Shining light on the good, bad and ugly of bureaucracy in Florida

Part 1: Why Housing Costs Keep Rising in Florida — and Why Supply is the Key 

Florida’s housing crisis isn’t just about sky-high prices or families getting priced out of their hometowns. According to Florida State University’s Dr. Sam Staley, it’s about something far more fundamental: a system that simply won’t let the market work. 

Staley, director of the DeVoe Moore Center and one of the state’s most respected voices on housing policy, says the real culprit behind Florida’s housing affordability woes isn’t demand — it’s supply. And what’s blocking that supply? Local governments, outdated zoning laws, and a political class that talks a good game about affordability but won’t approve the density or development needed to deliver it. 

Ironically, Staley says it is leading bright red Florida down a path similar to ones in California, Massachusetts and other states plagued by costly regulation and an affordable housing crisis. 

In this first installment of a multi-part Red Tape Florida Q&A, Staley breaks down why housing costs keep rising — and why, until cities, counties and the state get serious about reducing regulatory barriers, things aren’t likely to get better. 

Skip Foster (RTF): Sam, let’s start with the question everyone is asking: Why is housing so expensive in Florida? 

Sam Staley: I mean, we have a supply problem. It’s not demand-driven. It’s regulatory-driven, zoning-driven. It’s planning-driven. It’s process-driven. And we’re simply not building enough units to meet the demand. So, what happens is that the people that are in the housing have it. The people that don’t get left out. And the people that get left out are the ones at the bottom end of the market. 

RTF: So it’s not so much that prices are being driven up artificially? 

Staley: The price goes up because of the shortage of supply. The data is there. In fact, there are some economists that have gone through and have documented this pretty clearly. The cost of housing has increased significantly above inflation in urban markets that are growth-constrained. And it hasn’t in areas where housing markets are allowed to operate. 

RTF: Are there unique elements to Florida’s housing landscape that make this worse? 

Staley: Well, you know, the pandemic migration was massive. People fled high-tax, high-regulation states. They were looking for freedom. They were looking for lower costs of living, and they wanted the amenities. So people came down here. They bought. But now we’re dealing with the consequences of that, which is enormous demand. 

RTF: And the problem is our systems can’t keep up? 

Staley: Yeah. The permitting process takes too long. The zoning process is uncertain. Cities talk a lot about affordability and inclusive growth, but then they oppose projects or delay them for years. If you want affordable housing, you have to allow the supply to respond. You can’t be against growth and for affordability at the same time. 

Coming next in Part 2: Those who delay housing projects are accessories in the affordable housing crisis. 

Note: Lake County has seen aggressive anti-growth forces kill new development and object to others as county meetings have becoming increasingly contentious. This piece by Amanda Wettstein previously appeared in the Lake County Triangle Sun

Something is happening in Lake County. And if you’ve been paying attention, you know it’s not just politics as usual.

A small but noisy group has hijacked our public discourse. They attack, bully, and grandstand. They twist facts and turn every meeting into a battlefield. They claim to speak for “the people,” but they’ve broken faith with basic decency, honest governance, and the rule of law.

And now, they’re trying to punish leaders who won’t play along.

Let me be clear: this is no longer about a single party or a single meeting. This is about the soul of local governance. It’s about whether Lake County will be led by rational, responsible public servants or ruled by chaos agents who thrive on division and drama.

I’ve spent my career working in public relations and civic engagement. I’ve sat at tables with elected officials, business leaders, and everyday citizens who care deeply about this place. And I’m telling you right now: what’s unfolding in Lake County is not normal. And it’s not okay.

We are watching the collapse of basic standards.

We’re watching bullies target Republican leaders, not because they betrayed their party, but because they didn’t bow to a fringe. We’re watching people with no plan for governance tear down the people who do.

And we’re watching good people stay quiet.

