The chances of me ever getting a government security clearance are pretty slim. That’s not because I’m a security risk. I’ve never collaborated with foreign governments in any negative or adverse manner, engaged in clandestine operations, or was an outright spy – far from it and quite to the contrary.

I’m a sexagenarian grandmother of four, with an unblemished police record, aside from a couple of parking violations and one speeding ticket that I adamantly, but ultimately unsuccessfully, contested. 

There are no gaps in my life timeline; I haven’t moved in close to 30 years, my late husband was a decorated combat veteran who was buried with military honors at Arlington, and my two sons are gainfully employed college graduates who have never been in trouble with the law. I’ve never stolen anything, never blackmailed anyone, never forged a check, held up a bank, or done anyone physical harm. And I’m so honest that even a simple little white lie would cause me intolerable pangs of guilt. 

My transgression is not anything worse than what our three last sitting presidents have copped to doing. 

But I know Willie Nelson & Family and hang out with them occasionally, and for the U.S. government, that’s enough to deny me a clearance.

Before 9/11, translators did not need government clearances to work on government contracts. I spent quite a few lucrative and productive years translating boxes full of sensitive documents for the Department of Justice, the State Department, the FBI, and a number of other government agencies. I was even a White House volunteer for a while during the Clinton administration, passing the Public Trust clearance with flying colors.

But a few years later, after 9/11, everything changed. To work on government contracts, translators now had to have American citizenship and a government clearance. Because you can’t get one without the other, I had neither. After I obtained U.S. citizenship, I never pursued the government clearance because government jobs were no longer as lucrative, and I had enough other work to keep me busy.

Then one night, I received a frantic call from a company that was one of my old DOJ clients. They were in a bind – one of their people in Iraq had suffered a heart attack, had been MedEvac’ed to Germany, where they’d lost track of him. I explained that I couldn’t really work for them without a clearance, but they begged me to at least make a few phone calls to German hospitals to determine the whereabouts of their employee.

I did, and after I’d located him, they were so appreciative that they decided they wanted me to be “on call” to them in case of future emergencies. 

No security clearance? “No problem,” they said. “We will sponsor you.” 

And so my long, futile and frustrating quest started.

I spent two days filling out their online questionnaire, otherwise known as eQip, and divulged everything from names and addresses of all my foreign family members, to every place I’ve ever lived, to every place I’ve ever traveled to outside of the U.S.

I knew there would be questions about drug use, and I was prepared for them.  

“You need to tell the truth,” my oldest son had told me. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve done something as long as you disclose it. They just want to know so you can’t be blackmailed.”

He must know, I figured. As a physicist working for a defense contractor, he holds a Top Secret clearance. 

Turns out that he actually knew very little about the security clearance process – or that perhaps his thinking was way too straight and sensible to follow the twisted logic of security officers.

Following his advice, I was completely honest on the questionnaire. Have you ever purchased illegal drugs? “Yes.” Have you ever smoked pot? “Yes.”

Unfortunately, the questionnaire only accommodated straight “Yes” and “No” answers, with no option for any explanations. If it had, I would have offered the explanation that the one and only time I ever bought a very small amount of weed, it was not for my own use. It was for a friend in Texas who is severely handicapped and in a wheel chair after suffering a debilitating stroke at age 39. He wanted to visit me in Virginia but was reluctant to carry the pot for the nightly joint that helps him with pain, anxiety and sleep management onto the plane. 

So I asked a friend of a friend who might know where to get some and purchased a small amount for my friend’s use. 

As for the smoking, I would have offered the explanation that I’ve taken an occasional puff on a joint, but always in company upon invitation. I’ve never purchased pot for myself, I’ve never lit a joint, and I wouldn’t even know how to roll one. 

The “company”, as you may have guessed by now, was Willie Nelson & Family. Willie likes weed. He’s always been a staunch proponent of marijuana, reasoning that it is a naturally growing herb and as such not nearly as dangerous as chemically treated cigarette tobacco. And given the fact that at 80, he still tours 200 days a year, single-handedly pulls of a two-hour show, and sings every word and plays every note from memory, his 60+ years of regular pot use don’t seem to have hurt him much. On the contrary – he appears to be living proof of the recent findings that smoking weed possibly promotes the growth of brain cells.

So, what are you going to do when you’re on Willie’s bus and he lights up a joint and passes it around? Say no? NOT!

Frankly, pot doesn’t do anything for me. That’s probably because ever since I’ve quit smoking cigarettes some 30 years ago, I’ve never been able to bring myself to inhale or allow any kind of smoke to reach my lungs. 

