I've been a little exasperated by so many people commenting on the US Department of Justice's seizure of Associated Press's phone logs.
Far too many, it looks to me, don't seem to quite grasp how it might affect them. "Nothing to do with us ordinary folks, it's just about those rubbish journalists." "Somebody stole a secret. That's a crime. You should investigate crimes no matter who it upsets." (Which usually accompanies "Who gives a fuck if it's only journalists they piss off, good riddance" or some such.) "Anyway, it's about terrrorism, right?" And of course, the infamous "If you have nothing to hide, you've nothing to worry about."
So, in response to one, journalism having been my profession for quite a while, I wrote this little story to try to explain what it can mean to all those 'ordinary folks' who have 'nothing to fear':
I (a journalist) once phoned you, because I'm doing a story about drugs and gangs. I happen to know—I'm not going to tell you how, because I promised confidentiality to my source: you see, I'm not giving my sources away to anybody, and that means both the police and you—someone I think is a money launderer once had contact with you.
You tell me, "Who? No. . .Oh, it's coming back to me . . .Think it was him I got a coffee maker from in a yard sale, oh, must be a year ago. Only thing worth buying in it. Never heard of him or seen him since."
I say, "Oh, right. Just wondered if you'd come across him. Sorry to bother you." Pity (from my point of view) you hadn't bought an SUV very cheap which turned out to have a hidden compartment under the seat, traces of cocaine on the dashboard and a forgotten Uzi in the glove compartment, but there we are.
Now, the FBI has grabbed all the phone numbers I've called, including yours. Not because they were interested in me, or in what I was writing about, but for some other reason altogether. They have also worked out, from some other numbers and people I've called, or who have called me, I was interested in this money launderer and this drugs gang.
But they break your door down at 2am, scaring your kids to death, making the cat run away out of fright, and haul you off in handcuffs with all your newly-woken neighbours watching telling you they 'suspect' you of 'having knowledge about money laundering and drugs.'
Because, you see, they assume I told you in that—to me, fruitless, and now forgotten—phone call, what it was all about. Or, because they're just making connections, and don't know exactly what I was asking you about, or what you told me, they think you might actually be involved somehow. And they won't tell me they've arrested you in Paris, Texas hundreds of miles away from me, because if they did, I might go "Who?", look at my contacts book, or just fish about in my memory, remember what it was about, and start asking—it's my job!— "Oh, really? That's interesting. Why? What's it got to do with? And how did you get on to this chap in the first place?"
Now, I could, at this point, theoretically, get you out of jail. But unless they tell me more, and they probably won't, I can't tell them, just like that, "Oh he said he'd bought a coffee percolator from a money launderer in a yard sale." Because what you told me is confidential too.
And I have to protect you. I've believed what you told me; but if word gets out somehow that a journalist was talking to you because he thought you'd come across a drugs gang and money laundering, that same gang might not and might get the idea you know more about them than you do too.
And, whatever you think of me as a journalist, I don't actually want to hear six months from now that because of that somebody nailed your cat to your front door and shot up your kids.
And I can't tell them I'm investigating money laundering and a drugs gang, because they;re going to start asking me how I know about it, how much I know and about my sources, and. . .well, we're back where we started when they first walked in on me.
And if they don't know about my story, if I hand it over to them now, they're going to be on at me forever and a day telling me that it's now their investigation and I can't write about it. They might even up the ante and tell me I can't write about it because 'it's a matter of national security', I'll be 'imperilling one of fheir agents or informants', and so on and on.
They don't come and ask me, also, because they know I'm going to say: "You've no right to ask me. You need a court order, and I'll be arguing about that even after you've got one." But also because they're asking about something to do with a story I'm working on, I'm also going to get instantly curious and ask them what they know.
They're not going to tell me, probably, but they also know that I might be happily typing into a story that the FBI has been investigating, maybe even 'conducting a wide-ranging investigation'. And since I'm a bit pissed off at them, that they've arrested a one-time 'neighbour' who 'claimed' to have no other connection with the whole business than a coffee percolator, but that they declined to comment about it.
And—because they've really annoyed me and I do not like being threatened—that when interviewed (that is, me asking them questions, not the other way round any more, thanks for calling, guys!) they couldn't confirm their investigation was having any results so far apart from arresting someone in possession of a coffee percolator rather than a hundred kilos of heroin or half a million in used notes, and they couldn't confirm they'd actually taken a dangerous drugs gang off the streets, or were even anywhere close to doing it.
(Not the kind of story they or their bosses in Washington want to read at all, but then, like I said, I'm not best pleased with what they're trying to do to me. So, tough.)
As soon as they've buggered off, I'll be phoning your neighbours, friends, family, wife, the local estate agents, maybe even getting someone to look for the cat, to try to decide what you told me was true.
You have a far, far worse time than I do; after all, if I work for an organisation like AP, my editor will have quite a lot of very good lawyers he can call to my aid very quickly. You probably won't.
You could even, if my story has other ramifications the FBI or Homeland Security know about, but I don't, yet, and that's not improbable these days, end up being nicked for something like "having foreknowledge of terrorism and/or failing to communicate it to the authorities" or something like that.
If you're very lucky, I might write a little filler of a paragraph or two about "Possible gang member's neighbour arrested by FBI for buying a coffee percolator". It might see print; it might not. In any case, I'd only give that to my editor after I'd finished my 'big' story anyway because I don't want that gang to find out I've been asking around about them yet, either. By which time you might well have been in jail for months. Sorry about that.
Even if they let you go after just a couple of days, if my little story about being arrested for being close enough to a drugs gang to get cheap coffee percolators from them hits Paris, Texas (that's not what I wrote exactly, of course, but you know very well, or should, that's what your neighbours, people at work, everyone you ever 'friended' on Facebook and your less forgiving relations are going to be saying because "there's no coffee without beans") things could get even worse for you.
Even if they aren't all saying out of the sides of their mouths when you walk past them "Ha! Very bloody likely! Coffee percolators? We know what he was really after that journalist didn't dare say right out, don't we?"
But hey, all you did was drop into a yard sale on impulse once and buy something from somebody you'd barely met.
But you're innocent; you've nothing to fear at all, have you? And I'm just one of those shitty 'lamestream media' guys nobody trusts anyway, so you'd never need me and you'll have forgotten my name and phone number long ago, won't you?
(Now I've 'translated' all this, because in my case it would be the Home Office, or Dept. of Justice, the Metropolitan Police, and the Anti-Terrorism Squad and Special Branch.)
Now do you begin to see why it's not 'much ado about nothing'?
At least, not to people like me. And, if you think carefully about my little story, not to 'ordinary people' either.
Because, and I know a lot of people won't believe me—partly because of Glenn Greenwald up there often telling you you shouldn't trust or believe people like me anyway—I do worry about things like this happening to people like you.