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"We have the usual formally worded denial from the FOIA officer citing chapter and verse in government gobbledygook. Translation? 'We’re saying no because we can.'"
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Thirty years ago, John Q. Public Servant had a report he had to produce for his boss, the county manager. He was tired and his kid was sick, so he left work a bit early to work on it at home. He sat down at the kitchen table after grabbing one of his kid’s leftover school notebooks, fished a pen out of his wife’s purse and began writing out a rough draft. By midnight, he was slipping sheet after sheet of typing paper into the family’s IBM Selectric to type up the final draft. The next morning, because someone needed to stay home with the sick kid, John’s wife drove to his office to drop off the finished report on her way to work. Quick quiz: was John Q. Public Servant’s finished report a public record that could be subject to disclosure under Virginia’s Freedom of Information Act? How about the rough draft? If you answered yes to both of these questions then you’ve mastered the key principle of public records in Virginia: how the record was created, how it was delivered, how it was sent, whose equipment was used (and even whether it was a final report or a draft one), none of that matters when it comes to determining what a public record is. What matters is the content of the record.
Megan Rhyne, The Virginia Mercury
The 218 use of force records obtained by the Bristol Herald Courier are an illuminating look into the day-to-day life of what it must be like as a correctional officer at the region’s jails. In short, it’s a dangerous, unpredictable profession with a very real possibility of violence and strict policies that guide how to deal with inmates whose behaviors pose a physical threat. We can only imagine that this particular choice of law-enforcement career requires a determined, strong-willed professional to suit up and return each day to an environment where they face both verbal and physical assaults. That’s why we’d like to thank deputies and staff members of the Sullivan County, Tennessee corrections division and Sheriff’s Office who took the time to provide use-of-force reports, walk us through them and talk fully and frankly about the policies and procedures that govern officers who all too often have to address disruptive inmates. Bristol Virginia City Jail and Sullivan County Jail released use-of-force reports, but the Southwest Virginia Jail Authority declined access to records from its Abingdon facility. We don’t know why. Of course, we have the usual formally worded denial from the FOIA officer citing chapter and verse in government gobbledygook: “The requested records are being entirely withheld because the custodian has exercised his discretion to withhold the records … “ Translation? “We’re saying no because we can.”
Bristol Herald Courier
Four months ago, Gwen Payne was driving through Tallulah, Louisiana, selling a text-message marketing service to businesses when the local paper caught her eye. The Madison Journal, like many small-town papers, boasts an anemic staff and doesn’t have a working website. Gwen stopped in to talk texts and walked out a volunteer reporter. In just a few months, Gwen revealed that promised projects were unlikely to materialize and questioned why the city wasn’t applying for certain grants. Cheered on by locals on Facebook, she made the ruling class uncomfortable. She started getting tips on more stories, so she emailed her first public records request to the city. For her trouble, she became the latest victim of a disturbing trend around the country: the reverse public records lawsuit. The city of Tallulah sued her for trying to access records of how its officials were spending taxpayer money. Suits like this are taxpayer-financed abuses of government power. And they’re becoming more common.
The Lens
Pfft. And just in case you missed it, pfft again. That’s the collective response Norfolk residents have uttered – or spat, in this case – when it comes to serving jury duty. They don’t care. They’re not showing up. Citizenship be damned. The Pilot published, yet again, an article about problems in getting a “jury of one’s peers” to come to court. Reporter Jonathan Edwards noted at least seven criminal and civil trials were delayed in Norfolk last year because not enough jurors appeared. It’s time for some public shaming.I’m not suggesting folks walk around with the proverbial Scarlet Letter. No, given the advent of social media, what I’m proposing might be even worse.
Roger Chesley, The Virginian-Pilot
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