Published: June 11, 2008 07:50 am            

Infringing on our right to know?

Our View

The Commonwealth Journal received a letter from a reader named Doyle Hampton, who was somewhat surprised that no editorial had been written as of yet on our fair county’s judge-executive Barty Bullock recent decision to enact “censorship on the public,” with a policy requiring all citizens who would speak at the meeting to submit their comments and complaints beforehand in order to get on the agenda.

Mr. Hampton even figured that the American Civil Liberties Union might be able to go to a higher court and have the new way of doing things as unconstitutional.

I too have concerns about what’s being said in fiscal court — but to me, that’s not so much the problem.

Ever heard the saying, “Anything you have to say, you can say to my face?”

I think the taxpayers of Pulaski County ought to be saying that in unison.

The “let-Bullock-approve-it-first” policy has caused quite a stink; apparently, many are concerned Bullock will pick and choose what’s appropriate according to what’s politically convenient for him and his buddies.

It’s a fair complaint — one should never trust a politician farther than they can throw them. Actually, don’t even trust them that far.

Then again, anyone who’s been around Bullock for any amount of time wouldn’t peg him as the especially Machiavellian type. He’s just not. To be honest, I’d be rather surprised if Bullock abuses that power.

No, what bothers me more is something I haven’t heard one single person complain about. But to me, it’s much bigger problem than Bullock’s infamous new policy, which at least gives the populace a real shot at genuine communication with their elected officials.

Every time I turn around, it seems, the fiscal court is going into executive session about some matter or another. All the governmental bodies in this county have done it at some time or another, but it seems like fiscal court does it a lot.

In fairness, that’s because they have a lot of nonsense going on. In yesterday’s court meeting, the topic of the closed session, shut off not only to the public but also to the media, was said to be “litigation.” Read between the lines, and you’ll probably find the Steven Johnson case, involving the suspended county road supervisor who claims he’s the victim of political retaliation. That’s exactly the type of thing that is discussed in closed sessions.

But that’s just the thing: This is important stuff. This is the jabberwocky-style foolishness the county has been embroiled in for the last year, news that the public has been following in the papers. And we the people deserve to be privy to it all.

Yes, executive sessions are legal, and yes, they’re not exclusive to Pulaski County. I personally don’t think they should be legal — the whole purpose of public meetings is to let the public in on the business of its employees (that is, elected officials).

But there it is: It’s a sneaky little legal loophole. And from this desk, it feels like the county government has been playing this card a little bit too much as of late.

No one I know is thrilled with it, but the consensus seems to be that we lie back and take it because of protocol, or Robert’s Rules of Order, or Miss Manners’ Etiquette Handbook, or whatever else it is to which society marches in lock-step.

I’m sorry, I can’t do that. Wrong is wrong, and this is wrong. It’s way too easy to use something like “executive session” as a handy little tool to keep the public out of what is rightfully our business. Yes, there might be plenty of unsavory little details, but hey, as the media, that’s unfortunately our business — to pass along the sometimes unpleasant truth to you. And if you’re keeping us out, we can’t do our job, and you’re not getting the whole story.

From what I heard, the first time the public had to get on the agenda to speak at the fiscal court meeting went rather well. No one appeared too upset, most everyone who wanted to speak got to do so, there were no knock-down, drag-out brawls or anything. Always a plus.

On the other hand, anyone who bothered to show up to hear what was going on with their elected representatives — once again, people, they’re your employees; your tax dollars pay their way — got treated to a closed-door session lasting over half an hour. Thrilling! Scintillating! Edge-of-your-seat stuff!

It’s a bit like going to a basketball game where the ref blows his whistle every time up the court. No one buys a ticket to see the officials show off their hand check-spotting abilities; you come to watch 10 guys (or gals) stage an athletic event. There’s nothing remotely “athletic” about calling fouls.

By the same token, you show up as a member of the public to hear your public business. You show up as a member of the media to record it and pass that information along to those who weren’t able to be at that meeting. You don’t come to sit and stare at a door for 35 minutes.

That doesn’t do you or me a darn bit of good — and satisfying you and me should be THE ONLY concern our elected employees have.

When it comes to the court of public opinion, it doesn’t matter what something actually is — it matters what it looks like. Using executive sessions as a shield so commonly makes it look like we should be very concerned about what’s going on in there, whether it’s a big deal or not. It’s always better to be open and up front than to keep things close to the vest — especially if you want to keep peeking eyes away.

Forget about Barty Bullock’s potential for cherry-picking those public complaints he finds most favorable, at least for the time being; we’ve got another problem which has already manifested itself. How easy is it for county government to say, “Hey, let’s have an executive session!” every time there’s something potentially embarrassing to discuss? Considering the frequency with which that door has been shut, I have to wonder if that’s what’s happening.

Then again, all I can do is wonder because I really have no idea. Journalists in particular, and the public in general, have been shut out from important county business. So much for freedom of the press — and for your right to know.

        

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