Asheville – Six police officers in our state were recently suspended without pay after being caught soliciting prostitution. The public, which funds their employment, was never told why. This isn’t an oversight—it’s a reflection of current North Carolina law, which bars public access to most details behind disciplinary actions taken against public employees.
That same silence extends to our schools. In the past decade, multiple superintendents across North Carolina have been dismissed or resigned under pressure, often with severance payouts exceeding $250,000. In 2022, Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools parted ways with Superintendent Earnest Winston under a “for convenience” clause, resulting in a severance package of over $576,000. In 2024, Durham County paid nearly $300,000 to terminate Superintendent Pascal Mubenga’s contract. In each case, the public was offered little explanation—only the assurance that leadership changes were “necessary.” Personnel law, again, limited what could be disclosed.
Of course, leadership transitions are complex, and severance agreements often reflect negotiated outcomes, not necessarily wrongdoing. But when public funds are involved, it’s fair to ask for clarity—and it’s reasonable to wonder whether the law currently allows enough of it.
Nowhere are the stakes higher than in the classroom. Take the case of mountain-area teacher Lawrence McKisso, who reportedly molested students across three districts before his past finally caught up with him. His rehirings were not due to malice or indifference, but rather the structural opacity of a system that restricts access to prior misconduct records.
Between 2016 and 2022, at least 124 North Carolina teachers had their licenses revoked, suspended, or surrendered for sexual misconduct with students. In several cases, these educators quietly resigned before investigations were complete. That meant no formal record of wrongdoing followed them—sometimes enabling re-employment in nearby districts. One teacher accused of abusing students in Wake County was later hired in Durham as a substitute before charges surfaced.
This isn’t just about schools or police departments. It reflects a broader question about public accountability: What should taxpayers be allowed to know about those who serve in public roles?
North Carolina is currently one of just five states where the public cannot access the disciplinary records of government employees. Even neighboring states offer more transparency. Georgia and Tennessee provide access to most disciplinary findings. South Carolina allows partial disclosure. Only Virginia mirrors North Carolina in its blanket restriction.
These legal limits are rooted in a desire to protect employee privacy and prevent reputational harm from unsubstantiated claims. Those are valid concerns. But they must be weighed against the public’s legitimate interest in knowing how institutions respond to serious performance issues.
In 2016, a national audit gave North Carolina an “F” for its teacher background check and reporting systems. In 2025, we still rank among the most opaque states for public records access.
Efforts to reform this landscape are not new. Lawmakers across party lines—from Senate President Phil Berger to former Governor Roy Cooper—have introduced legislation over the years to open access to government personnel records. Many of those proposals were blocked by employee associations or quietly shelved over concerns about unintended consequences.
But there is, once again, an opportunity to reconsider. Senate Bill 299, introduced in 2025 by Senators Buck Newton and Norm Sanderson, would allow the public to see general reasons for disciplinary actions against public employees—while continuing to protect sensitive medical information and personal identifiers. If enacted, SB 299 would not expose employee gossip or private personnel notes. Rather, it would enable communities to know whether an employee was suspended for, say, inappropriate use of force or financial mismanagement—facts that matter to a healthy civic culture.
The bill’s sponsors and supporters argue that this is a long-overdue adjustment to a lopsided standard. And many would agree: accountability and trust often walk hand in hand.
This is not a call to shame. It is not a demand for vengeance. It is a chance to restore balance—between privacy and public interest, between institutional integrity and the people those institutions serve.
Senate Bill 299 won’t fix everything. But it signals a step toward openness, toward trust. And if the goal is to prevent the next incident—whether it involves misconduct in a school, a police department, or an elected office—then transparency is a reasonable place to begin.
As voters, parents, and taxpayers, we may want to ask: Are we comfortable not knowing? Are we served well by a system that often cannot speak, even when it should?
The choice ahead is not one of politics but of principle. And that, perhaps, is something we can all reflect on with care.
Editor’s Note: Two bills — state Sen. Norm Sanderson’s, R-Pamlico, “Government Transparency Act,” SB 299; and state Rep. Pricey Harrison’s, D-Buncombe, House Bill 322, to “Make General Assembly Records Public” — offer a path forward, challenging a culture of opacity that has kept the “First in Freedom” state among the nation’s least transparent and one which betrays our Esse Quad Videri motto.