Here’s the thing: silence is no longer an option. Not for me, and not for anyone who values truth, transparency, and public trust. We cannot allow a handful of loud voices to dominate the future of this county; not in our party, not in our government, not in our neighborhoods.

So I’m asking: where are the rest of us?

Where are the common sense conservatives, the independents, the business leaders, the parents, the pastors, the neighbors who want leaders to focus on roads and schools and safety and not performative outrage?

It’s time to speak up.

Lake County needs a reset. We need to reassert our expectations, both for elected officials, and for the kind of discourse we allow in public life. We need to stop rewarding the loudest liar in the room. We need to stop mistaking chaos for courage.

Most of all, we need to protect the right of our community to be governed by reason and  not by rage.

There are good people serving this county. There are Republicans, Democrats, and nonpartisan officials trying every day to do the right thing. But they cannot do it alone. They need backup. They need all of us, the exhausted majority, to reclaim the air.

Because Lake County is worth fighting for. And we deserve better than this.

Amanda Wettstein is a public and government relations consultant based in Umatilla.

A recent concept paper developed by Tallahassee State College and regional partners raises a vital question for those focused on growth in North Florida: Is the region’s energy infrastructure keeping pace with its economic ambitions? 

The document, titled North Florida Energy Futures and authored by Kyndra Light, Corporate Solutions Manager for Tallahassee State College, outlines a range of opportunities tied to manufacturing, logistics, and clean technology — but it also flags a significant limitation. Uncertainty around the availability and scalability of energy infrastructure, especially electricity, has already impacted the region’s ability to attract investment. 

In fact, the paper confirms that some prospective economic development projects have been lost as a result. 

In fact, just this week, power was cutoff and research suspended for an hour at the FSU National High Magnetic Laboratory because of peak power use during the recent heatwave. The MagLab uses as much as 8 percent of the city’s power. 

READ THE FULL DOCUMENT HERE

This isn’t alarmism. The report frames the issue as a solvable challenge, but one that requires immediate coordination. It calls for the development of a Regional Energy Readiness Plan that brings together utilities, local governments, workforce partners, and economic development agencies. The goal: to assess current capacity, streamline planning, and identify where gaps may prevent future growth. 

The report also hints at fragmentation. North Florida is served by a mix of municipal utilities, investor-owned providers, and electric cooperatives. Each has its own service territory and planning process. Without a shared understanding of regional energy availability, even the best-located sites may fail to meet the needs of modern industry. 

For regions competing to land high-wage, high-skill jobs, energy availability is no longer a behind-the-scenes consideration. It’s a deal-breaker. Whether the focus is electric vehicle supply chains, advanced manufacturing, or data-driven logistics, companies need to know they can power their operations on day one — and scale that power over time. 

The concept paper doesn’t point fingers. It offers a pragmatic roadmap for future coordination. But it does carry an implicit challenge to those in leadership: growth planning must account for energy planning. Without it, job creation strategies risk running into invisible walls. 

For economic developers, planners, and public officials, North Florida Energy Futures is worth careful review. It’s a reminder that in the race to attract business investment, infrastructure still matters — and energy is at the heart of it. 

In Palm Coast, the only thing growing faster than rooftops might be the dysfunction inside City Hall. 

Just months after Mayor Mike Norris pushed — unsuccessfully — for a sweeping development moratorium, he now finds himself censured by his own City Council. The charge? Overstepping his authority, creating a hostile work environment, and interfering with staff operations. The mayor calls it political theater. But for residents and builders, the circus has real-world consequences. 

The Palm Coast moratorium proposal, floated earlier this year, would have frozen most new development in one of Florida’s fastest-growing cities. Citing infrastructure strain and ballooning utility costs, Norris declared the city was on the brink: “We’re going to be broke,” he warned, urging council to slam the brakes on growth. 

But it didn’t land. The council shot it down — twice. And not quietly. Developers showed up in force, warning that even talking about a moratorium sends a chilling message to investors. One builder called it “the most anti-business proposal I’ve seen in a decade.”  

