Rewriting the Record

From secrecy to revision, how the Trump administration is reshaping what gets remembered—and what doesn’t.

A couple of months ago, I was cutting the grass and listening to The Political Scene podcast. Staff writer Andrew Marantz described how administration officials were being pressured to rewrite internal documents—to ensure they lined up with the president’s public statements, even when the facts didn’t quite support them. That was troubling.

And then this weekend The Washington Post published a new investigation that pushed my concern to another level. It wasn’t just about revising documents and memos—it was about not creating any record at all. Across federal agencies, documentation is being discouraged. Orders are delivered verbally. Conversations occur on apps like Signal which can be set to delete them. Standard memos are skipped—or stripped of meaningful language.

This shift—from editing what we record to avoiding a record altogether—has major implications. If nothing is written down, how will accountability work? How can we even know what happened in the first place?

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When Intelligence Gets Rewritten: The Joe Kent Memo

A clear example of the kind of pressure Andrew Marantz described involves Joe Kent, chief of staff to Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard. According to Reuters and other outlets, Kent urged analysts to revise a memo about Tren de Aragua—a Venezuelan gang—so it would align more closely with the president’s public claims.

The original intelligence assessment found no credible evidence that the gang was directed by the Venezuelan government. But Kent reportedly told analysts to “rethink” their conclusions. In an internal email, he wrote, “We need to do some rewriting so this document is not used against the DNI or POTUS,” referring to Gabbard and President Trump.

Despite the pressure, the final memo still contradicted the administration’s narrative. Shortly afterward, Gabbard dismissed Michael Collins, the acting head of the National Intelligence Council—the office responsible for the assessment. The timing strongly suggested the firing was a consequence of refusing to modify the intelligence.

Rep. Jim Himes, the top Democrat on the House Intelligence Committee, issued a public statement condemning the move as politically motivated retaliation, according to The Economic Times

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Reshaping the Narrative Publicly: The Iran Reversal

The Joe Kent memo wasn’t an isolated incident. A similar dynamic played out publicly when Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard’s assessment of Iran was at odds with the president’s—and then quietly walked back.

In March, Gabbard testified before Congress that U.S. intelligence continued to assess Iran was not building a nuclear weapon and that its weapons program had remained suspended since 2003. According to reports published by PBS, she made clear that Supreme Leader Khamenei had not authorized a restart.

But in June, President Trump directly contradicted her, saying, “I don’t care what she said… I think they were very close to having one.” His statement aligned more closely with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who has long argued that a nuclear-armed Iran was imminent.

Rather than stand by her intelligence testimony, Gabbard brushed off the inconsistency. She told CNN the media had misconstrued her words and insisted, “President Trump was saying the same thing that I said. We are on the same page.” Her office declined further comment.

That reversal gave Trump what he needed: political cover. With Gabbard now publicly echoing his stance, the administration moved forward with a bombing campaign targeting Iran’s nuclear sites—justified not by new intelligence, but by an alignment in the rhetoric.

I’m not weighing in on whether the bombing itself was justified—there are strong arguments on both sides of that decision. What I’m highlighting is the administration’s apparent willingness to reshape its intelligence position to align with the president’s public statements. And that should concern all of us, no matter where we stand on the policy itself.

Perhaps the administration also concluded that the safest move isn’t just reframing the record—it’s avoiding the record entirely. When documentation becomes a liability, the easiest path is to never create it. And that’s exactly what seems to be happening, according to a new report from The Washington Post.

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A Culture of Silence—The Post’s New Reporting

Over the weekend, the Washington Post reported a sweeping shift in communication within federal agencies—from documenting decisions to suppressing the paper trail altogether:

• Sensitive terminology is being stripped from official documents. Terms like “Reduction in Force” (which trigger labor protections and oversight) have been replaced with euphemisms like “organizational realignment,” allowing significant actions with less scrutiny.

• Emails are being replaced with encrypted messaging apps like Signal, which are specifically designed to erase messages after a set time and avoid any backup. While these apps enhance privacy, they also erase accountability by eliminating the paper trail.

• Official memos are now sometimes issued under other people’s names, bypassing legal review and hiding the true authorship. In one cited case, a political appointee drafted a memo stamped with the acting director’s name, and it was released publicly before legal counsel or staff even saw it—effectively nullifying any internal check.

• Verbal communication is becoming the norm, with staff reporting that “nothing is written down,” even for routine meetings and decisions—reflecting a mindset that assumes any written record can be a liability.

This shift isn’t just about controlling public messaging—it’s about eliminating the record of government decision-making altogether, shielding actions from courts, Congress, and the public—even when those actions have serious consequences.

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The Danger of a Vanishing Record

There are two major consequences when public records are manipulated or erased:

We Lose Accountability

Transparent documentation allows institutions—like courts, oversight bodies, and Congress—to verify and enforce decisions. Without it, accountability collapses.

