Freedom Fighters
What the federal government doesn’t want you to know about the way it processes Access to Information requests
BY Stephanie Farrington
Illustration by Evan Munday
For everyone ever labelled a cynic for thinking access to information was less about true accessibility and more about obfuscation and spin-doctoring, consider yourself righted. A seemingly innocuous piece of evidence introduced this past fall at the inquiry into the sponsorship scandal shows that journalists are routinely thwarted by bureaucrats as a matter of policy. So much for transparent government.
The Access to Information Act, passed in 1982, was intended to make government more open by granting citizens the ability to view a broad range of information. Anything from cue cards used by MPs during question period to expense reports to e-mails are available to anyone willing to pay the $5 filing fee. Unless it has a direct impact on national security or compromises the interests of a non-governmental third party, you can, in theory, get a copy of the information you request within 30 days.
The system is supposed to work the same way for requests from journalists. But a flow chart from a government operations manual introduced into evidence at the Gomery Inquiry this past November shows this isn’t the case. So-called “interesting” requests—that is, any topic the prime minister might find awkward to discuss in public—are put into a separate computer system. And the software used to manage those requests is routinely used by government officials to play keep-away with information until it is no longer relevant.
That comes as no surprise to Alasdair Roberts, an ex-pat freedom of information expert and professor at Syracuse University. He says journalists and opposition party politicians are routinely frustrated in their efforts to access information and the flow chart bears this out. It shows, for example, that bureaucrats can take 10 days after receiving a request just to decide if it qualifies as “interesting.” “There is clear evidence that within Canadian government, requests from journalists get singled out for special treatment,” says Roberts.
According to his research, 35 percent of information requests submitted by journalists are delayed. And it’s not because information officers are swamped. Although there are approximately 25,000 requests a year, the government expected to handle 100,000 requests when the law was drafted. On top of that, only 11 percent of all access to information requests come from journalists.
One of the biggest problems with the system is that the software tracks who made the request, who received it and how it was handled, which makes it possible to discriminate against journalists. “People [in the Privy Council’s office] are told it’s a media request, so you could argue it’s a violation of someone’s privacy rights,” says Roberts. As well, all “interesting” requests are automatically granted extensions beyond the legal 30-day limit, allowing risk-assessment officers to scrutinize the information requested and brief the minister in question, as well as his or her staff, on how to handle inquiries about it.
In many cases, the information is simply withheld so long that when it is released it doesn’t make a difference. For example, details regarding Paul Martin’s official attendance at a 2000 function hosted by a group alleged to be a front for Tamil terrorists was withheld long enough for the 2002 election to take place and for Martin to become leader of the Liberal party and, ultimately, prime minister.
