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McManus: A devil's advocate for FISA court

The Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court, a tribunal that oversees government eavesdropping, is a strange judicial creation. It lacks many of the usual features of a court. Its proceedings are secret. Its rulings are secret.

But the strangest missing piece of all is the absence of arguments from the other side. Most of the time, the only lawyers who appear are from the federal government, and they represent the agencies asking for approval to wiretap citizens, collect telephone records or compel Internet providers to turn over giant databases of emails. No wonder the government almost always wins.

That one-sided process was arguably reasonable when the court was handling only old-fashioned wiretap requests. Those are basically search warrants, and judges normally approve search warrants without asking the targets whether they object.

But more recently, the court has radically expanded the reach of its rulings, approving government requests to collect massive troves of telephone metadata and emails.

There's no indication that the judges sought any outside views before ruling on those requests. As far as we know, the government argued that the data collection was reasonable under the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act, and the court — hearing no objections, since nobody was there to object — agreed.

Even some former members of the FISA court are speaking up to say that's a little nuts.

"Anyone who has been a judge will tell you a judge needs to hear both sides of a case before deciding," retired federal Judge James Robertson, who served on the court from 2002 to 2005, told an oversight panel this month. "This process needs an adversary." He's right. It's time to borrow an almost forgotten judicial device from the medieval Roman Catholic Church: the devil's advocate.

For centuries, whenever a candidate for sainthood was under consideration, the church's Sacred Congregation of Rites held formal adversary hearings, with one canon lawyer appointed to argue against the qualifications of the holy person in question.

Officially, the lawyer who tried to impeach the potential saint was called the "promoter of the faith." But since his job was to foment doubts and question miracles, he soon became known as the devil's advocate.

Pope John Paul II abolished the title, alas, in 1983. But even now, the Vatican's canonization board (unlike the FISA court) seeks out adversary testimony. The late Christopher Hitchens testified in 2002 against the beatification of Mother Teresa, a role he described as "representing the Evil One, as it were, pro bono."

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