Then, earlier this month, the political dysfunction exploded. The council voted to censure Norris, accusing him of interfering in staff operations and confusing administrative boundaries. What started as a policy disagreement had metastasized into a full-blown leadership crisis. Staff morale took a hit, and several projects reportedly stalled amid uncertainty. 

Meanwhile, red tape on the ground was thickening. In response to complaints from homeowners about flooding caused by newly elevated construction, the city scrambled to rewrite its building codes midstream, creating more confusion for builders and homeowners alike. 

And as if that weren’t enough, the council voted in June to sharply increase impact fees on new construction — raising the cost of doing business in Palm Coast by tens of thousands of dollars per project. The local Home Builders Association warned that the hikes would “price out” new development. One builder said flatly: “If I had known these fees were coming, I would never have started this project.”  

This is the red tape trap in real time: when governance breaks down, rules don’t tighten — they tangle. 

Palm Coast used to market itself as a growth-friendly community with space to expand. Today, it risks becoming a cautionary tale, where elected officials feud in public, rules shift mid-project, and fees climb without warning. 

The city doesn’t need a moratorium. It needs clarity, competence, and a City Hall that doesn’t actively discourage investment. 

Last week, Ghazvini Development posted an aerial photo announcing their newest residential project: the Summerhill development on the northeast side of Tallahassee. The tone was upbeat — “Exciting news!” — and the land was pictured in a sunlit overhead shot, ready for transformation. 

Then came the comments. 

“Why do developers clear-cut all the trees?” 
“So many trees…” 
“Oh, another subdivision, yay…” 

The outrage was fast, emotional, and utterly predictable. 

This is now a standard feature of local development in Tallahassee: post → outrage → assumptions → pressure → process gridlock. And increasingly, this is where red tape is born — not in some back office at Growth Management, but in the comment section of social media. 

Let’s take a closer look at that image. 

To many, it triggered sadness or frustration — a large swath of green space on the cusp of change. But to others familiar with land use and forestry in North Florida, it looked familiar: rows of evenly spaced trees, planted in straight lines, bounded by clean property lines. 

That’s the visual fingerprint of a managed pine farm, not a wild, old-growth forest. No one’s suggesting it wasn’t wooded. But the difference between a functioning timber tract and a natural ecosystem matters — and it’s a distinction lost in a digital environment where “tree = sacred” and “developer = destroyer” is the default. 

It also misses the larger point: this land is zoned for development. This project is legal. And this city is growing. 

According to the Tallahassee Board of Realtors, median home prices have surged nearly 40% in the last five years. Yet construction — especially of starter homes and workforce housing — has failed to keep up. The result? More demand, less supply, higher prices. 

When public outrage triggers more hearings, more delays, and more regulation, it doesn’t protect the environment. It chokes affordability. It drives up the cost of every permit, every foundation, every final inspection. It turns the middle class into renters and the next generation into transplants. 

And here’s the kicker: Tallahassee’s tree canopy is still over 55%, one of the highest in the country. That’s according to the city’s own Urban Forest Master Plan. In fact, many modern developments include mitigation requirements that replace more trees than are removed — just not in the exact place where someone used to jog. 

We’re not saying development is always perfect. Or that criticism is always wrong. But we are saying this: when every new project is treated like a public emergency, the only guaranteed outcome is more red tape. 

That’s bad for builders. But it’s also bad for neighborhoods. Because the more unpredictable the process becomes — the more it’s swayed by online emotion instead of transparent rules — the fewer people want to build here at all. And when they do, they pass the costs on to the very people who can least afford it. 

This isn’t about defending developers. It’s about defending process — so that rules mean something and growth doesn’t become a game of political dodgeball, which often puts commissioners and staff in a very difficult position. 

We can protect trees and build homes. We can plan responsibly without letting the loudest thread on Facebook become city policy. 

