What Do They Have to Hide?

An honest person has nothing to hide.

That simple precept nags at me whenever I stand in the hallway of a government building, waiting until elected officials finish conducting their business behind closed doors.

When the meeting ends, often hours later, I join the other reporters scurrying around trying to find out what happened. Usually, the conspiracy of silence holds. These public servants are as tight-lipped as mob bosses.

What, I wonder, do they have to hide?

Often, it’s plenty. Just this month, the Los Angeles school board didn’t want snoopy reporters or outraged taxpayers around when it extended Supt. Bill Anton’s $148,100-a-year contract, so it went into executive session. Given the district’s dismal financial condition, you can understand why board members preferred to keep the action secret.

Last year, the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors avoided the gaze of pesky citizens by shutting the doors when it was time to draw new supervisorial districts.

Even when the meeting isn’t closed, our representatives have a way of slipping controversial items on the agenda so nobody notices. Last week the Los Angeles Planning Commission surprised and outraged homeowners by suddenly revising an environmental study of Warner Center. Developers are pushing for more building over the protests of nearby residents.

A state law outlaws this sort of secret government. But the law is as riddled with loopholes as the tax code.

The law is the Ralph M. Brown Act, named after its author, a former Speaker of the state Assembly. Brown was a sharp but unpretentious lawyer from Modesto, who was considered a man of integrity in the lobbyist-controlled Capitol of the ‘40s and ‘50s.

As part of his law practice, Brown represented a group of Modesto nurses in labor negotiations with a public hospital in the early ‘50s. After Brown thought he had a deal, the hospital directors reneged in a secret meeting. The veteran lawmaker was furious but he was guided by the political adage, “don’t get mad, get even.”

He got his chance. In 1952, San Francisco Chronicle reporter Michael Harris wrote a 10-part series on “Your Secret Government,” exposing the practices of many local agencies making decisions in secret. Inspired by Harris, Jack Craemer, publisher of the San Rafael Independent Journal, got the California Newspaper Publishers Assn. behind a move for a local government open meeting law. The League of California Cities, which represented every municipality in the state, joined the effort.

Brown introduced the bill. Gov. Earl Warren signed it in 1953.

The law said, “All meetings of the legislative body of a local agency shall be open and public and all persons shall be permitted to attend any meeting of the legislative body of a local agency except as otherwise provided in this chapter.”

The words “except as otherwise provided . . . “ gave a huge opening to advocates of secret government. Attorneys for cities and counties found many loopholes.

The Brown Act permits closed meetings to discuss lawsuits and personnel matters. Citing that exception, the Los Angeles City Council gives top city executives their yearly personnel ratings in private. That lets council members escape voting publicly on the job performance of Police Chief Daryl F. Gates and other controversial officials.

Last week, elements of the old Brown Act coalition announced their intention to plug some of the loopholes. They were the California Newspaper Publishers Assn., the Society of Professional Journalists and the California First Amendment Coalition, another journalists’ group.

But one of the coalition members was missing. The League of California Cities, defender of open government 30 years ago, is now firmly in the grip of secrecy-minded mayors and city council members. In the Capitol, the league is considered a strong Brown Act foe.

So is the other representative of local government, the County Supervisors Assn. The groups form a powerful secrecy lobby, with considerable influence among legislators, many of whom are veterans of local boards, councils and commissions. The Legislature, itself, is one of the state’s greatest proponents of secret government.

Ironically, the members of this secrecy lobby--the League of Cities and the Supervisors Assn.--are supported by money from city and county governments--your tax dollars. In other words, your money is being used to prevent you from finding out what your public servants are doing.

I asked a league official about this. The official defended the league, talking about the need for privacy.

What about the old adage that an honest person has nothing to hide?

“No comment,” the official said.