On May 21, when FBI agent Coleen Rowley fired off her now-famous whistle-blower memo to Director Robert S. Mueller III, moral courage was greatly enriched.
On May 24, when Sandra Baldwin resigned as president of the United States Olympic Committee (USOC), moral courage took a severe hit.
And last August, when Enron vice president Sherron S. Watkins sent her letter to her boss, Kenneth L. Lay, moral courage was confused.
Three women, three examples of whistle-blowing. What do they teach us?
Start with the latter two. Ms. Baldwin — no longer “Dr. Baldwin” — precipitously left the USOC after learning that a reporter was about to blow the whistle on some fatal discrepancies in her résumé. Why? Because the doctorate she claimed to have earned from Arizona State University in 1967 had never been awarded, for the simple reason that she never finished her dissertation.
By all accounts an effective executive, Ms. Baldwin was no newcomer to the Olympic organization. Moving up the ranks through treasurer and vice president, she had ample time to understand the high-profile nature of Olympics work before her election in 2000 as the USOC’s first female president and chair. But by then the biographical lie had lain unchallenged for so long that confession would have been terminal. Lesson 1: The windows of opportunity for moral courage open and then close. In the 1960s, she needed the courage to correct whatever misimpression was lodged in her credentials. By 2002 that window was bolted shut. Conclusion: Don’t imagine you can postpone moral courage and pick it up later. Moral convenience is not moral courage.
Ms. Watkins was different — sort of. In the letter to Enron’s boss, she described herself with chilling prescience as “incredibly nervous that we will implode in a wave of accounting scandals.” Her words were intended as a wake-up call. But she sent the letter anonymously. She positioned herself carefully to retain her place in the firm (and her benefits from the prior rise in Enron’s stock value) by seeking to share only her concerns, not her identity.
In the next few months, hundreds of employees were left with pensions worth little more than the damp rubber of a popped balloon. Had she gone public in August, how many might have salvaged more? Was this real whistle-blowing? Or was this but a faint squeak on a thin reed? Lesson 2: It matters not only that you blow the whistle but where and how you blow it. Do it privately, with little danger to your own prestige or pocketbook, and that’s not moral courage. Question: How much did Ms. Watkins really risk by her actions? So how little moral courage did she need? The answer remains confused.
No confusion swirls about Ms. Rowley. As the general counsel to the FBI’s Minneapolis office, she agonized for three sleepless nights before firing off a lengthy and impassioned memo to her boss about the Bureau’s failures regarding the 9/11 attacks and its handling of Zacarias Moussaoui, the so-called “20th hijacker.” An agent for 21 years, she knew the danger of criticizing superiors; she had seen agents put out to pasture for far less. But she felt the need to help the Bureau correct its course — and to protect her own four children and the U.S. public from future attacks.
Lesson 3: When the moment comes, go public with your concerns and your identity — not for self-aggrandizement, but for the good of the entire community. Use strong and principled arguments. Be cognizant of risks. And be willing to face the consequences without hedging yourself against them. In those three elements — commitment to principle, awareness of danger, and willingness to endure — lies the formula for moral courage.
Ms. Rowley teaches us something else: that whistle-blowing need not be about individual people. In an age that venerates personalities above ideas, that’s a tough argument to make. But what motivated the USOC’s Ms. Baldwin, and to some extent Enron’s Ms. Watkins, was a desire for personal self-protection. That theme never emerges in the testimony of Ms. Rowley. She’s not out to get Director Mueller nor any other agent or manager. Nor is she out to save her own skin. Her focus is on the organization, on ideas, on corrective action.
One caveat, however: Director Mueller is principled enough, and Congress and the public are concerned enough, that Ms. Rowley will probably survive and prosper. But it might not have happened thus. What if she’d done all this — and then got the sack? She would still be a shining example of moral courage. But would we have thought so? Or would we have dismissed her actions as mere foolhardiness?
(c)2002 by the Institute for Global Ethics