Because if we keep letting the Facebook mob write the rules — the same people who cleared forests for the homes they live in — we’ll be left with nothing but pine trees and the broken dreams of the families who want to live in Tallahassee, but can’t. 

In Gulf County, Florida, the government has come up with a creative new definition of “fairness”: if you don’t use their services, you still get to pay for them. 

That’s the setup behind Gulf County’s latest fee scheme — a $500 “planning department review fee” charged to property owners and contractors who exercise their legal right to use a state-authorized private provider for construction plan review. And here’s the kicker: that $500 isn’t replacing anything. It’s on top of the standard permit fee — possibly with only a modest discount. 

In other words: you still pay for services the County isn’t providing — and then some. 

A letter sent last week by attorney Erica Augello to County Administrator Michael Hammond raises serious questions about the legality of the fee. She points to Section 553.791 of the Florida Statutes, which gives property owners the right to hire licensed private firms — known as private providers — to review their construction plans and perform inspections, bypassing the traditional public permitting process. 

That statute isn’t vague. When a private provider is used, the law requires that permit fees be reduced to reflect the government’s reduced role. Yet Gulf County has gone in the opposite direction — charging more when they do less. 

Whether that holds up under legal scrutiny remains to be seen, but the message to property owners is already clear: if you don’t want to use our people, we’ll make you pay anyway. 

You don’t need a law degree to see the problem. State law is clear: if a private provider is used for plans reviews or building inspections, “the local jurisdiction must reduce the permit fee by the amount of cost savings realized.” Any fee charged by the jurisdiction for clerical and supervisory assistance must be tied directly to real, documented labor costs. 

What’s not allowed? A catch-all, pre-cooked $500 fee, apparently invented from scratch. 

Augello points out that Gulf County’s own ordinance cites this fee, but there’s no documentation of any actual administrative burden, cost basis, or justification. That makes it a violation not just of the statute’s letter, but its entire spirit: local governments can’t throw up extra hurdles or penalties to steer people back into the public permitting process. 

In plain terms: this is red tape designed to punish anyone who dares to use a competitor. 

Speaking of County Administrator Hammond, it appears he has placed Brad Bailey in the role of the county’s building official. But this raises a potentially significant question: does Bailey hold the required professional license? 

According to the Florida Department of Business and Professional Regulation, Bailey is currently listed as “eligible for exam” — meaning he has not yet obtained a building code administrator’s license. 

That status could raise compliance concerns under Florida Statute 468.603, which outlines strict licensing requirements for building officials and inspectors. The statute states: 

“Each building code inspector must be licensed in the appropriate category… The building code inspector’s responsibilities must be performed under the direction of the building code administrator or building official without interference from any unlicensed person.” 

It does not appear that Bailey’s current role aligns with those statutory requirements. If he is performing the duties of a licensed official without the credential, it is a matter that likely deserves scrutiny. 

What happens next is unclear. Gulf County could rescind the fee and quietly move on. Or it could double down and face legal action. The letter makes it clear: if the County withholds or revokes any permits over failure to pay this “review” tax, it could end up on the losing end of a courtroom — and a hefty attorneys’ fee award. 

But maybe the bigger question is this: Why are some Florida governments so determined to make “choice” a dirty word? The private provider statute exists to empower the private sector. Gulf County is using its ordinance book to strip that power back. 

Red tape, meet the red flag.  

In the latest chapter of Florida’s ongoing battle between state authority and local control, the City of Deltona just sent a not-so-subtle message to Tallahassee lawmakers: “We’ll see you in court.” 

On July 1, Deltona’s City Commission voted to approve a six-month moratorium on new residential development applications — despite a state law (Senate Bill 180) that went into effect the very same day making such local moratoriums illegal without explicit state approval. 

The move sets up a legal showdown and raises big questions about local government overreach, political theater, and whether cities like Deltona are willing to gamble taxpayer dollars on lawsuits they’re almost certain to lose. 

