On Condition of Anonymity

Do you ever get angry when you watch the news? Sometimes the events, decisions, consequences, and whatever else reported can really get me going. Well, recently I found myself boiling not about the actual news, but about the way the information was obtained. We’re all aware of the military helicopter carrying 30 Navy SEALs that was shot down in Afghanistan, but we shouldn’t be, or at least we should just be learning about it now.

~One official spoke “on condition of anonymity” because the families of those SEALs were still being notified. What unnecessary pain did this anonymous person cause with his loose lips to families who have already sacrificed so much—both the families of those particular SEALs and the families of other soldiers who must have experienced at least a brief sense of panic wondering if their loved one was in that helicopter.

~Another official—speaking, of course, “on condition of anonymity,”—told exactly what mission they were on, including the name and location of the Taliban leader they were seeking. The article said he was speaking on condition of anonymity because he was NOT AUTHORIZED to divulge that information.

REALLY!? You don’t think there’s probably a good reason why you are not authorized to divulge such information?

                ~At least two other people speaking “on condition of anonymity” were mentioned in the article.

Now, I’m no conspiracy theorist, so I doubt these anonymous people are sharing this information to purposefully endanger additional soldiers’ lives or to compromise future missions, but that doesn’t mitigate the consequences (many of which will never be known) of their actions. There are a few issues that could easily fill a blog post all on their own:  a psychological analysis of the Facebook syndrome, which requires people to update everyone real-time about what they are doing and where they are; a foray into the possibility that a “condition of anonymity” problem might have led to this tragedy in the first place; not to mention the types of punishment such indiscretions warrant. However, as I’ve thought about this situation and why I am so angry about it, I keep returning to a scripture I remember from a training meeting on my mission.

Job 27:5—God forbid that I should justify you:  till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me.

Certainly rising through the ranks far enough to be privy to such information carries with it a level of trust. At some point, however, these anonymous ones turned from their course. It may have begun with a small item spoken in confidence to someone they felt would never tell anyone anyway, but at some point they had to make a decision that if nobody knew who they were it was okay to release confidential information—that it was okay to do something they had promised not to do.

That’s when my thoughts began to turn inward. How many things do I do that I have promised not to do? How many things have I promised to do that never seem to make it to the top of my priority list?

A couple of the definitions of integrity from the Merriam-Webster dictionary are really meaningful for this discussion:  “firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values” and “the quality or state of being complete or undivided.” These seem like powerful phrases to me.

Do I firmly adhere to my (and hopefully they coincide with the Lord’s) moral values?

~I have promised not to bear false witness, but what if the stakes are really high and a small white lie would save my family and me a lot of suffering?

Am I complete or undivided in my devotions?

~I’ve promised to pay a full tithing, but I spent several hours doing PPIs with the elders in my quorum (hypothetically). At work my time is worth $50/hr (I wish), so I’ll give the church a deal and subtract $100 from my tithing money and spend it on treats for the elders who completed all of their home teaching just because the Lord might still want me to use what would have been tithing money for a church purpose.

Do I ever justify sinning or setting aside my values “on condition of anonymity?” Like these officials, there are certain things I am not authorized to do. If no one knows, it’s still a sin; I have still removed "mine integrity from me."

These may seem like overly-simplistic or even silly examples, but with integrity there can be no exceptions. My favorite understanding of integrity comes in the form of a synonym on the Merriam-Webster site:  incorruptibility. What does that mean? It means if I have true integrity I am untouchable. Even in a situation like Job’s “till I die I will not remove mine integrity from me.” No matter the cost, I will NEVER throw down my (again, hopefully synonymous with “the Lord’s”) values.  Am I there yet? Absolutely not, but it sure is a noble goal if I ever heard one. Another definition I’ve frequently heard for integrity is being honest with yourself. If you make a promise, can you trust yourself that you will fulfill that promise? Will I do what I say I will do? Self loathing cannot be far behind the realization that I can’t be trusted—that I can’t even trust myself.

What compensation were these anonymous people offered for the information they possessed? Surely they must have been offered something of great value to make it worth tossing aside their integrity. Then again, does it matter? Does it matter if they were offered all the kingdoms of the earth or if they have simply eroded their integrity until they just don’t care anymore? Probably not, but it’s still sad. How much integrity do I have? Am I building it up or setting it aside? Does it matter what I’m offered or what the circumstance may be? It’s not worth justifying away my salvation. I will not be able to say at the judgment seat, “Well, yeah, I did do that, but nobody knew it, so it was okay.” “On condition of anonymity” will save no one! I just hope I can find and fix all those breaches in my walls. Someday I hope that I can be remembered as a man of integrity!