Oh, it gets better.
Recently the Fanjuls discovered the benefits of minority set-aside programs. They own most of a financial company, FAIC Securities, that’s getting a cut of the juicy municipal bond business from Dade and Broward.
Set-asides were conceived to help local minority-owned firms compete with underwriting giants such as Merrill Lynch. Broward finance director Phillip Allen told Forbes it was “irrelevant” that the Fanjuls were non-citizen multimillionaires.
It’s naive to think that the anti-sugar sentiment in Congress was born of righteous indignation. The impetus for “reform” comes mainly from candy makers, soft drink companies and other commercial users of sugar.
Big Sugar’s supporters contend that eliminating price supports won’t help consumers, and they’re right. Coca-Cola isn’t famous for passing its savings along to shoppers.
The best argument for axing the price supports is fairness. If Congress is slashing welfare, the blade ought to come down as brutally on corporate moochers as on social programs.
The sugar barons always howl about doom and disaster. They cried the same way when they were told to clean up the water they dump in the Everglades.
The truth is, they won’t go out of business unless they choose to. A glimpse of the Fanjuls’ lifestyle is glittering proof that Big Sugar isn’t a struggling, shoestring operation.
Killing the price guarantees undoubtedly would have a major impact, and probably lead to a radical paring of expenses. For starters, the sugar barons could save millions by cutting back on lawyers, lobbyists, yachts, polo ponies.
Whoa. Now we’re really talking disaster.
Sugar barons’ campaign: Not sweet but low
November 10, 1996
Big Sugar did a masterful job of crushing the penny-a-pound tax amendment. All it took were $24 million and a stupendous pack of lies.
With ammo like that, it would be possible to convince a majority of voters that dogs have wings.
Political campaigns are often orgies of deception, but the battle over Amendment 4 set a grimy new benchmark. Twisting the truth is commonplace in election years; abandoning it completely is unusual.
That’s what happened when the sugar barons decided their only hope of victory was to scare and confuse the public. The best way to do that was to make stuff up, and they did a brilliant, if despicable, job.
As a result, there are people walking around Florida today who actually believe they would have paid the penny-per-pound sugar tax instead of the growers.
Because that’s what Big Sugar told them over and over on TV It was the largest of many lies aimed at a stratum of voters who might be charitably described as impressionable.
The manner in which the sugar industry defeated the penny-tax proposal is relevant only for what it means to the Everglades, which would have been the beneficiary of Amendment 4.
Since the referendum, which cost a stupefying $36 million, both sides have been talking vaguely about mending fences and getting down to the urgent task of cleaning up South Florida’s water.
U.S. Sugar, in particular, has indicated a willingness to move ahead in harmony with conservationists. It would be great news, if it were true. The question is, how can you believe a word these guys say?
Look at the execrable campaign they just ran. Look at the avalanche of lawsuits they’ve unleashed to block or delay key facets of Everglades restoration.
On the other hand, you’ve got to wonder if the sugar barons are tired of being portrayed as the Antichrists of the environment. These aren’t stupid people. Cynical and ruthless, to be surebut not stupid.
They know most Floridians want their wetlands pure and protected. The lopsided vote in favor of Amendment 5, which requires polluters to pay for Everglades cleanup, was a sharp reminder of the public’s passion on that subject.
As a matter of fact, environmentalists hope to use Amendment 5 to pry more money out of the sugar industry. At the same time, EPA Chief Carol Browner says the feds want Big Sugar to fork over a bigger share.
Last week’s impressive victory at the polls didn’t get the sugar barons out of the political woods, nor did it improve their image. If they hope to hang onto their lucrative price supports, they need to appear more concerned about their waste water. They need to appear more reasonable and responsible.
And they need to make more friends. Cooperating actively with the Everglades cleanup would win them many.
Conservation groups should be similarly motivated to sit down at the bargaining table. The first incentive is economiclawsuits and political campaigns are a drain of precious resources.
The second incentive is time, which is running out for our watershed. The sooner the replumbing begins, the better the chance of a successful restoration.
Many environmentalists acknowledge that nobody wins if Big Sugar bails out of Florida. Properly filtered, agricultural runoff is less damaging to the Everglades than the fallout from urban encroachment.
There’s no reason why the farms can’t stay and the great river can’t be repaired and replenished. Let’s hope the next $36 million is spent on the water, not on television commercials.
Everglades National Park 50th Anniversary Homage to a magical place
October 19, 1997
The cabin hung on wooden stilts in a marsh pond, the stilts rising up through lily pads as big as hubcaps.
Getting there was tricky but my friends Andy and Matt knew the waygunning a johnboat down subtle and sinuous trails, the sawgrass whisking against the hull. If you were foolish enough to stick out your hand, it came back bleeding.
