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It was billed as America's frontline defense against terrorism. But badly underfunded, crippled by special interests, and ignored by the White House, the Department of Homeland Security has been relegated to bureaucratic obscurity.
Obscurely tucked away in a quiet residential neighborhood of Washington, the Department of Homeland Security is far removed from the columned federal buildings downtown. Drive by its fortified main gates, as thousands of motorists do each day, and you probably won't even know it's there. No sign announces the department's subleased headquarters, and nothing indicates that the jumble of red-brick colonial structures inside the Nebraska Avenue Complex of the Washington Naval District houses the largest government agency in the United States.
My initial reaction when I presented myself at the small guardhouse at the NAC, as the Navy's intelligence complex is known, was that I was in the wrong place. But no, the security guard assured me, this was it. "Building 3," he added, sliding a plastic-laminated entry pass embossed with maritime insignia through a slot in the Plexiglas partition.
On paper, DHS is a colossus, and I had naively expected that its headquarters would be equally impressive. But at first, I couldn't even find Building 3. I wandered down the main road, past the heavy hydraulic vehicle barriers, no-trespassing notices, cameras, and some landscapers making a racket with a leaf-blower. Buildings 18, 11, 22, 5—all occupied by various Navy spy programs—were plainly visible, but not 3. The landscapers were not much help. "Maybe that way," said one, with a noncommittal wave of his rake. That led me down Intelligence Way to the intersection of Cryptologic Court, which seemed a fanciful name for what was essentially a service entrance to a dark, dank courtyard dominated by an industrial-sized power generator. The only thing missing for the Dickensian tableau to be complete was a couple of Dumpsters overflowing with garbage. This couldn't possibly be it. "Yeah, just down there," said a passerby emerging from beneath a brick archway that led to a narrow fire lane forking off from the desolate courtyard. The little alley was barely wide enough for a car, much less a Cabinet secretary's motorcade, and at the end of it was a dull gray steel door, such as you might see at the side entrance of a warehouse or a seedy after-hours club. A small plaque was affixed to the unpainted wall: The Department of Homeland Security.
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Link:
http://www.motherjones.com/news/feature/2004/09/08_400.htmlDon't you all feel safer now?
:wtf: