Editorial: When Public Records Become a Weapon

by Logan Andrew | FreeWire Magazine — Your News, Your Voice

Keith French did not ask for this fight. A Galion resident, he first appeared before Bucyrus City Council on November 7 of last year to raise reasonable concerns about a surveillance network installed by Council President Kurt Fankhauser. French asked a question any citizen should be allowed to ask: why should one man have access to cameras monitoring an entire town?

Fankhauser’s response was not transparency, but humiliation. That same night, he handed French a clown wig. Later, he escalated further online, ridiculing French’s cancer diagnosis. For French, those taunts weren’t just cruel words — they triggered a traumatic episode, forcing him to relive chemotherapy treatments he thought were behind him.

Still, French pressed forward. He filed complaints with the state ethics commission. He later met with Bucyrus Police Chief Dorsey — not to file a report, but as a courtesy, a heads up that Dorsey’s name would appear in his next ethics complaint, since Fankhauser had publicly claimed he offered to pay overtime costs for records requests. Dorsey’s response to that claim was emphatic:

“That’s never happened. If he did, I would never accept it. I want nothing from that guy.”

And then came the moment that should raise significant concern. As French and Dorsey spoke in the police station lobby, in walked Fankhauser. “Do you need anything from me?” he asked. The timing of his mafioso arrival was enough to send a message: I know where you are, and I’m watching.

A Dangerous Precedent

Immediately, Fankhauser submitted a public records request for the video and audio of that very encounter — and the next week, he got it.

Before diving in, I will say this: I respect the hell out of Chief Dorsey. I think he was the right pick for chief, and from what I’ve been told, he has already righted the ship in many ways during his short time in the role. I wouldn’t be surprised if, years from now, he’s remembered as the most beloved police chief Bucyrus has ever had. But it is out of that respect that I feel the need to spotlight this. I even asked the chief directly if he thought releasing this footage would set a dangerous precedent. He didn’t respond. And for his part, French didn't respond for comment either, citing an ongoing investigation. But I want to be clear: I don’t believe releasing the footage — and setting that precedent — was done malevolently.

That being said, the transcript of the encounter makes the failure clear as day. The lobby footage was released unredacted, and the video contained the full name and direct phone number of the state ethics investigator assigned to the case. What should have been confidential oversight was instead blasted into the public square, exposing a state official to harassment. And Fankhauser’s unexplained appearance in the lobby mid-meeting only fuels questions: was he tipped off by someone inside City Hall? Or was he watching through cameras he is not supposed to control? Either possibility is alarming.

Most alarming, though, is how the system allowed French’s courtesy conversation to be weaponized. Within days, it was transformed into a public record and posted online by the very man he was speaking about.

Now imagine if this weren’t about a council member and cameras. Imagine it’s a survivor of domestic violence finally gathering the courage to walk into the station. Or a rape victim recounting the worst moment of their life. Or a child describing abuse. How safe would they feel if the person they were accusing could request the video and audio of that conversation — and then broadcast it online for the world to see?

That isn’t transparency. That is intimidation. And if the system allows it to happen even once, the damage is done. Victims will think twice before coming forward. Crimes will go unreported. Abusers will be emboldened. The chilling effect ripples outward, silencing not just one man in Bucyrus, but anyone who dares to speak up.

The Bigger Picture

Fankhauser’s records requests don’t come cheap. In September alone, he spent more than $1,200 on footage — including the police lobby recording with French. At $70 an hour, this system doesn’t just fail to protect victims, it monetizes their exposure. At best, that’s “pay to play” intimidation. At worst, it’s a city department selling out the safety of its own citizens.

And money isn’t the only leverage. Fankhauser has shown time and again that he will sue if he doesn’t get his way, especially when it comes to public records. That threat of litigation hangs over every decision, potentially creating pressure to hand over material that never should have been released in the first place.

Public records laws are sacred. They were written to let citizens hold government accountable — not to let government officials harass citizens, or expose victims, or intimidate state investigators. When those laws are warped into weapons, the very foundation of trust in government begins to crumble.

Where Do We Go From Here?

This cannot be allowed to continue. Sensitive recordings — especially those involving citizens reporting crimes or speaking to police — must be protected from disclosure to the accused, full stop. Redaction must be mandatory, and strict. And when failures happen, accountability must be swift and visible.

Because until the city draws a line, the message remains clear: if you speak up, your words, your face, even your state investigator’s phone number could be on YouTube within days. And that is not democracy. That is fear.