You and I are never going to agree on this. I'm far more aligned with Rand. It's probably because I've been in a society like this before. As a nine and ten year old kid, I remember the first thing done when we checked into a hotel was find all the microphones. I remember never using people's names only "moi droog" and if there was confusion about who one of us was talking about, into the bathroom, turn on all spigots, both heads in the sink and whisper the name once. And always just once. I'm certain that if you'd asked them, the KGB would offer up the identical rationalizations for "the need to watch and listen" as you've offered up for the NSA.

But there is one thing that just came to mind and I wonder what your reaction would have been to this event. We came back to the United States in late 1969 (a day or two before Christmas). My brother was 7 and I was 10. We'd been in the Soviet Union since early June and had attended regular Soviet primary schools. Flying in, it was snowing really hard at Washington National, so we were diverted to Boston. We were not allowed to deplane (there were only two other people on the plane besides my family of four that I remember seeing) and we were forbidden to speak to anyone. We were taken by bus to Washington. We went into a building and my father was taken down a long hall and into a room, the door shut behind him. My mother, brother and I were each taken to separate rooms. Two men in dark suits were in my room. They started asking me questions about my travels, whom I had spoken to, what my classes in school were like, what was said about US policy, what kinds of tanks and rockets I'd seen and how many, and so forth. Perhaps because of my conditioning in Soviet Russia, I did not trust these men. I answered every question with, "I don't know" or "I can't remember" or just plain "No." One of men was getting pretty angry with me and he asked, "Did you ever go to park with Pavel?" I said, "I don't know any Pavel." He asked, "You've never heard of Pavel? The KGB agent assigned you and your brother?" I said, "No." He then went over to a file cabinent, jerked open a drawer, reached in and grabbed a folder, brought it to the table where I was seated, slammed it down, opened it up and then showed me about a dozen photographs of my brother, Pavel and me at a park playing on swings (actually Pavel was pushing us on the swings). The man said, "Why are you lying to us, young man?" I did not say another word. They asked several more questions then the angry man said, "We're not going to get anything from this kid. Let him go." When they opened the door, I saw my mom sitting in the lobby and I took a seat next to her. She asked me if I'd answered all of their questions and I said, "All that I could." I remember being surprised that my interrogation lasted longer than my mom's but then, my brother and I spoke some Russian and mother never learned any. They probably knew that. At any rate, I asked my mom, "Where's Matt (my brother)?" She said, "They're still talking to him in that room" and pointed to one of the closed doors. [Keep in mind he was 7 years old]. About 45 minutes later my father came walking down the hall back to us. My brother by that time had been interrogated for over 90 minutes. When my father didn't see my brother he asked, "Where's Matt?" My mother then replied as she had replied to me. My father became angry immediately and said, "They're still talking to Matt?" Then he marched over to the door and flung it open and said, "Come on, Matt." As he walked out my father glared at the two men and said, "You sons of bitches proud of yourselves?" I peered inside and the table where Matt had been had hundreds of photographs on it. I could see that they were mostly pictures of military equipment and personnel. Some had been circled with bright red ink. It is funny how vididly I remember all this. I asked my brother what they'd been talking about for so long and he said they wanted to know what kind of tanks, missles, subs and soldiers we'd seen and where. They also showed him pictures of different people and asked if he knew them and what they talked about.

All of that was done, doubtless, to help protect the Great America People from the Red Menace. Is grilling a 7 year old for an hour and half okay, too?

The funniest of these was found in a hotel we stayed in during a 2 week vacation. It was in Yalta. There was a chandelier in the room with a little bowl shapped object at the bottom. At the very bottom of that bowl was a little ball. My brother and I noticed something funny about the ball and pulled on it. The glue was apparently not quite set yet and two little wires led into the ball. My brother and I (sans any knowledge or consent) decided to try to play a joke on whomever was listening. We went outside and got two bricks, headed back to the hotel room and then whispered into the ball the Russian equivalent of "Hey, James Bond!" and then smashed the microphone. We then went out to dinner with our parents and when we returned, sure enough, a new "chandelier ball" was glued in place.

My brother and I always hoped that whomever was listening turned up the volume and leaned forward in his seat before hearing the bricks clack together.

Most of the time, IME, the mic's were easy to spot. They were usually big - about the size of a Kennedy half dollar. And, too, like your friend, the agents assigned to us (with one hilarious exception) were friendly and reasonably open about what they were doing. In fact, that vacation trip to Yalta? Our agent from Leningrad was curiously at the same beach we visited for the entire two weeks, often spreading his towel right next to ours.