Counterpoint | Don’t cut off digital access to public information

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Reading Sheree R. Curry’s Oct. 27 commentary “When Minnesota’s court files went digital, privacy got lost” was déjà vu all over again for me.

Back in the 1980s, when I was the executive director of the Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press in Washington, D.C., my organization, together with CBS reporter Bob Schakne, sued under the Federal Freedom of Information Act to compel the FBI to release computerized criminal history records, known as “rap sheets,” maintained in a central database pertaining to the Medico brothers. Their company, Medico Industries, was implicated in a notorious government contracting scandal involving Democratic congressman Daniel Flood. The Medicos had been identified by the Pennsylvania State Crime Commission as operating a legitimate business dominated by organized crime. We argued that the rap sheets were newsworthy and would help confirm or refute the government’s allegations.

Our case sought only those records that were publicly available at their source, such as from police stations and courthouses. But the government resisted disclosing them, citing the Medicos’ privacy.

When the Supreme Court eventually ruled in the case, it found that the individuals had an expectation of privacy in the records because they were scattered in many locations and were time-consuming to access. It called this doctrine “practical obscurity.” The court concluded that the appropriate test for release of these records would require balancing the public interest against privacy. The privacy argument prevailed in this case.

In other words, Curry’s argument is nothing new. But whatever the merits of that doctrine were in 1989, it makes no sense today. That decision was reached at a time when the digitization of government records had just begun. The public, and members of the judiciary, were understandably wary of its implications. But we’ve now had more than 35 years of experience with it. Digitization has made access meaningful for members of the public by making it easy. Curry decries this. But it is a positive change. It makes it possible to tap into the vast troves of information maintained with tax dollars, strengthens government oversight and enhances the public’s right to know. It makes it possible to hold government accountable by allowing us to see for ourselves what the judicial system is up to.

Back in 1938, in Thornton Wilder’s play, “Our Town,” one of the characters observes, “In our town we like to know the facts about everybody.” And in those days, anyone could access the records, and was not obliged to give a reason. There was no “tiered access,” as Curry advocates. Creating different classes of requesters, imposing fees and demanding registration before accessing records will not, as she contends, “promote fairness.” It will instead create yet another barrier to judicial information, undermining public confidence in the integrity of an institution that seems impenetrable to many.

In the era before populations shifted from small villages and rural communities to vast, anonymous cities, access to that kind of information was the norm. There was no expectation of privacy. This was, and remains, a good thing. Digital access enhances knowledge. Knowledge is power, and enhances safety and security for all of us. Let’s not cut it off.