Here Comes Trouble - Michael Moore [114]
I thanked him for his time and hung up. Four hours later, I got a call from the Lapeer County Press who felt “obligated” to tell me that the search had taken place there and all things regarding the Flint Voice were removed by the Flint police. This sent a chill down me. Were the police already on their way over here to do the same thing at our editorial offices?
I called the Flint police department back. I told them I had just heard about the raid. Were they planning to do the same thing here?
Oh, no, we’re not going to raid you! The officer on the other end of the line said that would probably cause too much grief for him—and for me. Why for me?
I told the officer that if he were to come out here I would have the TV stations on their way within minutes.
“Listen,” he said bluntly, “if we wanted to search you, do you think we’d tell you? You wouldn’t even know, just as you didn’t know about our search of your printing office in Lapeer.”
I called a source of mine in the Flint police department and asked him to find out what he knew. He called me back within the hour.
“Oh yeah, they’re planning to search your place. They already have the affidavit for the judge drawn up.”
I immediately called the local news stations and the Associated Press. “I need your help,” I said to each of them. “The cops are going to raid our newspaper. They’ve already conducted one raid at the newspaper office where the Voice is printed. Can you come out here soon?”
To their credit, they were at our office on the corner of Lapeer and Genesee roads within minutes. Everyone but the Flint Journal.
Stories were filed. The police denied they were planning a search and seizure at our office. But they couldn’t explain why they seized all of our materials from the newspaper that was our printer. Was the raid meant to intimidate us? I spent the night removing all of our files and documents from our building and storing them safely where the police couldn’t find them.
Within twenty-four hours CBS had flown a crew in from Chicago, and the New York Times was covering it. This was, after all, the first newspaper search since the Supreme Court decision allowing them. More reporters arrived from Detroit and Chicago. The ACLU called, as did the Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press. Its director, Jack Landau, offered whatever legal assistance we needed. “You’re the first,” he said, “but you won’t be the last. We need to nip it right here.”
We filed suit in circuit court to get an injunction to prohibit the police from raiding our offices. The judge granted a temporary order and got the police to promise not to take any action until he could hear the case.
Newspapers across the state, from Detroit to Battle Creek, ran editorials chastising the Flint police for their actions and encouraging the judge to take a stand for the First and Fourth Amendments. Media around the country covered the case, and the spotlight on Flint was not a pleasant one. I did not get much sleep and was worried about what else the police might be up to. I encouraged everyone at the paper to not bring anything to the office that made them suspiciously happy and over-hungry.
Two weeks later, we were back in court. After hearing the arguments, the judge ruled in our favor, telling the police that if they later decided they had grounds for a raid, they had to go through him first. A cheer went up from our supporters in the courtroom. It was a rare victory against this mayor and his police force.
The incident revived a dormant bill in Congress (introduced right after the Supreme Court’s Stanford decision) to prevent police searches of newsrooms. Within a week of the judge’s verdict in Flint, the United States Senate Judiciary Committee called for hearings on the legislation. Jack Landau, the man from the Reporters Committee, rang me back and asked if I could come to Washington, D.C.
“We think the timing is perfect after what happened to you in Flint to get this bill passed. Could you come