Josephine County Commissioner Chris Barnett has been sounding the alarm in recent weeks about becoming a victim of “lawfare”—a term commonly used to describe the strategic use of legal systems as weapons to suppress, discredit, or exhaust political adversaries. He has claimed that he’s been unfairly targeted, persecuted, and burdened by legal scrutiny. On the surface, this might sound like a legitimate concern for anyone in public office.
But dig deeper, and you’ll find a narrative where the definition of “lawfare” seems to shift depending on whether Barnett is playing offense or defense. When laws or legal mechanisms serve his interests, Barnett embraces them with both hands. When they don’t—when they impose oversight, reveal uncomfortable facts, or fail to support his version of events—he waves the lawfare flag and cries foul.
In short, Chris Barnett may be right that lawfare is happening in Coo’s County. But not quite in the way he wants the public to believe.
The Convenient Embrace of the Law
Barnett has demonstrated a keen ability to use the law when it serves his political agenda. When critics call out his conduct as a public official, he responds with defamation threats. When a reporter publishes unflattering but factual articles, Barnett claims he’s the victim of character assassination, and demands legal intervention. When legal protections such as the corporate veil offer him a shield, he eagerly stands behind it.
In the civil case Adelsperger v. Elkside Development LLC, for instance, Barnett invoked LLC protections to argue that he bore no personal responsibility for the elder financial abuse and broken promises tied to lifetime campground memberships sold to dozens of seniors. But the Oregon Court of Appeals disagreed, twice affirming that LLC protections don’t shield individuals from personal liability when fraud or abuse is involved. Instead of accepting that legal reasoning, Barnett went to the media and cried “lawfare,” suggesting he was the one being wronged.
That’s not lawfare. That’s the law doing exactly what it’s designed to do—protect vulnerable citizens and hold power to account.
In Barnett’s world, accountability appears to be a zero-sum game: If he’s not the one holding the legal sword, then someone must be unfairly targeting him with it. But public office doesn’t come with a legal immunity card. Commissioners, like any other citizen, are bound by rules of conduct, public records laws, ethics regulations, and the state constitution.
When journalists and watchdogs file public records requests to investigate how ARPA or airport grant funds were distributed under Barnett’s watch, he characterizes those inquiries as part of a political witch hunt. When constituents demand transparency, he labels them “activists” or “trolls.” And when legal claims arise—from lease disputes to ethics complaints—Barnett paints himself as a martyr, a victim of lawfare rather than a participant in the democratic process of checks and balances.
The irony is sharp. Barnett isn’t facing lawfare. He’s facing accountability.
If lawfare is the use of legal mechanisms to silence, punish, or outlast your opponents, then perhaps the most egregious example of it is Barnett’s own approach toward local journalists and civic critics. Legal threats against the Grants Pass Tribune have become routine. Political pressure has been exerted on advertisers to abandon independent media. And behind closed doors, sources allege that local officials have coordinated efforts to discredit those who dare to speak out.
That’s textbook lawfare—wielding the threat of legal or economic ruin to control a narrative.
When Barnett uses the law to retaliate, he doesn’t call it lawfare. He calls it justice. But when someone else uses the law to challenge him, investigate public funding questions, or seek legal redress for real harm, he rebrands it as persecution.
There’s a difference between being subject to the law and being targeted by it. Being sued for potential wrongdoing doesn’t automatically make one a victim of lawfare. Being investigated for ethical lapses or misuse of public resources is not the same as being harassed. It’s what happens when you hold a powerful position in a democracy.
The laws Barnett now decries as “unfair” are the same laws that protect his right to due process, that allow him to defend himself in court, and that shield his business operations when they serve his financial interest. But laws are not tools to be selectively applied based on political convenience.
In multiple interviews—including a recent appearance on the Bill Meyer Show—Barnett argued that legal scrutiny against him amounts to political sabotage. Yet he offered little evidence that any legal action he’s faced was unwarranted, false, or strategically abusive. Instead, he relied on rhetoric and repetition, turning “lawfare” into a buzzword to stir public sympathy and distract from ongoing scrutiny.
If Barnett truly believes in the dangers of lawfare, he might begin by reflecting on how he uses—or misuses—his own legal and political tools. The selective deployment of lawsuits, legal threats, and procedural loopholes to silence criticism is the very essence of lawfare. And yet, he seems unwilling to recognize that dynamic when the power is in his hands.
Ultimately, Chris Barnett’s loudest complaints about lawfare seem less about defending the integrity of the legal system and more about shielding himself from its consequences. That’s not a victim speaking. That’s a tactician trying to control the board.
Chris Barnett is correct about one thing: the law is being used in Coo’s County. But it’s not being wielded as a weapon against him—it’s functioning as a shield for the public, a flashlight in the dark corners of local governance. The real danger isn’t lawfare. It’s the erosion of trust when public officials attempt to redefine accountability as persecution.
In the end, democracy only works if laws apply to everyone—even County Commissioners. And if Barnett finds himself frequently on the receiving end of legal attention, perhaps the question isn’t who’s launching the attacks. It’s whether the laws are finally doing their job.