The Backstory 

Deltona officials say their moratorium is necessary to slow down what they call “out-of-control” growth that’s straining infrastructure, overburdening schools, and choking local roads with traffic. Sound familiar? It’s the kind of anti-growth rallying cry that plays well in certain neighborhoods — until, of course, it doesn’t. 

SB 180, signed by Governor Ron DeSantis earlier this year, was designed specifically to prevent exactly this kind of municipal slowdown. The new law prohibits cities and counties from adopting any moratorium on residential development unless approved by a supermajority vote of the local governing body and vetted for legal compliance with state growth laws. Deltona’s vote barely squeaked by on a 4-3 margin — nowhere close to a supermajority. 

Legal Jeopardy? Almost Certainly 

City Attorney Marsha Segal-George didn’t sugarcoat it. Before the vote, she warned commissioners that approving the moratorium would almost certainly trigger a lawsuit and likely violate state law. 

But that didn’t stop the majority from moving forward. Their reasoning? They’d rather get sued now than face more population growth tomorrow. 

Let’s be clear: The odds of this ordinance surviving a legal challenge are slim. The state law was written specifically to take discretion out of local hands for exactly this type of scenario. And the fact that Deltona pushed ahead despite legal advice to the contrary opens the door for developers—or even the state itself—to file suit almost immediately. 

The Bigger Picture: Local Defiance in the Face of State Preemption 

Deltona isn’t the only Florida city pushing back on state preemption of local authority, but it’s quickly becoming the most visible. For cities tired of what they see as Tallahassee’s heavy hand on local affairs, this is a test case — a political and legal act of defiance wrapped in home-rule rhetoric. 

The irony, of course, is that this isn’t just a clash of ideologies. It’s a clash with real-world financial consequences. If (or when) the city loses in court, local taxpayers will be left footing the bill for legal fees, court costs, and possibly damages. 

And that’s where Red Tape Florida enters the conversation. Whether you’re for or against growth, one thing is clear: Cities making illegal policy decisions based on emotion rather than legal reality create financial and operational red tape for everyone — including the very residents they claim to protect. 

The Takeaway 

Deltona’s moratorium vote is a textbook example of local government overreach colliding with state-imposed guardrails. It’s a warning sign for every other Florida city tempted to ignore the law in the name of political messaging. 

At the end of the day, this isn’t just about development. It’s about governance, accountability, and the growing cost of performative politics at the local level. 

Stay tuned. Court filings are almost certainly coming next. 

Let’s start with this: Congratulations, Tallahassee! 

Earning the title of All-America City — not once, not twice, but three times — is a big deal. This is not a participation trophy. It’s not something you buy. It’s something you earn by demonstrating that a community knows how to tackle challenges, bring people together, and chart a path forward. 

That’s exactly what Tallahassee did. The Southside Action Plan. The Clean Energy Blueprint. The growing network of over 100 parks and public spaces. These aren’t just bullet points in a PowerPoint deck. They’re tangible investments in the kind of city we all want to live in. 

This isn’t about who’s on what side of what debate. It’s not about politics. It’s about community. And it’s right to pause and take pride in a moment like this. 

A spirit of collaboration 

Look at the effort that went into this award submission — the planning, the execution, the collaboration. City staff. Nonprofits. Neighborhood leaders. Civic groups. Everyone pulling in the same direction to solve big problems. 

It’s proof of something we sometimes forget: when Tallahassee aligns around a shared goal, big things happen. 

And that’s not just theory. It’s a fact. Winning this award three times puts Tallahassee in rare company nationally. That’s a reflection of a community that knows how to work together, even when we don’t always agree on everything. 

But what if we broadened our All-America horizons? 

Here’s a thought: what if the same commitment that went into these public initiatives was applied to the barriers that hold back our private sector? 

