Kick Ass: Selected Columns of Carl Hiaasen

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.