The vote to reverse the zoning administrator was 4-1, with Plummer dissenting. Afterward Fadi Aftimos couldn't wait to get home to tell the kids they can stay. No one needs to hear it more.
Politicians waking up to the green vote
November 5, 1990
Another election season comes to an end, leaving many voters confused, disappointed, unenlightened, uninspired and depressed.
Deeply depressed. One more day of campaign commercials, and we'll all need a dose of Prozac. Bob Martinez is still rhapsodizing about the electric chair, while Lawton Chiles has enlisted the sheriff of Sumter County—Sumter County!—to tell us crime's a darn big problem.
Is there any hope for Florida?
Maybe a shred. Somehow the citizens have managed to educate office-seekers about some new priorities. For the first time, the issues of conservation and "growth management" have been pushed toward the top of the political agenda. It doesn't mean candidates must listen, but they'd better act like they're listening.
In 1986, Martinez got elected without mentioning the environment. In 1990, it's the emotional centerpiece of his re-election campaign. Television commercials show him ambling along a beach, with a dolphin splashing in the surf. All that's missing is a tame Key deer and a baby manatee.
The mood of the state certainly has changed.
The governor isn't alone in his reverie with Nature; Chiles, too, has been touting his own environmental record. It's not insignificant that both candidates have spent so much time and money trying to out-Audubon each other—the votes are waiting to be won.
In future campaigns, you'll see other politicians paddling the Suwannee and hiking the Big Cypress. Such photo opportunities will be staged to show how much these folks really truly care, which might or might not be a lie.
One thing they do care about is preserving their careers, which is why you don't hear anyone campaigning in favor of new offshore oil leases, more beachfront high-rises, or more cane fields near the Everglades.
Not so long ago, environmentalists were treated as a fringe movement to be ignored or ridiculed, depending on where you happened to be campaigning. How things have changed. Today in Dade County, an endorsement from Marjory Stoneman Douglas gets you more votes (if not more campaign contributions) than an endorsement from the Latin Builders Association.
All over urban Florida, people are upset about what's happening to the place they live. Sick of the clotted traffic, the rising crime, the overcrowded schools, the destruction of coastlines, the paving and subdividing and mailing of what was once a beautiful place.
The message from the cities and suburbs is strong and clear. A threshold of public tolerance has been breached: Metastatic growth is no longer seen as necessary for prosperity. That Florida remains one of the fastest-growing states is nothing to brag about; it's terrifying, given the condition of our budget, our water supply, our highways, our schools, and our jails.
Many who moved down here are discouraged by the deteriorating quality of life and angry enough to punish those responsible. Voting is a good way to start. Consequently, politicians from Pensacola to the Keys are leaping on the Big Green bandwagon and proclaiming their ardor for tall trees and clean air and blue water. Some are sincere, and some are just scared.
The trouble is, it's hard to tell the phonies from the real thing. One clue is to check where the campaign funds are coming from—and in that department, not much has changed.The big money still flows from developers, and rare is the candidate who mails back the check.
Still, we can hope that some have gotten it through their thick skulls that it's a new day. Anti-development feelings that simmered below the surface 10 years ago are boiling over now. Lip service might get you elected, but it won't keep you there.
In the end, the private motives of officeholders aren't as relevant as their actions. If they cast one vote that saves a park or cleans up a river, it really doesn't matter if they did it out of passion, or cold naked fear. Just so it gets done.
At last, Florida has a program worth keeping
November 10, 1991
Occasionally we find intelligent signs of life in Florida government. Occasionally something actually works.
One quiet success story is Preservation 2000, an ambitious program designed to buy up endangered lands and save them from development. The first purchase occurred in Sarasota County—914 acres once marked for residential housing would instead be annexed to a state park. Since then, more than $90 million has been spent on river basins and marshes, from the Withlacoochee to the edge of the Everglades.
"It's the only happy story in Florida," says Eric Draper of the Nature Conservancy, which compiled a list of top-priority purchases for the state.
The largest land acquisition program in the nation, Preservation 2000 owes its existence to former Gov. Bob Martinez. Searching for a constituency among environmentalists, Martinez had proposed P2000 as a way to preserve sensitive lands, while ensuring that property owners were fairly compensated.
The concept got support from respected conservation groups, so the Legislature went along. "They didn't realize what a good thing they'd created," Draper says.
Currently, money for the land purchases comes from revenue bonds sold by the state, grossing $300 million a year. Half goes toward the Conservation and Recreation Lands (carl) plan, and another 30 percent bankrolls the Save Our Rivers program. The rest goes for parks and forestry.
Working with local agencies, water districts and private philanthropists, P2000 has helped secure vital tracts along the Steinhatchee River, the Green Swamp Basin in Pasco County, and the Corkscrew Swamp. By contributing money for cleanup projects, P2000 played a role in settling the big federal lawsuit over agricultural pollution of the Everglades.
A list of areas targeted for future purchase stretches from the hammocks of North Key Largo to the pinelands of the Big Bend. Several counties have launched their own acquisition programs with bond issues approved by the public. The votes left no doubt that most Floridians will pay to protect threatened green space.
