When you walk up to Coral Springs City Hall, it’s hard to miss the massive sun sculpture out front. Painted bright orange and yellow, it beams like Florida sunshine, welcoming everyone who steps inside. Etched on the inside of the sculpture are the words: “Everything Under the Sun.”

That’s Coral Springs’ motto, and it couldn’t have been a more fitting way to open this audit. Because when we’re talking about the First Amendment — the right to speak, record, and hold government accountable — we’re really talking about everything under the sun.

This was meant to be one big video covering Coral Springs City Hall, the police department, the local post offices, and the Northwest Regional Library. But as these things often go, the day’s events reshaped the project. The library footage had enough drama to earn its own release (and if you haven’t seen it yet, you can catch that here). The post office interactions — which include police being called and 911 audio where callers lied — will be next week’s feature.

Today’s story is all about City Hall and the Police Department — two sides of Coral Springs government that, as it turns out, set the bar high for professionalism and transparency.

Checking In at City Hall

The main entrance of Coral Springs City Hall feels more like a corporate lobby than a government office. Off to the left sits a security station manned by an Allied guard. A lot of auditors will tell you Allied Security has a reputation for mishandling First Amendment situations. But this guy? He was polite and professional from the start.

I asked where the building department was, and he told me to head to the “One Stop Shop” through the next door. He even buzzed me in.

Inside, I found myself standing in front of a kiosk that immediately asked for my phone number. That’s where my radar went up. Why should I have to hand over personal info just to access public services? I wasn’t about to feed my data into another system that could open me up to more spam calls.

Instead, I approached the desk, where I met Ashley. She asked my name and what I needed. I explained I wanted records on how many solar permits had been approved in 2025. Before long, an older staff member joined in. She asked clarifying questions — did I only want approvals, or applications too? Residential or commercial? She wasn’t defensive about the camera; she just genuinely wanted to make sure I got the right info.

When I clarified I only wanted approved residential solar permits for 2025, she assured me they could run a report. She even joked that to get the records, they’d need my driver’s license and DNA. We all laughed — it was the kind of good-natured professionalism you hope for in public service.

Ashley handled the request, double-checked the details, and confirmed I could leave my email instead of a phone number. She even made light of being on camera, asking if she looked okay. I told her the viewers were more concerned with how well she did her job than how she looked doing it.

That’s how public service should work: approachable, professional, and transparent.

Same-Day Records

Before I even left the parking lot, I pulled out my phone to check some footage — and there it was. An email from the city with my first records response.

1,305 active employees.

The very same day, I also received the full report of 2025 solar permits. If you’ve ever filed a public records request, you know how rare that is. Too often, governments drag their feet, overcomplicate the process, or try to intimidate requesters. Coral Springs, on the other hand, delivered same-day transparency. That deserves recognition.

Meeting the Deputy City Clerk

Before leaving City Hall, I circled back to the Allied guard and asked about seeing the city clerk. He asked what I needed, and I explained it was for another records request. Right at that moment, a woman called in on the video phone — clearly complaining about me recording.

The guard didn’t flinch. He told her flat-out that I had a right to film in the building. For an Allied guard to stand firm like that is worth noting. I even told him how much I appreciated the way he handled it.

A few minutes later, Deputy City Clerk Aaron came down to meet me. I asked how many employees the city had (which, unbeknownst to me, I’d already gotten the answer to). He explained that requests like that get entered into the city’s JustFOIA system, where I could track progress. I also asked about the immaculate landscaping outside — whether it was done by city employees or contracted out. He said mostly city workers, though sometimes vendors help.

Aaron was polite, professional, and efficient. Nothing more, nothing less.

Walking out of City Hall, I told the camera how smooth the entire process had been. And it really was.

Coral Springs Police Department

Next stop: the Coral Springs Police Department.

Out front, a bronze statue shows a police officer and firefighter with two children between them. Just to the right is a memorial garden for fallen officers. I cracked a quick joke about bronze prices being up but not worth stealing the statue, then made my way inside.

At the front desk, a young woman asked how she could help. I told her I wanted to file a public records request. She asked if I had a case number — I didn’t. She asked what it was related to, and that’s when I told her:

I had noticed an award in their trophy case for February 14, 2018 — the day of the Parkland school shooting.

Remembering Parkland

For context: Coral Springs is right next to Parkland, home of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. On Valentine’s Day 2018, 17 students and staff members were murdered in one of the deadliest school shootings in U.S. history.

As shots rang out and children bled on the floor, deputies from the Broward Sheriff’s Office — the agency tasked with protecting the school — stayed outside. They didn’t go in. That’s how BSO earned the infamous nickname: “The Cowards of Broward.”

Coral Springs officers, on the other hand, ran in. They passed those hiding deputies and entered the building ready to confront the shooter.

That’s what the award in the trophy case recognized. The inscription read:

“This award is presented to the Coral Springs Police Department in recognition of your agency personnel’s decisive actions and heroic efforts on February 14, 2018, when responding to an active shooter at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. Your courageous and brave actions were instrumental in saving precious lives.”

I told the clerk that my request was for the names and email addresses of the officers who went in that day. She seemed a little uncertain, but she pulled out a notepad and began writing it down.