Pot has always been a purely social thing for me. In Texas, breakfast sometimes consists of a Dr. Pepper and a joint, and for the first years during visits with my friends in Texas, I did as the Texans did. Later, I felt secure enough to simply say no when a joint was passed around. And that’s why I have not partaken in at least five years.

I would have explained all of that in the “Comments” section of the eQip form, if there had been one. But there wasn’t, and so my two “yes” answers stood unmitigated. 

But I wasn’t worried because generally, pot offenses are only considered a problem if they happened recently. Mine were several years in the past and therefore I was in the clear – or so I thought.

Plus, I’d taken and passed every other test with flying colors. The language proficiency test? I maxed it. My credit report? Sterling, in the top 5%. Ever been fired from a job? No.  Ever traveled to any communist countries? No. American citizen? Yes. Peed it the cup? Yes – it came back negative.

But logic is for normal people. Add the element of government bureaucracy, and you have a problem.

“Do you have dual citizenship?” the security officer asked me.

“Yes, I do.” 

“Do you have a German passport?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Unless it is expired, you will have to turn that in.”

“No problem.”

My German passport had expired a year earlier, and I hadn’t bothered renewing it because I was so proud of my American passport that I never used the German one anymore.

But two days later, those rules had already changed.

“Actually, even if your passport is expired, you have to turn it in anyway.”

“But why? It’s expired – there’s nothing I can do with it”!

“It’s in the regulation.”

“Show me the regulation.”

“We can’t, it’s classified.”

The reason why I wanted to keep my German passport was purely sentimental. It was part of my history and identity, and I would have liked to hang onto it. But they were relentless.

“You need to turn it in.”

“But what if I don’t get the clearance? Why can’t we wait, and I’ll turn it in after I get the clearance?”

“No, you have to turn it in now.”

And so I did, with a heavy heart. 

Finally, word came that I had passed the preliminary screening, and that I was now in the computer. I was “ready to be cleared” by the specific government agency who wanted me to work for them.

And that, as it turned out, was the DEA. And they had a questionnaire of their own. Again, I answered all questions truthfully. It never occurred to me that there would be a problem. I’d been upfront with everything.

I’d trusted the common sense of the people who had processed my application. Why would they have gone through all of the work and expense – processing someone for a clearance can cost the sponsor up to $15,000 – if they didn’t think it would be successful? I’d been completely honest with them from the start.

And so again, I was completely truthful and placed my X in the proper boxes. They took one look at it and said,

“There’s no way we can submit this to the DEA for approval. You stated that you’ve used drugs. And you stated that you’ve bought drugs. There’s no way they will approve that.”

I was dumbfounded.

“But I put everything on the earlier questionnaire. You knew that was coming. Why did you destroy my German passport then? And besides, this happened years ago! And it was in Amsterdam, where it is legal.”

“It doesn’t matter,” they said. “We cannot submit this to the DEA. They’ll never approve it.

And then they delivered the zinger. 

“If you were 25, this would not be a problem. But you’re 60. You should know better.”

I was perplexed – the government practicing reverse age discrimination?

“When I was 25,” I snipped, “I was very responsible, and raising two sons. So now, if you don’t mind, is my time to have a little fun.”

I could barely contain myself from adding “And you can take your clearance and shove it … “.

All of this happened a couple of years ago, and ever since then, government contractors have contacted me at regular intervals and begged me to submit a Letter of Intent to them, so they can use my credentials to apply for government contracts. That’s because I have an excellent reputation as a translator and interpreter, as well as impeccable professional credentials and long-term experience.

The scenario that ensues is pretty much always the same. I will tell them about the clearance issue. They’re always highly impressed when they hear that it involves Willie, and they say we can work around it. But once they open my file, which apparently has been marked with double-bold triple XXX’s by the DEA, they say that “based on the entries in your file, approval is unlikely.”

It happened again the other day. An agency sent me an email, asking for my resume. I ignored it. They left messages on my answering machine. I ignored them. Then they happened to catch me when I failed to look at my caller ID. And again, they made their pitch. And I told them about the clearance issue. And they said ‘we can work around it.’ That’s when I finally made a decision.

I told them, “Thanks, but no thanks.” I’m not going to subject myself to this asinine process ever again.

Pot is now legal in Colorado, and hopefully, other States will follow soon. I’m a non-pot smoking, law-abiding citizen, but I refuse to be subjected to this hassle and being made to feel guilty because of a stupid and prejudiced law that doesn’t serve anyone. I’m done with it. I’m too damn old to sacrifice having fun and being around people I love and value for the sake of this bullshit.

Ever since I’ve made that decision I’ve felt positively unburdened, carefree, and a whole lot better. I’m free – free to do whatever I please, even if I don’t even inhale. So thank you, Willie, for freeing ME. ☺