The best part of P2000 is that its bite is barely felt by taxpayers—at least for now. Unfortunately, lawmakers approved a 10-year spending project without a 10-year funding plan.
Consequently, in this season's budgetary panic, Preservation 2000 could be jeopardized—and with it, hundreds of thousands of acres of irreplaceable wilderness.
With any bond project, someone's got to pay the annual debt—about $26 million on each issue of P2000 bonds. In 1990, lawmakers got the money by raising documentary stamp taxes on liens and stocks. This year the debt service will be covered by a small hike in documentary stamps on real estate.
But what about next year? And the year after that? Each new P2000 bond carries a debt that the state must pay. For this reason, Gov. Chiles and some legislators are uneasy about issuing new bonds; rather, they want P2000 to have a dedicated source of funding.
Given the fiscal crisis in schools and prisons, it's unlikely lawmakers will simply appropriate $300 million for land acquisition. The money must come from a fresh well.
Some say bonds are still a good deal because interest rates are low, and raw land will never be cheaper. Whatever course is taken, any snag in the P2000 program would be bad news for conservation. Every lost day is costly, as illustrated by recent events near Apalachicola.
There the state had its eye on a vast stretch of swamp and pine groves called Tate's Hell. At 183,000 acres, it would have been the largest parcel ever saved from bulldozers.
But a developer with $22 million got there first. Last month the deal was signed, and soon Tate's Hell will have houses, "plantations" and a logging operation.
At least they won't have to change the name.
Proposal gives green power to the people
March 14, 1993
The days of carving up public parks for private profit might soon be over.
An amendment that appears on Tuesday's ballot would give more control of Da
de's rich park system to those who own it—the people.
If the measure passes, no large commercial ventures could be launched in county parks without voter approval. That includes race-car tracks, pro tennis stadiums, flea markets and other extravaganzas that have been allowed to occupy public lands.
The premise of the charter amendment is that parks are meant to be preserved, not exploited. It's a concept that worries a few local bureaucrats, who look at Dade's shrinking green spaces and see not just trees, but money.
Piecing out park projects is a high-stakes deal; contracts and concessions often go to those with strong political connections. Letting the public get involved throws a wrench into the works. That's why Metro commissioners refused to put the Save Our Parks proposal on a ballot.
Supporters quickly collected almost 94,000 signatures on a petition, so the amendment is now on its way to voters. Meanwhile, officials in Miami and other cities are fretting aloud over the possible consequences. Imagine—allowing common citizens to decide how their parks should be used!
Politicians fear that voters might not appreciate some of their bold moneymaking schemes. Say, for example, that the city of Miami Beach wanted to build a parking garage in an oceanfront park. The uninformed masses might think poorly of the idea and vote against it, thus halting the march of progress.
Miami planners envision just such a scenario. They're trying to turn what's left of Bicentennial Park into a working annex of the seaport. If the Save Our Parks amendment passes, voters might block the expansion on the grounds that the cruise lines can damn well afford to buy their own docks. In anticipation, the city is hastily hunting for loopholes to allow the port landgrab to proceed, no matter what happens in the election.
The notion that parks should bring in revenue isn't new. It makes sense to have a bait shop at Crandon Marina, or an outdoor snack bar at Matheson Hammock. The public gets a needed service, and the county gets money from leasing the concessions.
But look at large-scale boondoggles such as the Grand Prix and the Lipton tennis tournament, which have transformed Bicentennial and Crandon parks respectively. Heavily subsidized by tax dollars, both events supposedly still bleed red ink, and each year the promoters come begging for more public money.
While the arrangement has been lucrative for Ralph Sanchez and Butch Buchholz, the county is hundreds of thousands of dollars in the hole. We're told that the deepening deficit is offset by the gazillions spent by fans attending these events, but documenting the alleged windfalls has proven difficult.
Perhaps voters will look kindly on such ambitious schemes, and eagerly surrender more local parks to private enterprise. If some dreamer wants to put a NASCAR oval in the Deering Estate—stock cars screaming around a gorgeous infield of royal palms—that's fine, as long as the voters say yes.
They probably wouldn't. Had the Save Our Parks amendment been the law a few years ago, the Grand Prix and the Lipton today might be held on private lands; same fun, different venue.
Even if the amendment passes, local government will still play die major role in initiating new projects. For once, though, the people who use the parks will get to decide whether commercializing a green space really improves it, and for whom.
If Tallahassee won't do it, voters will
December 11, 1994
If Tallahassee is the mule, then Amendment 3 was the proverbial two-by-four upside its head.
Last month, 72 percent of Florida voters approved a ban on the use of entanglement gill nets in state waters. The law took the extreme form of a constitutional amendment because it was the only way to get the issue before the people.
The governor and Cabinet wouldn't do it. Regulators hemmed and hawed. The Legislature chickened out. So a petition drive put it on the ballot.
