Possibly that’s why it took nearly 200 years for freedom of information law to take root after Sweden was the first country to originate it in 1766. Next came Finland in 1951, followed by America in 1966, followed by over 100 nations.
Australia joined the club in 1982. But cracks have since appeared in her corner of the clubhouse.
You see, the idea of government transparency is one of those concepts that we can all agree on—except those who have reasons not to.
The government’s response was chilling: Porter had left office, so the information could not be provided.
Let’s say you’re a cabinet minister with skeletons in the closet. An enterprising reporter in the spirit of democracy files a freedom of information request. Easy fix: Drown them in “unforeseen delays,” demand pointless clarifications, clam up until you’ve left office or simply resign—then the request dies an unheralded death on the technicality that you’re no longer around to answer it.
That last option is precisely what Christian Porter, Australia’s former Attorney General and Minister for Industry, Science and Technology, did. In 2021, after the Australian Broadcasting Corporation aired a report on sexual assault allegations against him, he sued the network for defamation, using a blind trust to help cover his legal expenses. When reporters filed FOI requests to uncover who or what was behind the trust, the government’s response was chilling: Porter had now left office, so the information could not be provided. “We apologize for any inconvenience.”
In March 2024, the Federal Court closed that loophole, so that outgoing ministers could no longer keep their skeletons buried—at least not that way.
But where there’s a will, there’s a way. And this month, that “way” manifested in the form of sweeping legislation that will further ensure that no information gets divulged by use of the Freedom of Information Act.
Yes, you read that right.
The legislative overhaul, which came with zero warning, would slam the door on many federal information requests by tacking on new upfront fees of anywhere from $30 to $58 (no one really knows yet), banning people from filing anonymously and giving ministers sweeping powers to toss out requests they decide are “vexatious,” “disruptive” or too time-consuming. Even more troubling, the bill massively expands secrecy: Cabinet confidentiality would no longer apply only to documents written specifically for the cabinet, but to virtually anything with even a passing connection to cabinet discussions—shutting down public access to far more records than ever before.
What could possibly justify shutting a door that should be wide open?
Why weaken a law already on life support?
Because we must quell the deluge of “vexatious” or spam FOI applications caused by AI bots, says the government. Because there are too many requests, which take too many hours, they complain. Because the old FOI system must be “modernized” and made “more efficient,” is the claim.
But there is no evidence that AI bots are flooding the system, says author and associate law professor Maria O’Sullivan.
What’s more, the claim of too many requests is a bald-faced lie.
The figures show that the number of FOI requests was lower in 2023–24 than in 2019–20.
Specifically, over this period, the number of requests fell from 41,333 to 34,706.
In short, the government’s “information” about its freedom of information policies is inaccurate at best, disingenuous at worst.
Yes, the old system has flaws and needs improvement. No argument there. (One reporter’s routine FOI request for a new minister’s briefing—usually a standard document given freely to journalists—was dragged out for 21 months through denials, appeals, mediation and legal wrangling, and by the time it was finally released, the bland, harmless information was anything but newsworthy.) But the government’s proposed “reforms” are all toward improving secrecy and reducing accountability.
Transparency advocacy group the Centre for Public Integrity called the bill “a retrograde step.”
“What we see in this bill is a government that is winding back important developments in the Australian public’s right to know,” the group said.
Freedom of information is simple. Sweden nailed it in 1766 with a law just 15 paragraphs long, refined over the course of 250 years. Australia’s law, by contrast, is a ponderous 225-page tome: a few pages of lofty ideals followed by dozens of pages of exemptions, exceptions and loopholes—soon to be bloated further by this latest “reform.”
Instead of opening the portal to truth, freedom of information law Down Under is being converted into a tiny doorstop, shutting out and shutting down not just records, but the public’s right to hold power to account.