Because here’s something worth noticing. Every one of the projects highlighted in Tallahassee’s All-America application was a government-led effort. Not one featured the private sector at the center. 

That’s not a criticism. It’s an observation. The award judges were right to reward these efforts. But anyone who’s built a business here, developed property here, or tried to navigate City Hall knows another side of the story. 

For too many, navigating Tallahassee’s bureaucracy feels like a second job. 

This city knows how to mobilize when it wants to. Knows how to plan. Knows how to execute. The question is: when will that same energy be aimed at removing the red tape that holds back the private sector? 

And it turns out we’re not the only ones thinking about what’s next. Gus Corbella captured it beautifully in a recent column for the Democrat, writing about how much he loves Tallahassee — and how much more he wants to love about it. He’s right. The All-America award is a celebration of where we are. Now the challenge is deciding where we go. 

The next All-America chapter is ready to be written 

Imagine the next All-America application telling a story not just of government-led wins, but of a community that became the best place in Florida to start a business, to build a home, to invest in an idea. 

What would that look like? 

• A permitting process that takes days, not months. 

• Zoning and development rules that solve the housing crisis instead of compounding it. 

• A reputation as Florida’s most small-business-friendly city. 

• An attitude shift—from “how can we regulate this?” to “how can we make this happen?” 

This isn’t an either/or proposition. It’s both. Tallahassee can — and should — be a city that builds great public amenities and unleashes private-sector dynamism. 

This community knows how to win – let’s do it again 

The All-America award proves something important: Tallahassee knows how to collaborate, execute and win. 

Now imagine putting those same skills to work — not just to build parks and plans — but to build prosperity, unlock opportunity, and clear the runway for anyone ready to take a risk on this city. 

Yes, let’s celebrate this well-earned moment. And then let’s turn the page. 

Let’s make Tallahassee an All-America city for entrepreneurs. For builders. For job creators. For anyone with a dream and the grit to chase it. 

How hot does it have to get for a fire station to cost $34 million? 

That’s the burning question after Leon County Commissioner Christian Caban called for a formal vote on local fire projects, citing “staggering costs” that have quietly ballooned over the past few years. His concern comes as Tallahassee prepares to break ground on Fire Station 17 in the southwestern part of the city. The new station will clock in at $34 million — nearly four times the cost of similar fire stations in nearby Alachua County. 

Wait — four times? 

Yep. In 2022, Alachua County built Station 80 in Hawthorne for just $7.7 million. The following year, it added Station 33 in East Gainesville for $9 million. That means the average cost of a new fire station in Alachua is under $9 million — and Tallahassee is spending nearly $25 million more for Station 17.  

Now, to be fair, one could argue that costs vary depending on size, staffing, and equipment — and that’s true. So, let’s look at the most basic metric of all: how many households each station is expected to serve. 

Station 17 in Tallahassee is projected to serve about 11,500 households. That’s not insignificant — in fact, it’s nearly twice the number served by some rural stations. But it’s not dramatically more than what Alachua’s stations cover: Station 33 in East Gainesville serves an estimated 8,600 households, and Station 80 covers around 7,400. 

So, while Tallahassee’s Station 17 serves roughly 35% more households than the average new Alachua station, it costs nearly 300% more. 

“Where there’s there smoke, there’s fire and there is definitely smoke when it comes to the fire services fee and how it’s being spent,” Caban told Red Tape Florida. “It’s unacceptable for us to be paying $34 million for a single fire station when surrounding counties are paying a fraction of that cost.  

“These fire service fees directly impact the cost of living in our community and we cannot just rubber-stamp them without serious due diligence.” 

Meanwhile, Alachua County continues to build functional, efficient firehouses that meet basic public safety needs without blowing through taxpayer funds. Gainesville isn’t exactly known for its fiscal conservatism, so when it’s making Tallahassee look like Dubai, something’s off. 

