Four years and counting: My public records complaint is still pending

Four years ago, I received a tip.

A resident had filed a public records request with the municipality of Princeton seeking emails and text messages between council members and members of the town’s cannabis advisory group. At the time, Princeton officials were debating whether to allow cannabis dispensaries — a controversial issue that had drawn significant public interest.

I was told the records might contain something worth examining. So I filed my own request.

What came back raised more questions than answers.

Large portions of text messages were redacted. The town argued that council members were discussing policy via text, and that those communications were therefore exempt as “deliberative” material.

With the help of attorney Walter Luers, who represented me on a pro bono basis, I filed a complaint with the Government Records Council, the body housed within the New Jersey Department of Community Affairs that is supposed to resolve public records disputes.

That was in June 2022.

My case still hasn’t been heard.

A process that goes nowhere

In October 2022, we agreed to mediation. At the time, I was told that if mediation failed, the case might not be heard until 2024, given the Government Records Council’s backlog.

Mediation took place in February 2023. It did not resolve the dispute.

During that process, the town released additional communications. An attorney for the municipality said she had been on vacation when my original request was handled and suggested earlier redactions may have been “overly aggressive.”

But we could not reach an agreement on what remained withheld.

In March 2023, the complaint was formally sent back to the council for adjudication.

And then nothing.

Nearly two years of silence

For almost two years, there was no movement.

Then, on Dec. 26, 2024, I received an email from a staff attorney at the council. She wrote that she had been newly assigned to my case and asked a basic question: Did I still want to pursue it?

Wait. What?

Of course I did.

I responded immediately that I intended to continue.

Since then, there has been silence again. Nearly another year and a half has passed with no resolution, no hearing, no timeline.

I wrote to the attorney again in late December 2025, asking for an update on my case and when it might be heard. I never received a response.

The story that never got told

The underlying issue that prompted my request is now largely moot.

Princeton never approved cannabis dispensaries. The advisory group was disbanded. Key officials involved in the discussions are no longer in office.

But the principle at stake has not changed.

The records I requested could have shed more light on how public officials were communicating and making decisions behind the scenes, outside of public view. The communications also appeared to reveal how some officials characterized residents who opposed cannabis dispensaries.

At one point, a privilege log produced by the town indicated that dozens of pages of text message screenshots were withheld in full, including communications among council members during a March 29, 2022 meeting.

That raises obvious questions about transparency and compliance with open public meetings and records laws.

Questions remain unanswered.

A broken system

Looking back, my lawyer and I agree that we should have filed a lawsuit. The case would have been decided within six months to a year.

Instead, I chose to go through the Government Records Council, in part because I believed it would be a more efficient and less costly path — one that would avoid burdening taxpayers with litigation expenses.

It seemed like a straightforward case. The council could review the redacted material and determine whether it should be disclosed.

But that system has failed me, and the taxpayers of New Jersey.

The Government Records Council has been plagued by dysfunction, including a persistent backlog and repeated meeting cancellations due to a lack of a quorum. Cases sit for years without resolution.

In 2024, lawmakers and former Gov. Phil Murphy approved changes to the state’s public records law, the Open Public Records Act. One provision requires the council to issue decisions within 90 days, but only for future cases, and only after a delayed implementation period of a year and a half that went into effect this March.

Meanwhile, older cases like mine remain stuck in limbo.

Public records laws are supposed to provide timely access to government information.

Four years is not timely.

There is no hearing date. No decision. No clear path forward, just a file sitting somewhere in a system that appears unable, or unwilling, to act.

When cases drag on this long, the value of the records diminishes. The public debate moves on. Officials leave office. Accountability fades.

A system that cannot resolve disputes in a reasonable time is broken and is failing the public it is supposed to serve.