Devin Scillian: Gretchen Whitmer, state lawmakers must accept transparency laws | Opinion

Welcome to Sunshine Week!

Oh, is that not pre-printed on your calendar? Pity. Perhaps you’re thinking Sunshine Week was last week, when we moved the clocks an hour forward. We’re getting an hour more of sunshine, and that’s a lovely thing.

But that’s not really where I’m headed. Sunshine Week refers to the efforts of journalists to allow light to penetrate the dark cellars and closets of government, and alas, it seems to have a very small constituency. In fact, I can feel your urge to click away from this column already. But please, linger.

A lot of wonderful causes compete for attention in March. Any teacher, student or librarian knows it’s National Reading Month. It’s also Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month, and if you’ve been following the agonizing journey of the brave and tenacious Elissa Robinson of the Detroit Free Press you know how critically important that is. And it’s Women’s History Month, which is very close to saying “American History Month.” These are all massively important.

I assume you may not be aware that March is also National Noodle Month, National Celery Month, and National Caffeine Awareness Month. And sadly, my little Sunshine Week probably falls in line among those lesser known commemorations on your radar. And nothing against celery, but that’s a shame.

My friend Foya

In the journalism world, we’re really good about creating banners and slogans that frame our mission of shedding light on the inner workings of government. We like to say, “Sunshine is the best disinfectant." Every day, The Washington Post beams “Democracy Dies in Darkness” on its masthead. (The Post may not be the best example at the moment; shadows are creeping in at the long distinguished paper, but I’ll leave that to another time.)

Journalists have long believed that things are generally better when everyone’s cards are clearly visible on the table. We know that in both politics and business, the card players often have aces stashed in pockets, sleeves, socks and the Caymans. Thus we are always asking for laws and rules that allow for a full-body pat down from time to time. What we don’t always do well is explain to you why it’s a matter of such import. 

I need to introduce you to my friend Foya. (It’s actually FOIA, the state's Freedom of Information Act, but we pronounce it “foya,” and I kind of like the idea of personifying this powerful part of the journalism toolbox.)

I’m assuming you’ve heard reporters talking about having to "Foya" this or that. It’s a bit of a hassle to file a Foya, but it’s something most reporters are more than willing to do to get access to government documents, files, texts, emails or records that can provide evidence of all kinds of things, running the gamut from proof of righteousness to proof of malignancy.

It can also be expensive to set Foya loose, because sometimes those who prefer to keep these files to themselves levy stiff printing fees or research costs to try to dissuade Foya from doing her work.

But our real struggles arise with things that simply aren’t Foya-able. And you’d be surprised at how many times Foya has the door slammed in her face, in what is supposed to be a free and open democracy with a fully accountable government.

Government ethics, right here at home

If I start talking about government ethics, perhaps your mind runs straight to the nation’s capital. But this isn’t really a week to point at Washington, not when our own fair peninsulas are covered in a very nasty and dangerous sunscreen of their own.

When it comes to transparency, it is always winter in Michigan. No matter what you might imagine goes on among Chicago’s aldermen, the good ol’ boy systems of backroads Alabama, or the accounting offices in Las Vegas, our Petoskey stones are thrown from a glass house; 10 years ago, thanks to a lack of transparency in our state government, Michigan was declared to be dead last on ethics and openness, and sadly, little has happened over the last decade to change that.

Every election cycle, the issue gets plenty of commitments from those running for office, and I’ll note that there have been efforts at reform. But time and again, they fail to turn on the lights, and it seems only journalists feel particularly aggrieved.

And I get it — plumbers care about wrenches, butchers care about knives, and journalists care about documents.

But if I promise to care more about wrenches and knives, can I bring you around on the tools reporters need?

Perhaps it would help to know that while every other state has laws that open public records to scrutiny, Michigan’s approach is uniquely tailored. The governor and the state legislators are exempt from having to turn over documents and records that may lie squarely and obviously in the public interest ― the exact sorts of things your mayor's office, your school board and your local library are required to hand over, even if sometimes they're not enthusiastic about doing so. Not exactly Pure Michigan at its best.

Hard to figure, but that’s where we are.

Just do it, folks

Recently, the Michigan State Senate made the latest attempt to right the ship. They’ve passed, notably in bipartisan fashion, a bill that would open the executive and legislative branches to Foya.

We’ll see what happens in the House — its future again seems uncertain.

But it’s worth pointing out that none of our state leaders really need a law to create their own open and transparent offices. When she first ran for election as governor, Gretchen Whitmer said that if the Legislature couldn’t (or wouldn’t) act, she would do it on her own, vowing to introduce Foya to her office and that of the Lieutenant Governor, too.

That seemed hopeful. You don’t really need a law to do the right thing.

That was seven years ago. And I still can’t send Foya to the Guv.

It might be a good time for you to send an email or make a phone call to your state rep. No matter where you are on the political spectrum, I’ll bet I can find an occurrence in Michigan where you might think some sunlight would be helpful, whether it’s water in Flint, COVID policies, or a certain former Speaker of the House who is up to his eyeballs in trouble.

One last thing

I might also suggest that Sunshine Week is a good time for us to think long and hard about the incursion of cryptocurrency into politics.

We all know that Citizens United allowed all kinds of dark money to flow through the veins of the American circulatory system, but crypto is the Marianas Trench of political booty, the darkest of dark money, and like the darkest depths of the ocean, Lord knows what kinds of creatures are swimming around down there.

One of my political mentors used to tell me that the only campaign finance laws that made sense to him were, one, no cash, and two, full disclosure. Cryptocurrency is about as far as we can get from full disclosure.

I wouldn’t even know where to send my pal Foya. And like AI, if we don’t get in front of it we shall surely find ourselves under it.

Devin Scillian is a veteran journalist, author and former Detroit news anchor, serving Detroit viewers for 30 years on WDIV-TV (Channel 4). Submit a letter to the editor atfreep.com/letters and we may publish it online and in print.