Will Edward Snowden be given a fair hearing?

Far from committing an act of treason, as several top US lawmakers have suggested, by all appearances the NSA whistleblower has done a public service.

We owe a lot to Edward Snowden, the former Central Intelligence Agency computer technician who exposed large-scale surveillance efforts within the United States and worldwide. 



He’s accomplished what the US Congress could not do and the federal courts have so far refused to do. Far from committing an act of treason, as several top US lawmakers have suggested, by all appearances he’s done a public service.



Thanks to him, we now know about the secret court order compelling the telecommunications company Verizon to disclose to the National Security Agency (NSA), on an “ongoing daily basis”, information on all telephone calls it handles.  We also now know about the secret NSA programme Prism, which allows direct access to information in the servers of Microsoft, Yahoo, Google, Facebook, YouTube, Skype and Apple, among other companies. And we know more about the ways the NSA is able, through its “Boundless Informant” initiative, to collate the information it mines from these efforts. 



These disclosures reveal two trends in the United States’ approach to intelligence - starting with the Bush Administration and, we now know, continued and augmented on President Obama’s watch. 



First, when given the option of broad surveillance powers at home and abroad, US intelligence agencies have taken that option and pushed it as far as possible.  

Why be constrained by the quaint concepts of following individual leads and demonstrating probable cause when they can instead sift through millions of telephone logs and plug directly into the servers of the email and social networking platforms that almost everybody uses? 



This approach is hardly surprising, for any number of reasons. Surely one significant incentive to adopt it is that the courts have held that disclosure of call logs, even in their entirety, need not meet the usual requirements for a warrant.



It is true that obtaining “telephony metadata” - records of calls placed from one phone to another, when and for how long, and, in the case of mobile telephones, through which cell towers - isn’t quite the same as eavesdropping on individual communications. But the courts appear not to appreciate just how much can be gleaned from such data. Especially if cross-referenced with other sources of data, an analysis of call logs can produce a scarily accurate picture of who associates with whom (and at what level of intimacy), how they spend their free time, what health conditions they may have, what their political views are likely to be, and other details of their private lives.



Second, obvious for some time, is the trend of state secrecy gone mad.



The sweeping collection of phone “metadata” was made possible by amendments in 2008 to the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) which exempt such surveillance from any meaningful oversight. Under the amendments, the government has no obligation to reveal whose communications it intends to monitor, and the FISA court has no role in reviewing how the government is actually using the information it gathers.  Most remarkably, even if the court finds the government’s procedures deficient, the government can disregard those findings and continue surveillance while it appeals the court’s decision.



The American Civil Liberties Union challenged the law’s constitutionality on behalf of Amnesty International, human rights lawyers, and other organizations. Dismissing the case last year, the US Supreme Court said that Amnesty International and the other groups couldn’t show that we were likely to be subject to surveillance. And how could we? Surveillance and the court orders that authorise it are secret.



President Obama said last week that Congressional oversight is the best guarantee that Americans aren’t being spied on. As for the rest of the world, well, we’ve been on notice for some time that we’re fair game
.

And even with the best will in the world, Congress can’t oversee what it isn’t told about. As two US senators observed in a letter last October, “the intelligence community has stated repeatedly that it is not possible to provide even a rough estimate of how many American communications have been collected under the FISA Amendments Act, and has even declined to estimate the scale of this collection”.



In fact, in March, one month before the Verizon disclosure order took effect, James Clapper, the director of national intelligence, denied collecting “any type of data” on large numbers of US citizens. He’s since characterised his answer as “the most truthful, or least untruthful,” response. 



Even before the US justice department filed criminal charges against Snowden, the United Kingdom had told airlines to deny him boarding on any flight to any country, lest he seek to travel to or through London in an effort to seek asylum outside Hong Kong.



The charges filed again Snowden include theft of government property and espionage. It has also been reported that US authorities have asked Hong Kong to detain him on a provisional arrest warrant. It is also said that an attempt to seek his extradition to the US is being prepared. 



It would be a miscarriage of justice if Snowden isn’t allowed to put forward a public interest defence to the charges. His stated motive was to inform the public of what the US is doing in their name. He’s said that he reviewed the documents prior to disclosure in order to ensure that he didn’t put anybody at risk. And there’s no question that the programmes he exposed are actually matters of public interest. 


If Hong Kong receives a request for Snowden’s extradition, it should insist not only that the charges presented have equivalents in domestic law but also that the public interest defence be available upon extradition. If it’s not, the extradition request should be refused. And if Snowden does seek asylum, whether in Hong Kong or anywhere else, he should be given a fair hearing. 


Michael Bochenek is Amnesty International's Director of Law and Policy

A poster showing Edward Snowden. Photograph: Getty Images
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Why is it called Storm Doris? The psychological impact of naming a storm

“Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person.”

