License to Be Awkward
When the President befriends the villains, the spies are left wondering whether to make arrests, small talk, or dinner reservations
Spare a thought for the modern spy.
Not the martini-sipping Bond with a clear enemy and a volcano to aim at, but the poor intelligence officer staring at a screen full of acronyms, trying to determine whether the man he’s tracking is hostile, friendly, frenemy, or personally admired by the President.
Once upon a time, espionage was simple.
Russians were the enemy.
The French were allies who complained.
The Germans were careful.
The Norwegians skied quietly and shared intelligence without drama.
SMERSH wanted you dead.
Dr. No had a lair.
KAOS fought CONTROL.
Everyone knew which hat they were wearing.
Then Donald Trump arrived and announced — repeatedly—that he has “great relationships” with the enemy.
Not metaphorically.
Personally.
Putin? Very smart. Very strong. Tremendous chemistry.
Xi? Brilliant. A friend. Calls him President Trump.
Kim Jong Un? Loves him. Writes beautiful letters. Fell “in love.”
This is where the modern spy begins to sweat.
If the President of the United States publicly praises the heads of the Russian, Chinese, and North Korean intelligence states as misunderstood pals, what exactly is a CIA officer supposed to do when encountering one of their operatives? Arrest him? Shake his hand?
Ask if he’s here on official business or relationship maintenance?
James Bond would be useless. E
very film would end in confusion by the second act. Bond storms the villain’s lair only to be told, “Actually, 007, Washington says he’s a strong leader and we’re keeping options open.”
SMERSH wasn’t defeated. It was reclassified.
Dr. No no longer needs a secret base; he just needs a flattering quote in a press conference and a promise not to embarrass anyone before dinner.
Meanwhile, the allies have become an inconvenience.
The French are unreliable because they remember things.
The Germans are suspect because they insist on rules.
The Norwegians are doubted because they don’t shout loudly enough.
NATO still exists, but only as a set piece in speeches—like an old war memorial everyone gestures at before asking what it’s worth now.
For the intelligence services, the problem is no longer secrecy.
It’s tone.
You can uncover the most damning evidence of hostile action, but if the suspect has been publicly complimented by the President, your report suddenly feels rude.
Maxwell Smart would thrive.
CONTROL versus KAOS made sense.
Today it’s CONTROL versus KAOS-WITH-GOOD-CHEMISTRY. “Missed it by that much” has become a governing philosophy.
If a Chinese agent is spying on Americans for the Canadians, is that espionage or diplomacy?
If Russians undermine elections but are praised as savvy operators, is counterintelligence patriotism — or poor manners?
The Cold War had rules, red lines, and a shared understanding that the enemy was not supposed to be admired.
This era has personal admiration, flattery, and the lingering suspicion that the real crime is making things awkward.
So if you see a man passing secrets in a café, don’t panic.
He might be CIA.
Or FSB.
Or MSS.
Or a freelance operator working out of a luxury hotel with excellent lighting and no clear loyalties.
He might be betraying his country — or aligning perfectly with presidential sentiment.
In espionage, clarity used to be fatal.
Now it’s impolite.
Somewhere, James Bond is reading a briefing memo and asking the question no spy ever wanted to ask:
“Are we supposed to stop him — or compliment him?”
End of file. Destroy after reading.
Or save it. It may still be accurate tomorrow.