ubiquitous reality of an extended digital life, but the growing acceptance of such. I’ve maintained some kind of online presence since 1993 or 1994, starting with America On-Line, but had I applied for a job with the Current Occupant’s administration, I doubt that I would’ve been asked for any of those early screennames. It would’ve been enough to declare the personal and professional references that have served sufficient for so long already. Where’d you go to school? Where’ve you worked? Who is your daddy and what does he do?
But applicants for the Obama/Biden White House must provide not only past residences and employers, the names of your recent roommates, any bankruptcy proceedings, but also “the URL address of any websites that feature you in either a personal or professional capacity (e.g., Facebook, MySpace, etc.).” (That’s question #58.) Question #10 asks for “all aliases or handles you have used to communicate on the Internet.” #13 asks for a description of any “electronic communication … that could suggest a conflict of interest or be a possible source of embarrassment … if it were made public.”
Is it invasive? Sure.
Is it justified? I suspect that answer comes down to one’s honest expectation of privacy as an employee of what will most likely be the most closely watched White House in American history. Are you a veritable cipher that nobody has noticed twice since you were in diapers, one who has kept to the shadows and out of even the darkest limelights at every turn? Have you’ve been a virtual ninja since your Day One on the Internets, every digital trail covered or bridge burned, so effectively that a Google search of every permutation of your name turns up nothing? Unlikely.
Centuries ago, Herodotus had the wisdom to observe that “Great deeds are usually wrought at great risks.” In other words, if you’re going to accomplish anything extraordinary, you’ll need to risk failing just as extraordinarilly. The most successful and entrepreneurial people I know are the ones who are boldly going forward, making themselves known in the real world and online.
Have I said anything in an email that I would never wish to read again? Have I posted prematurely? Have I chatted inappropriately, erratically or recklessly? Sure I have. And if you’ve been the least bit participatory online for any length of time, so have each of you.
It’s not that nobody on Twitter should even think of applying for their White House Dream Job. Far from it. But if that person has a history of sending drunken (and unlocked) Tweets at 2am, they might want to be ready with answers to inevitable questions.
Lastly, if there is any cause for concern in these questions, it would stem from what appears to be a disappearing wall between one’s personal and professional life. For most of us, the distinction is easily maintained, a curtain parted by our own decisions and according to our own judgment. But in an era where the secrets of any public figure (or name associated with a public figure) become instant fodder for purported journalism, that seperation is likely to be ignored.
So what about me? Am I applying?
No, I’m good where I am. I’m perfectly happy to watch this all-new, all-better season of the real-life West Wing from out here. Besides, I suspect there are some Usenet posts from back in the day that I’d just as rather not resurrect.
And if AOL kept better than expected chatroom records way back when, well … let’s just pray they didn’t.
And further more … Allow me to expand upon this notion just an inch or two more.
You see, unlike your typical background check release — a form that most everyone has to complete these days to apply for a job in corporate America — these 63 questions don’t appear to authorize anyone to investigate any further than your admittances and answers would reasonably allow.
A background check is like a relay race. You hand a baton of key facts wrapped in a signed release form to the investigating company. They run with that data to larger resources to retrieve pertinent information from one or more of your permanent records. It’s a big deal and depending on the scope of the background check, various parts of your life (i.e., credit history) are made available for review.
This questionnaire is more like an opportunity to explain, if any explanation is necessary.
It’s like this. Say you want a job in the White House. Knowing that The Enquirer buys hot tips by the dozen, the interviewer might ask you if there is anything in your past that might make a good tabloid headline. You can say “No” — and so, the interviewer smiles approvingly and hires you. Of course, if an industrious reporter turns up a rumor about how you used to run moonshine with the Duke Boys of Hazzard County … well, that’s a problem. Now if you said “Yes” — then you would have a chance to explain that while you might’ve met Bo or Luke once or twice, you were never involved in the actual moonshine running operation and only saw the General Lee from a distance as it sped on by.
