by Brian LaSorsa
A little more than four years have passed since that pitiful November—during half of which Bradley Manning has rotted in a handful of military facilities—and, boy, does the administration’s claim sound like a ridiculous joke.
Manning’s trial, which is expected to begin in June, was recently turned on its head by the residing military judge. Colonel Denise Lind ruled that Manning can no longer utilize the “whistleblower defense,” and it doesn’t take a legal scholar to understand this decision’s significance, especially when the US government’s charges against Manning include providing aid to the enemy. Lind’s ruling guarantees that the reason Manning communicated with WikiLeaks will remain struck from the public record; it’s her “official” way of ignoring information that is already widely available.
Anyone with an Internet connection can see why Manning did it. We have numerous chat logs detailing his conversations with hacker/informant Adrian Lamo. When asked about his “endgame” in passing along the classified files, Manning explained that he hoped they would spark “worldwide discussion, debates, and reforms.”
“[I] want people to see the truth,” he said, “because without information, you cannot make informed decisions as a public.”
Far from an application to al-Qaeda, Manning’s act was a guide for the country’s evolution toward a more trustworthy and open government. If this is included in the public record, though, the courts look bad. Thus, in accordance with Lind’s ruling, Manning can only testify to his motives after he’s convicted (or enters a plea deal) to mitigate his sentence, putting the courts in a position to appear lenient and sympathetic.
Since Manning’s conversations with Lamo were relevant enough to justify his arrest in the first place, you’d assume that the chat logs’ contents in their entirety would be equally applicable to the case. That isn’t how it works. Intelligence-gathering is a one-way street in Washington, DC, and poking around the government’s business will do nothing but get you arrested. Spy on taxpayers, though, and maybe you’ll get a promotion.
After Congress reauthorized the FISA Amendments Act in December, which grants the NSA extensive eavesdropping power, the Electronic Frontier Foundation filed an FOIA lawsuit against the Department of Justice. Its goal was to review the extent to which the intelligence agency has conducted illegal surveillance against US citizens.
The DOJ sent back 33 pages of white space and scattered hyphens: a complete redaction.
These bureaucrats must waste a lot of time crossing out transcripts because they responded similarly to the ACLU one week later. The organization requested classified FBI memos outlining exactly when the bureau’s agents—a notoriously deceitful bunch—are allowed to track US citizens via GPS technology. This issue dictated national headlines throughout last year’s United States v. Jones case in the Supreme Court. The FBI had attached a 24-hour GPS tracker to a nightclub owner’s vehicle after suspecting him of selling cocaine, and the memos in question constitute the DOJ’s official (and verbatim) interpretation of the Jones opinion, including how the department intended to continue day-to-day operations afterward.
One afternoon the ACLU opened its mailbox and found an answer: 100 pages of white paper seemingly dipped in black ink. No pen strikethroughs, no scattered hyphens, just blacked-out rectangles and an eerie reflection of stars in the night sky.
An empty package would have been more helpful. FOIA requests are called “requests” for a reason. When the bureaucrats from whom you’re requesting secret documents have absolute power in deciding what they do and don’t send, especially when their jobs may depend on you not having the information, what do you expect to happen? Ignoring their occasional cooperation to save face—and the potential for abuse by other nosy miscreants—the feds serve as judge, jury, and executioner. It isn’t the end of the world, though. The DOJ’s fierce black pen probably says more about the organization than any unredacted memo ever will.
In that sense, FOIA requests serve an important purpose, but not the one they’re intended to serve.
Luckily we can still count on some private companies to fight the good fight. Honorable businessmen, when contacted by Uncle Sam for help with spying on their customers, will tell their customers about the solicitation. Google and Twitter have been models for this type of rebellious nobility, going so far as to tell the whole world when they’re tapped in the shadows (even when they’ve complied).
Google, which published its biannual Transparency Report on January 23, noted that government requests for user data have increased by more than 70 percent since 2009, an average of about 119 requests per day in the latter half of 2012. Twitter released its own report the following Monday, tallying the daily receipt of about five information requests and 18 copyright notices throughout 2012.
Obama accepted one of his first anti-secrecy awards during a “closed, undisclosed meeting.” Had there been an audience, he would have been laughed off the stage.
Takimag
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