The stalks were so high and thick that they parted like a curtain when we plowed through. The boat’s bow acted as a scoop, picking up gem-green chameleons and ribbon snakes and leopard frogs. By the time we reached the cabin, we’d usually have spider webs on our heads, and sometimes the spiders themselves.
We were kids, and it was fantastic. It was the Everglades.
One night we stood on the canted porch and watched tiny starbursts of color in the distant sky. At first we couldn’t figure out what they were, and then we remembered: It was the Fourth of July. Those were fireworks over the city of Fort Lauderdale.
But we were so far away that all we could hear was the peeping of frogs and the hum of mosquitoes and the occasional trill of an owl. We didn’t need to be told it was a magical place. We didn’t need to be reminded how lucky we were.
I don’t know if the old shack is still standing in Conservation Area 1B, but the eastward view certainly isn’t the same. Instead of starlight you now get the glow from the Sawgrass Mills mall, a humongous Ford dealership and, absurdly, the crown of a new pro hockey arena.
We wouldn’t have thought it possible, three teenagers gazing across wild country that swept to all horizons. Ice hockey on the doorstep of the Everglades! We couldn’t have imagined such soulless incongruity and blithering greed.
Fortunately, somebody was smarter than we were. Somebody 30 years earlier had realized that the most imposing of natural wonders, even a river of grass, could be destroyed if enough well-financed intruders set their minds to it.
And somebody also understood that Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties would inevitably grow westward as haphazardly as fungus, and with even less regard for their mother host.
So that, politically, the only part of the Everglades that could be set aside for true preservation was its remote southernmost spur, and not without a battle. As impenetrable as the area appeared, speculators nonetheless mulled ways to log it, plow it, mine it or subdivide it.
That the U.S. Congress and state Legislature ever went along with the idea of an Everglades National Park remains astounding, 50 years after its dedication.
Nature helped its own cause. Hurricanes hammered South Florida in the 1930s and 1940s, so most land grabbers weren’t in the market for more submerged acreage. It was hard enough hawking the soggy, stamp-sized lots they already had.
Seasonal flooding and fires had become such a threat to coastal development that extravagant technology was being directed toward a radical solution: containing and controlling all water near the farms and newly sprouted towns.
Thus preoccupied, most entrepreneurs remained wary of the buggy, moccasin-infested wetlands below the Tamiami Trail. That particular wilderness was, if not unconquerable, presumed not worth the high cost of conquering.
So in 1947 there came to be a spectacular national park, 1.3 million acres and destined to grow.
Ironically, it wasn’t long afterwards that the rest of the Everglades, an area five times the size of the park, came under attack from the dredge and the bulldozera methodical and arrogant replumbing. Hundreds of miles of canals and dikes were gouged through the sawgrass meadows, pond apple sloughs and cypress heads.
Once the big “water management” project got under way, not enough people considered what might happen to the park itself, to the south. Too few understood its vascular, life-or-death connection to the sugarcane fields of Clewiston, the limerock mines of Medley or the tomato farms of Homestead.
As a consequence, hundreds of millions of dollars are today being requisitioned to undo the damage and “restore” both the flow and purity of the Everglades. Nowhere in the world has such a massive, complex hydrological repair been attempted. If by some miracle it succeeds, your children and their children probably will never run out of clean water.
And, as a fine bonus, they might get to see a healthier Everglades National Park.
As vulnerable and anemic as it is, the park remains impressive and occasionally awesome; still rightfully mentioned in the same breath with Yellowstone and Grand Canyon.
Visually, its beauty is of an inverse dimension, for the Glades are as flat as a skillet, the trees mostly tangled and scrubby, the waters slow and dark. The monotony of its landscape can be a deception, as endless and uninviting as arctic tundra.
But for anyone finding themselves on that long two-lane road to Flamingo when the sun comes up, there’s no place comparable in the universe.
True, the Everglades have no regal herds of elk or buffalo to halt tourist trafficyou might briefly be delayed by a box turtle plodding across the blacktop, or by a homely opossum. Yet for the matchless diversity of its inhabitants, the park is truly unique.
That’s because it is essentially the tailing-out of a great temperate river, transformed on its southerly glide from freshwater prairies to an immense salty estuary, Florida Bay.
Entering by canoe at Shark River, you would be among woodpeckers and mockingbirds, alligators and bullfrogs, garfish and bass, white-tailed deer and possibly otters. Most of them you wouldn’t see, but they’d be there.
And by the time you finished paddlingat Cape Sable or Snake Bight or the Ten Thousand Islandsyou would have also been among roseate spoonbills and white pelicans, eels and mangrove snakes, sawfish and redfish and crusty loggerhead turtles.