Imagine the case of Kilmar Abrego Garcia, a Venezuelan migrant deported in defiance of a court order. Judge James Boasberg was looking for answers—and if he didn’t get them, he made clear he would demand to know who authorized the deportation. Now imagine if the administration had responded: “We don’t know—there’s no record.” That would have rendered the court’s authority meaningless. Without documentation, even the judicial system becomes powerless to enforce its own rulings.

We Rewrite History

Records matter because they form the foundation of our collective memory. They aren’t just bureaucratic artifacts—they’re how we know what happened, who made decisions, and why. When those records disappear, the story of our country becomes easier to bend, manipulate, or erase.

Here are just a few moments in our history where accurate documentation proved essential:

• Clinton–Lewinsky scandal (1998):
  It wasn’t gossip or headlines that led to President Clinton’s impeachment—it was hard evidence. Voicemails, handwritten notes, and other records turned speculation into constitutional action.

• Iraq War intelligence failures (2003–2005):
  The Senate Intelligence Committee reviewed tens of thousands of internal documents to uncover how intelligence had been cherry-picked and overstated. Without those records, the truth would have remained buried beneath all the official talking points.

• January 6 Capitol attack (2021):
  Investigators used emails, texts, visitor logs, and social media posts to reconstruct the timeline of events and determine who was responsible. These records cut through political spin to establish facts.

Each of these cases reminds us: without records, there is no reliable history—and no accountability.

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What the Administration Says—And Why It Doesn’t Hold Up

Supporters of these record-suppressing practices typically point to three main justifications:

• They say it protects sensitive national security information.

• They warn that records can leak and damage operations.

• They argue that coordinated messaging is essential for effective governance.
  

This sounds reasonable enough. But each of these rationales crumbles when you scratch beneath the surface.

Security can coexist with documentation.
Federal agencies have long handled highly classified operations while still maintaining robust recordkeeping systems. From military strategy to nuclear policy, secure documentation practices—including classification protocols and compartmentalization—already exist to protect national interests. Eliminating records isn’t about safety; it’s about avoiding scrutiny.

Leaks don’t justify erasure.
Yes, leaks do happen. But democratic governments have mechanisms to address that—inspector generals, whistleblower protections, redaction protocols. These systems are designed to balance the public’s right to know with legitimate security concerns. What’s happening now isn’t targeted protection—it’s a blanket retreat from transparency.

Message discipline is not the same as the truth.
Governments often want to speak with one voice. But a single narrative isn’t always the right one—especially when it contradicts the existing facts. Democracy depends not just on clear messaging, but on verifiable messaging. Internal dissent, policy disagreements, and changes in analysis are all normal in a healthy system.

Suppressing the record to project unity, is not.

In the end, these arguments serve a darker purpose: to make transparency discretionary and accountability optional. And in my opinion, that’s really dangerous.

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What Can Be Done

All of this can feel discouraging—like there’s nothing we can do. But there’s always something we can do. Transparency isn’t just an ideal; it’s something we can demand, strengthen, and protect.

Demand transparency from your representatives.
Ask where they stand on government recordkeeping. Urge them to support public hearings and detailed reporting requirements for federal agencies. Sunshine laws exist for a reason—this is the time to use them.

Support stronger legal protections.
Back legislation that strengthens the Federal Records Act, bolsters whistleblower protections, and enforces robust archival standards. When records disappear, it shouldn’t just be a scandal—it should be a violation of law.

Champion investigative journalism.
Investigative journalism exposes what’s hidden behind official statements and public briefings. Push for deeper reporting—not just on what policies say, but how those policies are carried out behind closed doors. Pay for news you trust, and share it widely.

Because in the end, a democracy without records is a democracy without evidence—and without evidence, the truth becomes whatever the most powerful people say it is.

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Preserve the Record. Protect Democracy.

When documentation is altered—or disappears entirely—we lose more than just information. We lose the ability to enforce the law, trace responsibility, and learn from the past. When the historical record is rewritten—or never written at all—truth itself becomes negotiable.

A government without records is one that can’t be questioned—and one that doesn’t expect to be.

Preserving the record isn’t a bureaucratic detail. It’s the backbone of democratic legitimacy. Because a system that hides or erases the truth is a system already in retreat.

And a democracy that fears the truth is already in danger…

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This is a moment for all of us to raise our voices—together.

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Hal Benz is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, business strategist, and life coach with more than 30 years of experience helping people and organizations grow with purpose. He blends emotional insight with sharp strategic thinking to support personal transformation, leadership development, and values-driven activism.

He lives in northern New Jersey with his wife of 34 years and their two rescue cats, affectionately named after folk singers Harry and Tom Chapin.