In yesterday’s post, The Unfortunate Choice of Words, I mentioned a lawsuit against the City of Whitewater, and a now-former police investigator, among others. There’s much that’s interesting in Whitewater’s reaction to a lawsuit.
There are a few simple goals in a small town like ours: (1) avoid litigation at nearly all costs, (2) dispose of the matter as quickly as possible, (3) disclaim any error, mistake, or responsibility for reflection and correction of any kind.
That’s really how a private party thinks, and it’s a sign of how unfamiliar and uncomfortable officials in our small town are with scrutiny and review in an independent forum (a court, especially federal court, far from the comfortable venue of Walworth County).
There was a Planning Commission meeting, over a year ago, when a discussion developed over steps the City of Whitewater took to avoid a lawsuit from a property owner. I will have to look for a video online of the meeting – I recall the discussion as just too funny.
The import of it all was that the City of Whitewater faced a potential lawsuit, so drastic action – even outside of normal and required procedure – just had to be taken!.
One would have thought that little Whitewater faced a Great, Dark Plague, or that extraterrestrials threatened to invade, preparing to conquer the town as a prelude to global domination.
If we truly faced so great a danger, I’d understand the need for extraordinary measures; lawsuits are not such a danger.
Big cities are sued all the time, and no one considers it cause for calamity. A few lawsuits might make the news, and from that publicity, others in politics might take a stand, after reviewing the question in dispute.
Not here. A lawsuit is to be avoided, and if encountered, to be buried.
There’s no better example than the Cvicker case, where a feeble effort to enforce a non-existent settlement only revealed how eager the defendants or witnesses likely were to avoid trial, or even depositions before trial.
Predictably, the case finally settled for an even larger sum.
Insisting prematurely that there had been a settlement – a position the federal court rejected – and seeking to maintain the confidentiality of the supposed initial settlement shows only weakness and insecurity.
I received an email once, from a member of our Common Council, who wrote to tell me that, after all, the Cvicker case had settled. (The settlement agreement was a court filing, publicly accessible; there was no need to send a copy my way.) Presumably, the email reminding me of a settlement was meant to suggest that no further discussion was necessary.
At first, I thought the email a kind of joke, a spoof, as I could not imagine that anyone might be serious on those grounds. Perhaps, in the end, it was a joke or spoof. No matter; one should not be surprised.
Consider a simple lawsuit, where someone sues a manufacturer after a toaster explodes, resulting in severe burns to the plaintiff. The manufacturer settles the lawsuit, for a large sum, to be kept confidential.
Although the plaintiff has received compensation, does anyone think that this necessarily settles the question of whether the toasters might be dangerous? A settlement leaves open the question of whether the toaster is the result of a manufacturing or design defect that might affect countless other consumers.
(One of the reasons for a confidential settlement is so the manufacturer can limit a broader, public inquiry into the possible risks from its toasters. Municipalities that seek confidentiality place themselves in the position of toaster makers. All the grand claims about the nobility of public service fade away when self-interest is at stake.)
By contrast, if the plaintiff withdraws her lawsuit, would one be sure that the toasters were problem-free?
(Three quick notes on more recent litigation involving the Whitewater Unified School District. First, it’s nearly impossible not to see a connection between the Minetts’ school case and the Cvicker case, not only in plaintiffs’ counsel, but in the role of police leadership in both actions. Second, I don’t think it’s possible to read the complaint in the WUSD case and not wonder if a different response from Whitewater Chief Coan might have precluded any lawsuit at all. Third, one takes all sorts of risks in life, but seldom something so daring as issuing a haymaker celebration of the voluntary dismissal of the Minett case. One seldom so tempts the Fates.)
It’s the burying of a lawsuit like the Cvicker case that so illustrates the fundamental problems with Whitewater’s municipal government. Certainly, there are other towns as unwilling to consider the underlying meaning of a lawsuit. We’re not alone in that regard. We must be, though, somewhere near the bottom.
When I write that there is something wrong with the politics and culture of this town, I refer only to culture in the narrow sense: a small number who advocate and support a closed and narrow governance.
Most culture develops apart from government, does not need the assistance of city or state, and should be protected from political interference and government meddling. The best things in life aren’t just free, they’re private.
But we are not so fortunate, and the political culture of the town favors the positive to the point not merely of ignorance, but of deliberate ignorance and dishonesty.
After a lawsuit, here we find only the hope that people will forget and look ahead. The more mature, sober, and public-spirited approach to the Cvicker case would have been to ask what it meant for governance – not just cheerleading management – of the city.
Not yet.