Buffaloes are grand, but name another park that harbors panthers at one end and hammerhead sharks at the other. Name another park where, on a spring morning, it’s possible to encounter bald eagles, manatees, a jewfish the size of a wine cask, an indigo snake as rare as sapphire, and even a wild pink flamingo.
I feel blessed because the park’s southern boundary reaches practically to my back door. One June evening, I walked the shore of a mangrove bay and counted four crocodile nests; in a whole lifetime most Floridians will never lay eyes on one. Another afternoon, in July, I helped tag and release a young green turtle, a seldom-seen species that once teetered toward extinction.
And only weeks ago, near Sandy Key, I saw a pod of bottlenosed dolphins doing spectacular back-flips for no other reason but the joy of it. Nobody was there to applaud or snap pictures; the dolphins were their own best audience, exactly as it ought to have been.
Such moments are remarkable if you consider what has happened to the rest of South Florida in the past half a century. It seems miraculous that the Everglades haven’t been completely parched, poached or poisoned to stagnation by the six million people who’ve moved in around them.
The more who come, the more important the national park becomesnot only as a refuge for imperiled wildlife but as a symbolic monument for future human generations; one consecrated place that shows somebody down here cared, somebody understood, somebody appreciated.
A fantastic place from which your children and their children will, if they’re lucky, never see the lights of an outlet mall or a car lot or a ridiculous hockey stadium. Just starburst glimpses of birds and baby gators and high-flying dolphins.
Lawmakers sell Glades down river
May 7, 1998
To cap off the most worthless legislative session in recent memory, Florida lawmakers passed two last-minute bills that could sabotage Everglades restoration.
They rammed one through under the phony banner of property rights, but it’s not your property or your rights they care about. It’s Big Sugar’s.
The new law substantially jacks up the cost of the Everglades project by requiring land purchases to be negotiated under the state’s condemnation law, instead of the U.S. government’s. That lets large landowners stiff taxpayers for attorney fees, consultants and witness expenses.
Many millions of dollars will be added to the price of land needed to reconstruct South Florida’s freshwater drainage system. The chief beneficiary of this latest gouging would be Flo-Sun, the sugar conglomerate with vast holdings near Lake Okeechobee.
A relatively small chunk of cane acreage is essential to the Everglades puzzle, which is why water managers want to purchase it. Thanks to lawmakers, Flo-Sun now stands to make an even fatter-than-usual killing.
The rip-off has a perversely splendid irony. Big Sugar spent decades using the Everglades as its toilet, and receiving U.S. subsidies all the while. Now that it’s time to help clean up the mess, the sugar barons don’t want to play by Uncle Sam’s rules.
Oh, they’re happy to take federal bucks for their property, but they don’t want the feds to limit how much.
So: First we pay the sugar tycoons while they’re polluting our water supply. Then we pay them even more for selling us back what they screwed up in the first place. And who says welfare is dead?
The Flo-Sun bill is such egregious larceny that it has been attacked by two local congressmen, Democrat Peter Deutsch and Republican E. Clay Shaw, who both fear it will drive the cost of Everglades restoration so high as to cripple it.
The last hope lies with Gov. Lawton Chiles, who with a stroke of the pen should snuff the Flo-Sun giveaway, along with another disastrous bill pushed by U.S. Sugar and adopted in the Legislature’s final craven moments.
That measure gives lawmakers a virtual item-by-item veto over all future changes to the Everglades project, even if no state funds are involved. It’s plainly designed to subvert the comprehensive study of South Florida’s watershed now being completed by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.
Remember that the Corps and the South Florida Water Management District were empowered by Congress to replumb and repurify the Evergladesan enormous engineering project to which every taxpayer in America is contributing.
The last and worst thing to happen would be another layer of interferencenot just extra bureaucracy, but grubby political meddling that could bring the restoration process to a grinding halt.
It’s no surprise that Big Sugar, like Big Tobacco, is scared by what’s happening lately in Washington, D.C. It’s also no surprise that cane growers are turning for a bailout to their favorite slobbering lapdogs, the state politicians in Tallahassee.
Historically, the Legislature has been a faithful friend to Big Sugar and most major agricultural interests. Anything they wanted to dump in our drinking water or spray on the ground was pretty much OK with lawmakers, which is one reason our rivers, bays and estuaries are so sick today.
Allowing the Legislature to now appoint itself chief caretaker of the Everglades would be like putting Ted Kaczynski in charge of the postal service.
If Chiles doesn’t do something, the Everglades Forever Act is doomed to be another hollow promise. They’ll need to rename it Big Sugar Forever.