Amendment 3's landslide passage was a powerful political proclamation: Floridians don't want their oceans and rivers raped anymore. They care passionately about conservation and will turn out in huge numbers to say so.
Was anybody in government listening? Somebody was.
"Today represents a defining moment in the care and nurture of our marine resources … The vote on the constitutional amendment clearly mandates that we do things differently and better."
The words come from Dr. Robert Q. Marston, vice chairman of the Florida Marine Fisheries Commission. The MFC was created in 1983 to prevent the destruction of coastal fisheries. Because of intense pressure from commercial groups, change has come slowly.
Too slowly, Marston concedes. In a new report to the MFC, the former president of the University of Florida uses uncommonly blunt language to summarize what's gone wrong.
Rather than stand up to the lobbying blitz from special interests, the state repeatedly has enacted weak conservation rules. "Such attempts have failed uniformly," Marston asserts. "Fishery stocks have failed to respond, and ultimately more stringent action is necessary."
Remember how overfishing was allowed to decimate four prized saltwater species—snook, redfish, king mackerel and Spanish mackerel—before emergency measures were taken.
Recently the MFC staff reviewed the survival prospects for 40 Florida species: 16 are considered stable, six are recovering from overfishing, and 18 "are still overfished without an apparently effective recovery plan in place."
One of those is the spotted sea trout, which has declined drastically in numbers because of heavy netting. Efforts to protect the popular food fish have been inadequate, tangled in politics and conflicting scientific data.
Even if you never touch a fishing rod in your life, Marston's call to action is a cause for hope. Wise marine management benefits not only the commercial and sportfishing industries, but every taxpayer, too.
The death of marine habitats would be calamitous for the state's economy, especially tourism. The MFC estimates that recreational fishing now brings in nearly as much money statewide as the citrus industry.
Politicians wouldn't dare stand idle if the orange harvest was being ripped off, but many have done exactly that while the fish stocks were plundered.
The MFC staff wants a streamlined rule making procedure, tougher penalties and stronger, better enforcement. Otherwise, Florida's sea waters will remain vulnerable to the same threats that have depleted two-thirds of the world's major fisheries.
Every Floridian lives within a short drive of a beach, a bay or a river. The vote on Amendment 3 proved that people have a deep affection for these places. Most biologists believe the net ban will greatly rejuvenate stocks of sea trout and other species. It's probably the most important, far-reaching conservation initiative in half a century. And the people had to do it, because the geniuses we send to Tallahassee wouldn't pay attention.
Maybe they will now. If not, there are plenty of other two-by-fours that'll do the trick.
Preserving bay today is good for the future
May 12, 1996
The most spectacular waters of Biscayne Bay are found in Biscayne National Park. This is no quirk of nature.
An unpaved swath of coastline, the last in the county, is one reason the park has stayed so healthy. The Metro Commission has an extraordinary opportunity to keep it that way for your children and grandchildren, and perhaps generations to come.
It's far-fetched, but not impossible to believe that the same political body that erected a mountainous dump on the shore of Biscayne Bay would now vote to protect the rest of it. That's what must happen, or a tragic decline is inevitable.
The southern part of the bay has been shielded from urban pollution by thousands of acres of agriculture and open green space, which acts as a filter for rainfall.
From an airplane, you can see the dramatic contrast in clarity between the water off downtown Miami and the water at the Arsenicker Keys. On some days it's the difference between chowder and gin.
To preserve South Dade's stretch of bay, Biscayne National Park Superintendent Dick Frosthas asked Metro commissioners to make two changes to the master land-use plan.
The first amendment affects 2,700 acres adjacent to the park, which now is designated for urban development. Frost believes the land provides an "essential" buffer for the bay, and should remain farms and open space.
A second, broader amendment asks the county to hold the line against any major housing projects near the national park, until the long-term impact on water quality can be determined.
Frost's recommendations were endorsed 8-1 by Metro's Planning Advisory Board, but that's no guarantee the measures will be approved. Commissioners have been known to ignore their own planners rather than rile their campaign donors.
The amendments are set for a vote Tuesday, and opponents will be out in force. Leading the fight against an expanded park buffer are Homestead City Council members, some of whom continue to invoke hurricane hardship as a justification for subdividing everything in sight.
Councilwoman Ruth Campbell complained that the park's proposal "will stymie the development at the Homestead Air Reserve Base."
A revealing remark indeed. Remember that one selling point of the HABDI giveaway was the assurance that the new airport and commercial park would be not only self-contained, but incompatible with Hialeah-type sprawl.
The proposed buffer area—lowlands between Florida's Turnpike Extension and the air base tract—faces enormous development pressure. As has been the trend in South Dade, some farm owners-turned-speculators are eager to sell.
The problem with cramming thousands of tract houses along Biscayne Bay's drainage corridor is obvious: Asphalt and concrete cannot filter water the way soil does. Instead, rain becomes dirty runoff, degrading the bay.
Those who argue that buffering the park will stunt Homestead's economy are overlooking the 500,000 visitors a year who go there to dive, snorkel and fish.