“Oh, piss off Doris,” cried the nation in unison this morning. No, it wasn't that everyone's local cantankerous old lady had thwacked our ankles with her stick. This is a different, more aggressive Doris. Less Werther’s, more extreme weathers. Less bridge club, more bridge collapse.

This is Storm Doris.

A storm that has brought snow, rain, and furious winds up to 94mph to parts of the UK. There are severe weather warnings of wind, snow and ice across the entire country.

But the real question here is: why is it called that? And what impact does the new Met Office policy of naming storms have on us?

Why do we name storms?

Storm Doris is the latest protagonist in the Met Office’s decision to name storms, a pilot scheme introduced in winter 2015/16 now in its second year.

The scheme was introduced to draw attention to severe weather conditions in Britain, and raise awareness of how to prepare for them.

How do we name storms?

The Name our Storms initiative invites the public to suggest names for storms. You can do this by tweeting the @metoffice using the #nameourstorms hashtag and your suggestion, through its Facebook page, or by emailing them.

These names are collated along with suggestions from Met Éireann and compiled into a list. These are whittled down into 21 names, according to which were most suggested – in alphabetical order and alternating between male and female names. This is done according to the US National Hurricane Naming convention, which excludes the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z because there are thought to be too few common names beginning with these letters.

They have to be human names, which is why suggestions in this list revealed by Wired – including Apocalypse, Gnasher, Megatron, In A Teacup (or Ena Tee Cup) – were rejected. The Met Office received 10,000 submissions for the 2016/17 season. According to a spokesperson, a lot of people submit their own names.

Only storms that could have a “medium” or “high” wind impact in the UK and Ireland are named. If there are more than 21 storms in a year, then the naming system starts from Alpha and goes through the Greek alphabet.

The names for this year are: Angus (19-20 Nov ’16), Barbara (23-24 Dec 2016), Conor (25-26 Dec 2016), Doris (now), Ewan, Fleur, Gabriel, Holly, Ivor, Jacqui, Kamil, Louise, Malcolm, Natalie, Oisín, Penelope, Robert, Susan, Thomas, Valerie and Wilbert.

Why does this violent storm have the name of an elderly lady?

Doris is an incongruous name for this storm, so why was it chosen? A Met Office spokesperson says they were just at that stage in their list of names, and there’s no link between the nature of the storm and its name.

But do people send cosy names for violent weather conditions on purpose? “There’s all sorts in there,” a spokesperson tells me. “People don’t try and use cosy names as such.”

What psychological impact does naming storms have on us?

We know that giving names to objects and animals immediately gives us a human connection with them. That’s why we name things we feel close to: a pet owner names their cat, a sailor names their boat, a bore names their car. We even name our virtual assistants –from Microsoft’s Clippy to Amazon’s Alexa.

This gives us a connection beyond practicality with the thing we’ve named.

Remember the response of Walter Palmer, the guy who killed Cecil the Lion? “If I had known this lion had a name and was important to the country or a study, obviously I wouldn’t have taken it,” he said. “Nobody in our hunting party knew before or after the name of this lion.”

So how does giving a storm a name change our attitude towards it?

Evidence suggests that we take it more seriously – or at least pay closer attention. A YouGov survey following the first seven named storms in the Met Office’s scheme shows that 55 per cent of the people polled took measures to prepare for wild weather after hearing that the oncoming storm had been named.

“There was an immediate acceptance of the storm names through all media,” said Gerald Fleming, Head of Forecasting at Met Éireann, the Irish metereological service. “The severe weather messages were more clearly communicated.”

But personalising a storm can backfire. A controversial US study in 2014 by PNAC (Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences) claimed that hurricanes with female names lead to higher death tolls – the more “feminine” the name, like Belle or Cindy, the higher the death toll. This is not because female names are attached to more severe storms; it is reportedly because people take fewer steps to prepare for storms with names they perceive to be unintimidating or weak.

“In judging the intensity of a storm, people appear to be applying their beliefs about how men and women behave,” Sharon Shavitt, a co-author of the study, told the FT at the time. “This makes a female-named hurricane . . . seem gentler and less violent.”

Names have social connotations, and affect our subconscious. Naming a storm can raise awareness of it, but it can also affect our behaviour towards it.

What’s it like sharing a name with a deadly storm?

We should also spare a thought for the impact sharing a name with a notorious weather event can have on a person. Katrina Nicholson, a nurse who lives in Glasgow, says it was “horrible” when the 2005 hurricane – one of the fifth deadliest ever in the US – was given her name.

“It was horrible having something so destructive associated with my name. Homes being destroyed and lives being lost shouldn’t be named after any person,” she tells me over email. “I actually remember at the time meeting an American tourist on a boat trip in Skye and when he heard my name he immediately linked it to the storm – although he quickly felt guilty and then said it was a lovely name! I think to this day there will be many Americans who hate my name because of it.”

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.