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America's Most Dangerous Librarians

Meet the radical bookworms
who fought the Patriot Act—and won. These
librarians are remarkable people.

Amy Goodman and David Goodman

They looked like they had walked off a film
set, the two men standing at the door of the
Library Connection in Windsor, Connecticut, as
they flashed fbi badges and asked to speak to
the boss. Director George Christian courteously
shepherded them into the office. By the hum of
the Xerox machine, one agent explained to
Christian that the bureau was demanding "any
and all subscriber information, billing
information and access logs of any person or
entity" that had used computers between 4 p.m.
and 4:45 p.m. on February 15, 2005, in any of
the 27 libraries whose computer systems were
managed by the Library Connection, a nonprofit
co-op of library databases. He handed Christian
a document called a national security letter
(nsl); it said the information was being sought
"to protect against international terrorism."

Like a children's librarian during story hour,
the agent used his finger to draw Christian's
attention to one line in particular: The
recipient of the letter could not disclose "to
any person that the fbi has sought or obtained
access to information or records." It was a
lifetime gag order; break it, and he could be
looking at five years in jail. "I believe this
is unconstitutional," said Christian politely.
In response he got a threatening scowl, a
business card, and instructions to have his
lawyer call the fbi.

Christian did call his lawyer as soon as the
agents were gone—and then he called Peter
Chase, another library director and member of
the Library Connection's executive committee.
"Where is the court order?" Chase asked.

"There is none," replied Christian. "They said
they didn't need one." Christian was being
ordered to turn over records on library patrons
simply because an fbi agent had told him to. He
called a huddle with the rest of the Library
Connection's executive committee, librarians
Janet Nocek and Barbara Bailey. There, they
passed around the nsl. Their attorney then
announced that by virtue of having read the
letter, everyone in the room was now bound by
its provisions, and therefore gagged. It was as
if they'd been exposed to radioactivity. That
was the beginning of a yearlong battle pitting
the four librarians, barred from speaking
publicly and identified in the media only as
"John Doe," against the anti-terrorism
enforcers of the Bush administration.

National security letters are a little-known
fbi tool originally used in foreign
intelligence surveillance to obtain phone,
financial, and electronic records without court
approval. Rarely employed until 2001, they
exploded in number after the Patriot Act
drastically eased restrictions on their use,
allowing NSLs to be served by FBI agents on
anyone—whether or not they were the subject of
a criminal investigation. In 2000, 8,500 NSLs
were issued; by contrast, between 2003 and 2005
the FBI issued more than 143,000 NSLs, only one
of which led to a conviction in a terrorism
case.

Abuse has also been rampant. An investigation
last year revealed that the FBI had broken
regulations governing NSLs in more than 1,000
cases. Among the violations: failing to get
proper authorization, making improper requests
under the law, shoddy record keeping, and
unauthorized collection of telephone or email
records. Such misuse has cast a long-lasting
shadow over countless innocent Americans. Even
when an investigation is closed, information
gained through an nsl is kept indefinitely in
the FBI files.

To protect their patrons, the four librarians
engaged the national office of the American
Civil Liberties Union in New York. They
challenged the constitutionality of NSLs; they
also wanted their gag order lifted so they
could participate in the national debate over
renewal of the Patriot Act. "People say very
confidential things to our reference
librarians," explains Chase. "They have medical
issues, personal matters. What people are
borrowing at a public library is nobody's
business."

The first hearing of the Library Connection case
took place in federal court in Bridgeport,
Connecticut, in August 2005. Government lawyers
had declared that the librarians' presence
posed a threat to national security (since
people might guess their identity), so they
were barred from attending, and were only
allowed to watch the proceedings on closed-
circuit TV. Similarly, when the "John Doe"
librarians went to an appeals court hearing in
Manhattan, their ACLU attorneys instructed the
four not to enter the room together so that no
one might guess who they were. John Doe New
York—an Internet service provider whose case
had been joined with the librarians' on appeal—
was also in the room, but the librarians did
not know who he was.

Being the target of a terrorism investigation
and forbidden to talk about it became an
increasingly surreal experience. One day
Chase's 21-year-old son dashed out of the house
to greet him, looking ashen. "Dad, you just got
a call from the Associated Press saying the FBI
is investigating you. Is that true? Why haven't
you told us?" Chase was unsure how to respond.
He didn't want to lie, but he also didn't want
to get his son caught up in the NSL mess. "I'm
involved in a case," he said slowly and
deliberately. "I can't talk about it. And it
would be best if you didn't tell anybody about
that phone call."

That was in November 2005. The Patriot Act was
reauthorized in March 2006. Six weeks later,
the Justice Department informed the aclu that
it would no longer contest the Connecticut
librarians' demand to lift their gag order. The
Supreme Court subsequently ordered the Justice
Department to unseal the court documents in the
case. Among the evidence the government had
tried to keep secret were quotes from previous
Supreme Court cases; copies of New York
Times articles; and the text of the
Connecticut law that guarantees the
confidentiality of library records. The Justice
Department had also sealed arguments made by
the ACLU attorneys, including this passage:
"Now that John Doe's identity has been widely
disseminated, the government's sole basis for
the gag has wholly evaporated."

In September 2007, a federal court ruled in the
case of John Doe New York that the entire
national security letter provision of the
Patriot Act was unconstitutional. US District
Judge Victor Marrero said that secretive nsls
are "the legislative equivalent of breaking and
entering, with an ominous free pass to the
hijacking of constitutional values." The Bush
administration has appealed the decision, and
John Doe New York remains gagged. But in San
Francisco, another librarian has managed to
beat an NSL: In May, the FBI withdrew a letter
issued to the Internet Archive, a digital
library, after a legal challenge brought by the
aclu and the Electronic Frontier Foundation. "A
miscarriage of justice was prevented here," eff
staff attorney Marcia Hofmann said at the time.
"The big question is, how many other improper
NSLs have been issued by the FBI and never
challenged?"

Amy Goodman and David Goodman recently cowrote
Standing Up to the Madness: Ordinary Heroes
in Extraordinary Times.



— Amy Goodman and David Goodman
Mother Jones
2008-09-01


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