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"I was going to wave the flag of open government and the people’s right to know."
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In a sad, terrible accident, the world lost an Abingdon teenager earlier this month. The state police is prevented by law from saying his name. What we do know, thanks to social media and a confirmation from the medical examiner’s office, is the boy’s name: Cody Adkins. That’s information we would not have been able to share had we only been able to rely on the state police to release his name under a broad, far-reaching law, quietly passed through the Virginia General Assembly, that withholds the names of juveniles who are victims of any crime — any crime at all — in the state. When a young man dies, part of our sad and often uncomfortable duty is to find out why. Further, our obligation is to tell his story, to mark his passing, and, in some cases, to celebrate the person we lost and ensure that in some small way, he is remembered. Cody Adkins’ short life is now a part of the record: He was an amazing kid who would make you laugh. He was goofy. He had a bright smile. He hung out with friends. He played video games. He loved the Dallas Cowboys. He loved and was loved in return, and his death leaves our entire community diminished. His story deserves to be told. It’s a shame the Virginia Legislature believes we shouldn’t know his name.
Bristol Herald Courier
Many of the current reporters and editors at The Pilot weren’t here a decade ago. Yet I’m heartened we fought so vigorously – and successfully – against a subpoena of The Pilot’s Scott Daugherty in the criminal case against Portsmouth Councilman Mark Whitaker. Such obstacles harm readers, too. The reporter who can best provide nuance and context is shut out. Had this ploy worked, Daugherty would’ve been barred from even speaking with other reporters about the trial. The paper now has more options. Court subpoenas compromise journalists, suggesting we’re nothing more than an arm of police and prosecutors. We try to maintain a respectable distance from that notion; we want to report on all sides fairly. Sources and witnesses will clam up if they believe we’re agents of the state.
Roger Chesley, The Virginian-Pilot
When I took the reins of the coalition in 2008 and headed into my first legislative session in 2009, I remembered Frosty’s advice. I was going to show up. I was going to wave the flag of open government and the people’s right to know. I wanted people to see me and immediately think “FOIA,” “sunshine,” and “transparency.” When open government legislation is proposed, legislators and lobbyists alike expect to see me at some point. For a small non-profit, that kind of recognition is invaluable. Over the years, I’ve seen a subtle shift in the legislature’s attitude towards transparency, too. Each year, VCOG tracks proposed legislation that impacts FOIA other access-related topics.
Megan Rhyne, The Roanoke Times
The world as a whole has become a population of texters and with that new reality comes the question, should text messages be public record? The same way that emails have become a critical part of a typical legal investigation, now texting enters that same arena. The window of privacy is closing quickly on many forms of communication that were long since considered safe, secure and secret by users. Due to the frequency of government officials, employees and business owners using text messages in regular communication with other people, those records are coming under scrutiny. There is a strong push from lawyers, newspapers, public interest groups, and employers for text messages to be covered under the Freedom of Information Act and considered public records. If the courts rule that text messages are public records, the issue of free speech will undoubtedly come into play. On a good note, government officials and law enforcement personnel will be more accountable for their actions.
Michael Austin, Market Mogul
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