Filing the Requests

She explained that the main reports were with BSO, but that Coral Springs had supplemental records. Either way, their records department would handle the request. She asked for my email, which I dictated while she wrote it down.

Before leaving, I added one more request: the police blotter from the previous Sunday. She made a note of that too, confirmed everything would be submitted, and told me they’d get back to me.

I thanked her for her time and left the building.

Outside, I reflected on camera: no matter where you live in the U.S., you’ve heard of the Valentine’s Day massacre. And whatever you think of law enforcement, you have to respect the fact that Coral Springs PD ran into that school when others didn’t.

Reflection

This Coral Springs audit was unlike many others I’ve done.

At City Hall, I was met with professionalism, good humor, and transparency — including same-day records responses. At the police department, I filed sensitive requests tied to one of the darkest days in Florida history, and the staff still treated me respectfully.

That’s how government should work. Not with hostility. Not with barriers. But with accountability, professionalism, and openness.

What’s Next

If today’s audit felt calm, buckle up — because next week’s post office audit is where things take a turn. The police were called, 911 audio was pulled, and the callers flat-out lied by saying I was irate. That’s not my style, and the record proves it.

Make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss it.

In the meantime, you can also check out the Coral Springs Library audit if you missed it — where a patron tried tattling on me and ended up getting schooled on the First Amendment.

The title isn’t an exaggeration. It’s a pattern. And once again, Broward Sheriff’s deputies have proven that when accountability is needed most, they disappear.

On a recent First Amendment audit at Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport (FLL), I visited all four terminals to test whether airport employees and law enforcement respected the public’s right to record in publicly accessible areas. Most people handled the camera just fine. Some were curious. A few asked questions. But when I arrived at Terminal 3, things took a disturbing turn.

At the JetBlue baggage check, a staff member named Andre objected to my filming and told me I didn’t have permission. I calmly informed him that I was engaged in constitutionally protected activity. But instead of deescalating, a customer he was helping decided to insert himself into the situation. His name was Sean.

Sean told me to stop recording. I asked, “Or what?” and he threatened me by saying my equipment would end up in five pieces. Before I had time to react, he shoved me in the chest.

That’s assault.

And it happened right there in front of JetBlue employees, passengers, and two uniformed Broward Sheriff’s deputies who were approaching as it happened.

When I informed the deputies that I had just been assaulted and wanted to press charges, they did absolutely nothing. They refused to detain the suspect. They refused to take my report. They refused to identify themselves. Instead, they let Sean walk away, unchecked and unbothered.

Let that sink in: I was physically attacked while exercising a constitutionally protected right, and the law enforcement officers on scene looked the other way.

When I attempted to document which patrol cars the deputies belonged to, one of them made a veiled threat implying that I could be arrested if I didn’t back off. So I went back inside the terminal, took a seat, backed up my footage, and called the Broward Sheriff’s Office non-emergency number.

A few minutes later, a real cop showed up.

Deputy G. Aluc arrived, heard me out, reviewed the footage, and called for a supervisor. Together, they took my statement and confirmed the names of the officers who had refused to act. Finally, someone was willing to treat an on-camera assault like the crime that it is.

To be clear, Deputy Aluc didn’t hesitate. He was respectful, attentive, and thorough. That should be the standard. But it stood in stark contrast to the behavior of the first two deputies, who seemed more interested in avoiding paperwork than upholding the law.

The phrase “Cowards of Broward” didn’t start with me. It came out of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School shooting, where BSO deputies stood outside while students were being gunned down inside. That history matters — not because it’s ancient history, but because the pattern of running from responsibility is alive and well.

And that’s the point here. This isn’t about one bad interaction, or one officer having a bad day. This is about a repeated failure of leadership, culture, and duty. When police officers pick and choose who deserves protection based on personal bias or public perception, they’re no longer peace officers — they’re political tools.

If I hadn’t had a camera rolling, this story might sound unbelievable. But the footage doesn’t lie. It shows who did the right thing, who failed to act, and who stepped up when it counted.

This audit isn’t just about filming in public. It’s about shining a light on public servants who take their oath seriously — and calling out those who don’t.

FLL is a busy, high-traffic airport. There are TSA officers, airline staff, and local deputies stationed throughout. In an environment where security is the priority, it should concern everyone that someone can be assaulted in plain sight and deputies won’t lift a finger.

Whether it’s indifference, laziness, or fear of accountability, it all leads to the same result: a failure to protect the public. And if it happens to one person, it can happen to anyone.

Deputy Aluc was the exception. He did his job. But the two deputies who ignored my report were the norm. That’s the real problem.

It’s not about me. It’s about the precedent. If police can watch an assault happen and choose to do nothing because they don’t like who the victim is, then none of us are safe.

The irony here is that these audits are meant to test the system, but the failures are never staged. They’re real. They happen in front of the lens, and they reflect how easily civil liberties can be dismissed by those sworn to protect them.

As always, you can watch the full video right here on Good Citizen News Network. If you support this kind of work and want to help keep public servants honest, consider buying me an iced coffee at buymeacoffee.com/gcnn.

Check out the links in the description for the full audit video, bonus content, and updates on any public records requests related to this incident. 

Stay vigilant. Stay free.