There is a story being written in the quiet corridors of federal power these days, and it is a story that ought to trouble the sleep of every American who still believes this country amounts to something more than a vast and orderly machine for the management of its own citizens.
It begins with a simple proposition, one that has been offered up by the Department of Homeland Security as the most natural thing in the world: that when a person takes to a public platform to express disapproval of his government, or to share information about the movements of its agents, the government has a right to know who that person is.
Not to charge him with a crime, you understand, but simply to know his name, his address, his telephone number, the company he keeps. Just to have it on file. Just in case.
While spending millions for the construction of concentration camps capable of holding thousands of prisoners, and ignoring tasks like gun violence investigations, actions to stop illicit drug dealing, and prosecution of child sexual abuse, DHS is monitoring the dark agency’s critics.
And so the letters go out, these administrative subpoenas, hundreds of them in recent months, traveling from the desks of federal officials to the gleaming headquarters of the great tech empires.
The letters do not come from a judge, for a judge might ask questions, might demand evidence, might insist upon the old and burdensome requirement that a man be accused of something before he is pursued.
No, these letters come from the department itself, invoking its own authority, its own judgment, its own sense of what is required to keep the peace.
And they ask the tech companies, politely but firmly, to open their books and reveal the names behind the accounts that have spoken out against Immigration and Customs Enforcement, or that have dared to track the movements of its agents through the streets of American towns.
Now, the tech companies, for their part, go through the motions of review, and some of them comply, and some of them send a note to the person whose name is being sought, giving him ten days or two weeks to find a lawyer and go to court and argue that his identity ought to remain his own.
Which is a little like telling a man he has two weeks to build a raft before the rising water reaches his chin. The pressure, you see, is on the private individual, the citizen, the crank with an account and an opinion. The government simply waits, patient as a cat, knowing that most people will not have the money or the stamina or the sheer audacity to fight.
And what is the crime that warrants this scrutiny?
In one case, it was an account called Montco Community Watch, run by some soul in Pennsylvania who took it upon himself to post about the presence of ICE agents in his county, to alert his neighbors, in Spanish and in English, that the agents were on a particular street or near a particular landmark.
That is what he did. He watched, and he warned. It is an old American tradition, watching and warning, as old as the lanterns in the Old North Church.
The department responsible for Trump’s Gestapo-like federal agents saw fit to demand his name, his email, his phone number, everything but the color of his eyes.
When the ACLU stepped in and filed a motion, the department withdrew its request, quick as a shopkeeper who has been caught with his hand in the till.
No ruling, no precedent, no permanent check on their power. Just a retreat, and the knowledge that next time, they will try again.
The department says it has broad authority, and it says it is only trying to protect its agents, to keep them safe from harm.
And surely no one wants harm to come to anyone, agent or otherwise. But let us be clear about what is being built here. It is a system in which dissent is treated as a kind of intelligence to be gathered, in which the act of criticism is itself grounds for surveillance, in which the government can demand, without a warrant, without a judge, the identities of those who have done nothing more than speak their minds or share what they have seen with their own eyes.
The old forms are preserved, just barely. The subpoenas can be fought. The companies can push back.
But the message is unmistakable, and it is meant for every man, woman, and child in this country: Be careful what you say. Be careful what you post. Be careful what you see. Because someone is watching you watch.
We have seen this story before, in other times and other places. It never begins with the knock on the door in the middle of the night. It begins with a letter, a request, a reasonable explanation.
It begins with the gradual, patient erosion of the idea that a citizen has a right to be left alone, a right to criticize his government without being catalogued and filed away for future reference.
It proceeds, step by step, until the very notion of privacy seems quaint, until the very act of opposition seems suspect, until the only safe course is silence.
That is the destination toward which we are traveling, and we are traveling there at the speed of an administrative subpoena, with the full cooperation of the machinery we built to serve us, but which now serves another master entirely.