Commissioner Caban has emerged as the leading voice raising red flags, asking for transparency and accountability before more millions are committed. He’s also said what many in the community are quietly thinking: Why does everything the City of Tallahassee builds seem to cost double, triple, or quadruple what other cities spend? 

While city officials might defend the fire services fee by noting it’s “only a few dollars a month,” that phrase has become the oldest trick in the local government playbook. Whether it’s stormwater, garbage, fire service, or a thousand other line items, those modest monthly charges quietly stack up — and for working families, they eventually hit hard. 

According to the latest budget projections, the fire fee will generate more than $40 million this year alone, paid directly by homeowners and businesses — on top of their property taxes. And if you live in Leon County but outside city limits? You’re still paying. That’s because a sizable portion of county fire service is now contracted out to the city, with the county transferring nearly $10 million of taxpayer dollars to fund it. In short, everyone’s paying — even if you don’t vote for the commissioners making these decisions. 

It’s a shell game that hides the true size of local government. Instead of raising the property tax millage, which would be politically unpopular and more visible, officials slap fees on your utility bill or create special assessments that rarely get the same scrutiny 

Fire protection is not a luxury — it’s one of the most basic and essential functions of local government. The price tag should reflect that, not some grand vision that prioritizes bells and whistles over core service. 

Commissioners owe it to their constituents — especially in lower-income, high-need neighborhoods like those served by Station 17 — to explain why the city is spending $34 million for a firehouse when neighboring counties are doing it for a fraction of the cost. 

Kudos to Commissioner Caban for not letting this one slip quietly through the consent agenda.  

Firefighting may be expensive. But it doesn’t have to be extravagant. 

Imagine having your home or business tied up in a lien worth almost three-quarters of a million dollars, not because you ignored a serious threat, but because inspectors took forever to verify your compliance. 

That’s exactly what happened in Lauderdale Lakes, Broward County’s hidden slice of government overreach. A CBS Miami / News4JAX I-Team investigation revealed the city’s latest magic trick: turning routine property fixes into windfall revenues—to the tune of $300,000 in code-enforcement income projected in the 2025 budget (up 161.6% over last year). 

One case sounds scripted by Kafka: Alan Levy, a prominent landlord, said his tenant’s minor bathroom permit violation should’ve cost around $18,000 to fix. Instead, it hung fire for more than 1,000 days, ballooning into a $740,000 lien—all while the city apparently had no digital system for reviewing compliance  

“It took seven or eight months to do $18,000 worth of minor work… one delay after another,” Levy told CBS. “When I went in for my lien reduction, [city staff] said, ‘We don’t have a platform for that—you’ll have to speak to the city attorney.’”  

Then there’s Kenneth and Mildred Bordeaux, an elderly couple with a duplex and a mortgage they hoped to leave to their kids. They were hit with $366,000 in fines because inspectors waited 222 days to recheck simple fixes—like cracked outlet covers and broken window handles—and then hit them with daily, $1,500 perviolation fines during the delay. Kenneth’s quote says it all: 

“I feel like I’m just being beaten with a sledgehammer.”  

Here’s the rub: the city’s 2025 budget didn’t just casually mention it—it relied on code-enforcement revenue as a major funding lever. When pressed, the city attorney refused to comment, telling CBS Miami the issue is “pending litigation before a magistrate”  

So what does all this add up to? 

1. Profit-first code enforcement. The city is weaponizing backlog and bureaucratic inertia into a cash cow. 

2. Innocent homeowners and business owners—the Bordeauxs, Levy—get stuck between punishment and paperwork, with no digital system to verify whether they’ve complied. 

3. A broken appeals process. No streamlined path to challenge or reduce liens—just silence and red tape. 

4. Taxation without transparency. The fines are levied before services are complete, and residents have zero idea how to fight back. 

Lauderdale Lakes’ story is a cautionary tale. When enforcement is untethered from accountability, government doesn’t protect—it preys.