There have been training
sessions on “A B C’s of a Successful Whistle-Blower Case” (please, boil your
suitcase of documents down to a single page before you tell your story) and
“Whistle-Blower Protections for National Security Employees” (let’s just say,
don’t count on them). Lawyers explained the more than 40 federal laws under
which whistle-blowers can bring legal cases. A film showing featured “The
Insider,” the 1999 tale of Jeffrey Wigand, the tobacco industry turncoat, who
was there in person to offer remarks.
Some events have featured
the rock stars of the government whistle-blowing world, including Bunnatine H. Greenhouse, an Army Corps of
Engineers official who objected to no-bid Halliburton contracts, and
Colleen Rowley, a former F.B.I.
agent who tried to alert superiors to the threat of Al Qaeda before the Sept. 11 attacks.
Their celebrity was a reminder of the central role such insiders have routinely
played in shaping the news.
But lurking around the
edges of the awards ceremonies and panel discussions, avidly taking notes, were
people who did not want to give their names — just yet.
At one seminar, a veteran
Congressional investigator, Emilia DiSanto of the Senate Finance Committee, gave out her fax
number (202-228-2131) and invited information from people too fearful to reveal
their identities. Already, Ms. DiSanto explained, she
works with several people who prefer to be known only by their noms de whistle: “We have a Mr. Blue. We have Apples. We
have P. J.”
Under the oak trees in a
park near the Capitol, Senator Charles E. Grassley, an
Iowa Republican and a sort of patron saint of whistle-blowers, spoke on
Thursday to more than 100 whistle-blowers, wannabes and representatives of what
might be called the whistle-blowing lobby, the platoon of Washington advocacy
groups with names like the Government Accountability Project and Taxpayers
Against Fraud.
“You’re very much part of
the system of checks and balances,” said Mr. Grassley, 73, who received an
award and posed for snapshots with a long line of admirers.
“Whistle-blowers pay a
high price,” he said, adding, “There’s a great deal of pressure in government
to go along to get along.”
In the crowd was Michael
German, a 16-year agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation who resigned in
June 2004, after two years of what he describes as retaliation for his
complaints about the mishandling of a terrorism investigation. He enjoyed a
degree of vindication after Mr. Grassley earlier this year obtained transcripts
appearing to uphold Mr. German’s account of the case.
Mr. German landed on his
feet and is now policy counsel at the American
Civil Liberties Union. But he had daunting advice for anyone considering exposing
wrongdoing inside an agency.
“You have to be prepared
to lose your job,” Mr. German said. “As far as your career is concerned, the
truth doesn’t matter.”
But there can also be
rewards. Under the False Claims Act, a whistle-blower who exposes fraud against
the government can be awarded as much as 30 percent of the amount the
government recovers.
“Some people walk away
with $10,000, some with $50,000, some with $750,000,”
said Stephen M. Kohn, a lawyer who calls his law office here the
Whistle-blowing, of
course, attracts its share of eccentrics. One person listening to Mr. Grassley,
David Slesinger of
His efforts have had
little success, Mr. Slesinger said. But his leaflet
offered a novel option for those who are too fearful even to act anonymously —
whistle-blowing from beyond the grave.
“You can prove your
heroism posthumously,” the leaflet said. “Just put proof in a sealed envelope
that your attorney can give your loved ones.”