The intelligence community, for the most part, has no

The words of Gloria Naylor, spoken with the moral force of one who dares to challenge the unseen powers, ring with a warning that is as ancient as authority itself: “The intelligence community, for the most part, has no accountability at all; to the Congress, to us the American people, and so they feel that they are above the law.” In these words burns the fire of a writer’s courage — the courage to name the peril that arises when secrecy outgrows justice, when those who guard the realm forget that they serve it. Naylor, a novelist whose pen illuminated the struggles of the human soul, here steps beyond fiction into prophecy. She speaks not merely of institutions, but of a timeless truth: that power without accountability becomes tyranny, and that even the noblest intentions can be corrupted when cloaked too long in secrecy.

In the ancient days, the same warning echoed from the mouths of philosophers and prophets. The Greeks told of Kronos, the titan who devoured his children lest they rise against him — a symbol of power turned inward, destructive and afraid. The Romans built their Republic on distrust of kings, dividing power among many, lest any man rule without check. Yet in every age, the same danger returns: those entrusted with the protection of the people begin to believe themselves the masters of the people. Naylor’s lament for the intelligence community is but a modern retelling of that eternal cycle — when the watchers of the world begin to think that no one watches them.

The origin of Naylor’s insight lies in the uneasy history of American intelligence — a history written in both valor and shadow. From the triumphs of World War II, when secret codes and unseen agents safeguarded freedom, arose powerful institutions like the CIA and NSA, built to guard against the darkness of the Cold War. Yet, as the decades passed, that vigilance sometimes grew unchecked. In the 1970s, the Church Committee revealed covert actions, surveillance, and abuses carried out without the knowledge of the people’s representatives. It was then, as now, that voices like Naylor’s reminded the nation that secrecy must serve liberty, not conceal its erosion. For every hidden action, however justified by necessity, must ultimately answer to the light of truth.

To say that these agencies “feel that they are above the law” is not to condemn their mission, but to question their alignment with democracy. For what is democracy, if not the principle that all power — however hidden, however noble in purpose — must answer to the people? A soldier on the field and a spy in the shadows both swear the same oath: to defend the Constitution, not to stand outside it. Naylor’s warning is thus a plea for balance — that those who operate in darkness must remember the light, that those who hold secrets must still be bound by conscience and law. Without that tether, even intelligence becomes blind.

Consider the story of Daniel Ellsberg, who in 1971 revealed the Pentagon Papers — secret documents showing how leaders had misled the nation about the Vietnam War. He was called a traitor by some, a hero by others. Yet his act forced the powerful to reckon with truth, and his courage restored a measure of accountability to government. Ellsberg’s story embodies Naylor’s vision: that silence can protect injustice, and that only through transparency can integrity survive. History shows that nations fall not when they are defeated from without, but when their guardians become unanswerable from within.

Naylor’s voice also speaks to the soul of the individual. For though she names the intelligence agencies, her warning extends to all forms of unchecked power — in government, in corporations, in families, even within ourselves. Whenever we act without oversight, whenever pride whispers that we are beyond reproach, we step onto the same dangerous path. Accountability is not a burden, but a mirror; it reflects the truth of who we are and keeps us from forgetting it. The wise do not flee that mirror — they stand before it daily.

Thus, the lesson of Gloria Naylor’s words is not one of rebellion, but of responsibility. Power, whether held by a nation or a single soul, must be bound by humility. To serve in secrecy is an honor only if the secret serves justice. To command power is a trust only if that power can still be questioned. Let every citizen, therefore, become a keeper of the light — vigilant, informed, and unafraid to demand truth. For when those who guard the truth cease to answer to it, freedom becomes a memory, and the law becomes a name without meaning.

So remember, dear listener: watch the watchers, but do so not in anger, but in reverence for the fragile covenant between liberty and power. Question authority, not to destroy it, but to purify it. For a nation that keeps its intelligence accountable keeps its conscience alive. And in every generation, it falls to the people — as it once fell to the prophets, the philosophers, and the poets — to remind the mighty that they, too, must answer to the light.