OPINION: Election season does wonders for transparency

Aug. 31—The case had all the makings of a big-screen legal thriller, and Democratic Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham decided to publicize it.

Her press secretary distributed a news release highlighting Lujan Grisham granting clemency to a former drug trafficker who escaped from a suspected serial killer. The chilling story generated headlines for the governor, who's in the midst of a reelection campaign.

Aside from the morsel about a woman eluding a killer, then turning her life around, there wasn't much news in Lujan Grisham's news release. The governor's announcement didn't even identify the other five people to whom she granted clemency.

I asked for their names, and for the clemency applications of all six convicted felons who persuaded the governor they should be able to vote, run for public office and perhaps carry a gun.

Press Secretary Nora Meyers Sackett supplied their identities upon request. As for the clemency applications, Sackett said they were not in her possession, nor were they immediately available.

"You asked for the full clemency applications, which contain personal identification information that, by law, must be redacted before being made public," Sackett wrote in an email. "Those applications are absolutely able to be made available to you via records request — this is standard operating procedure for the pardons process and has been successfully used without issue by reporters through each of this administration's previous rounds of pardons."

I had submitted a formal request for the records before I read Sackett's message. The real question is why I or anyone else had to apply for records that Lujan Grisham should have released on her own accord. She often speaks of her abiding interest in running an open and accessible government.

In this instance, the governor initially showed no commitment to overall "transparency," one of her favorite words. Lujan Grisham knew members of the press and public would want to review the clemency applications she approved. She could have — and should have — authorized a few fundamental redactions and released that information from the start.

I told Sackett that requests for public records often drag for weeks or months, even if they're approved. Would the governor's administration expedite my request for the clemency applications?

Election season was the perfect time to ask that question. The records custodian of the Governor's Office on Tuesday sent me all six clemency applications.

It took less than 24 hours for Lujan Grisham to do the right thing. I would praise her, but public officials don't deserve plaudits for meeting minimum job requirements.

In a world of second chances, Lujan Grisham granted a handful. Here's a sampling of what the clemency applications show.

Cynthia Jaramillo, formerly Vigil, is the onetime drug trafficker who fled from a fiend who tortured her for three days in 1999. Jaramillo submitted the longest application — 107 pages. Her friend, Christine Barber, wrote that a pardon for Jaramillo would symbolize hope in Albuquerque's roughest areas.

"Thirteen years ago, Cindy and I started Street Safe — an all-volunteer nonprofit — to work with women living on the street, especially those who are homeless, addicted or selling sex.

"Without Cindy at the helm, we wouldn't have been able to provide marginalized women with free feminine hygiene products, blankets, clothing and other necessities of daily life," Barber wrote. "Without her, thousands of rape victims who were attacked while selling sex on the street wouldn't have been able to warn other women about suspects, via our weekly Bad Guy list."

Barber said Jaramillo completed courses to become a medical assistant and dental hygienist, but her felony record made it impossible for her to land a well-paying job.

A single mother, Jaramillo lives in motels. She is 45. The attack that almost killed her occurred half a lifetime ago.

Kathleen Woerter, formerly Dohrer, received clemency on three felony counts of failing to disclose certain facts while accepting public assistance. Woerter told the governor she repaid the money she was not entitled to receive and completed three years of supervised probation.

Now 50, she told of how her convictions barred her from being a den mother when her three sons were in Cub Scouts or Boy Scouts.

"I tried my best to be a good mother and to raise my children to be upstanding citizens," Woerter wrote. "I feel I failed them in many ways. I am proud that they all graduated from high school."

Clemency, she said, would be meaningful in ways beyond rebuilding her reputation. "I would like my option to be elected into office. I would like my rights to bear arms."

Then there is Randall E. Johnston, convicted in a 1987 fraud case involving vehicle titles. He is now 69 years old and retired in Wyoming.

"One unknown author penned a viewpoint that is appropriate for how my life has gone," Johnston wrote. "Flaws, I got 'em. Laws, I broke 'em. Scars, I bear 'em. Lessons, I learned 'em."

Ringside Seat is an opinion column about people, politics and news. Contact Milan Simonich at msimonich@sfnewmexican.com or 505-986-3080.