It has emerged that the federal government, and possibly some provinces, are conducting a massive eavesdropping campaign on ordinary Canadians. According to the federal privacy commissioner, government agencies are asking telecommunication companies for customer files at a rate of 1.2 million a year.
We do not know which government agencies are involved. They鈥檙e not obliged to tell us.
We do not know the identity of the telecom firms that divulge this information. They are allowed to remain anonymous.
We do not know the reason for these requests. The customers who have been targeted are blissfully unaware: They are not advised of the disclosure.
And we do not know the nature of the information released, although it鈥檚 a safe bet it includes details such as names, addresses, email accounts and possibly much more.
How did this extraordinary state of affairs come about? Article 12 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states: 鈥淣o one shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his privacy, family, home or correspondence.鈥� sa国际传媒 voted in favour of this declaration when it was adopted by the United Nations in 1948.
There is legislation on the books in Ottawa (the Personal Information Protection and Electronic Documents Act) that claims to safeguard our electronic information.
And telecommunications firms routinely promise to obtain the consent of customers before confidential information is released.
So what is going on? The answer is simple.
In days gone by, when government agencies wanted to eavesdrop, by installing a wiretap perhaps, or intercepting written correspondence, they were required to get a court warrant. That fundamental element of due process protected against over-reach.
But the information-protection statute introduced in 2000 permits government agencies to solicit electronic information in a manner that circumvents due process. So long as the approach to a telecom is phrased as a request, and not a formal subpoena, it might be unnecessary to get a warrant.
At the other end of this collaboration (and that is a polite term), telecoms are allowed to hand over information without telling their customers what鈥檚 going on.
In effect, this arrangement gives both parties enormous latitude. Government is spared the inconvenience of going before a judge, and telecoms are spared the business consequences of telling customers what they鈥檝e been up to.
There are circumstances where silence should be maintained. If a criminal investigation is underway, law-enforcement officers are obliged to be discreet. In case of a terrorist threat, intelligence agencies can succeed only if they disguise the source of their information.
The problem is that we have no way of knowing how many of those 1.2 million requests would stand up to scrutiny, and how many were abusive or unwarranted.
A parliamentary watchdog agency 鈥� the Security Intelligence Review Committee 鈥� oversees some of these activities. Unfortunately, its reports shed little light on this question.
Over the last three years, the number of formal security investigations reported by the committee never exceeded 500. That鈥檚 a long way from 1.2 million. It appears there is more going on here than the security committee knows, or is willing to admit.
What is to be done? First, the information-protection legislation should be amended so that government agencies must get a warrant in almost all circumstances. There might be exceptions, where an investigation requires unusual secrecy. But the unauthorized trolling of social media and e-accounts must stop.
Second, telecoms should be required to notify their customers when information is passed on. Here, too, there will be exceptions.
But it is clear that the emergence of Internet communications has made government (and corporate) snooping far too easy for anyone鈥檚 good. We need a complete rewrite of the statutes that protect and safeguard our privacy.
