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

Part 3 of a series 

In August 1990, the National Science Foundation awarded the National High Magnetic Field Laboratory to FSU — a decision that surprised many, including MIT, which had operated the Francis Bitter National Magnet Laboratory for 30 years. The original promise was vivid: a world-class scientific facility anchoring Florida’s capital city in the emerging area of magnetics. 

Three decades after FSU won the competition to host the National High Magnetic Field Laboratory, the scientific mission of the MagLab is undeniably successful — the lab holds multiple world records and attracts top researchers from around the globe. But in terms of local economic impact, the results have fallen short of the original vision. 

So, what would success have looked like? Here are four areas where Tallahassee has not kept pace with other national lab communities — and where it still has an opportunity to improve: 

1. A research park that catalyzes private-sector growth 

In thriving innovation districts, anchor institutions spark the development of adjacent private-sector firms. At Los Alamos and Oak Ridge, for example, national labs are surrounded by ecosystems of federal contractors, startups, and applied research firms. 

Tallahassee’s, by contrast, is dominated by public and academic entities. It mainly consists of empty lots and aging buildings, except those built by FSU which have no connection to the MagLab. As detailed in part 2, the commercialization pipeline remains underdeveloped. 

2. A tech corridor with venture capital and startup activity 

Florida ranks among the top ten states for total venture capital investment — but virtually none of that flows through Tallahassee. From 2012 to 2021, the state attracted over $85 billion in VC and private equity, with nearly all of it concentrated in Miami, Tampa, and Orlando. 

In Tallahassee, tech-based entrepreneurship remains rare, and there are very few examples of biomedical spinoffs or next-generation materials companies directly tied to MagLab research. 

3. Strategic alignment between lab, government, and infrastructure 

Cities like Los Alamos and Oak Ridge benefit from coordinated local and state investment in infrastructure, workforce development, and commercialization strategies to support lab spillover. 

Tallahassee lacks such alignment. Its electric grid and zoning regulations have not been meaningfully modernized to attract energy-intensive firms. And the MagLab has also failed to embrace current energy solution technologies, instead choosing to stay the course from the early 1990s on how energy is managed – which is wasteful given what is available today. 

4. Brand equity and national recognition 

The MagLab is recognized in the scientific community for its world-record magnets — but its national profile is surprisingly low outside of research circles. 

Unlike Oak Ridge or Los Alamos, which are synonymous with scientific innovation, Tallahassee rarely markets the MagLab as a signature asset. That’s not a failure of the science — it’s a missed opportunity in branding and communications. 

5. More and better energy capacity and usage 

If Tallahassee ever hopes to build an innovation economy around the MagLab, a basic question must be asked: Is the city even equipped to support one? 

The answer is: maybe, maybe not. 

Start with electricity. The MagLab is a power-hungry facility — among the largest single energy consumers in the region. In summer 2024, reports circulated that Florida State University had been asked by the City of Tallahassee to shut down MagLab power operations for an hour due to load concerns. This raises a fundamental red flag about whether our city-owned utility can support the demands of energy-intensive research or industrial-scale commercial spinoffs. 

One issue is that the MagLab is still using 1990s-era magnets that are high-energy consumers.  Existing technology would make these magnets operate more efficiently and lower power consumption when it comes to cooling and powering the magnets. 

The MagLab’s most powerful magnets can draw between 18 and 33 megawatts. At the upper end, that’s enough power to supply roughly 20,000 U.S. homes. Tallahassee apparently has no surplus generating capacity – where would the power come from if a new data center, battery plant, or high-wage advanced manufacturer was eyeing Tallahassee? 

6. Site readiness 

Beyond electricity, there’s also site readiness. Tallahassee lacks shovel-ready parcels that are truly equipped for tech-sector investment. In communities like Oak Ridge and Los Alamos, federal labs are surrounded by pre-zoned, utility-ready development pads supported by regional industrial recruitment efforts. Not so here. 

Bottom line: Even if the MagLab did produce a wave of commercialization, it’s unclear whether Tallahassee could physically support the growth. Our infrastructure isn’t ready, our energy grid is strained, and our land inventory is weak. 

The Good News 
It’s not too late. The MagLab remains among the world’s top facilities in its field. Realizing its broader potential will require: 

• A serious commercialization strategy 

• Infrastructure enhancements to attract private investment 

• Deliberate partnerships across academia, government, and industry 

• Independent economic metrics and bold regional targets 

A world-class lab deserves a world-class regional strategy. Tallahassee has a second chance — if its leaders seize it. 

Coming next: Is this an FSU problem or an all-the-other-stakeholders problem? 

Leon County Commission Chair Brian Welch blasted actions by the North Florida Fair board on Monday as “completely inappropriate and utterly confounding,” adding he will seek a review by both Leon County Government and the Blueprint Intergovernmental Agency to determine “what level of oversight we have in the management of the fairgrounds.” 

“I cannot believe that a non-profit board that oversees the administration of a public asset would act in such an irresponsible way,” Welch wrote. “I intend to ensure that both Leon County Government and the Blueprint Intergovernmental Agency investigate this situation as soon as possible.” 

Tallahassee City Commissioner Jeremy Matlow also weighed in on Red Tape Florida publisher Skip Foster’s Facebook page saying the gift was “incredibly out of touch.” 

Florida State Rep. Allison Tant also registered her outrage: “If this watch was paid with anything supported by tax dollars, it should be returned and refunded,” Rep. Tant said. “And the fairground authority should be audited. This is not what public or not-for-profit funds should be used for.”  

Welch’s post landed as social media comments were unanimously outraged and featured calls for accountability. A sampling: 

Anger over spending and priorities 

• “Blatant misuse of funds.” — Allison Flynn 

• “Personally, I don’t think anyone should have a $35,000 watch when children are homeless and/or going hungry!” — Liz Jameson 

• “$200 watches work just as well.” — Colleen Castille 

Credit for dissent and calls to return money 

• “Proud of Rachel Sutz Pienta and the others who resigned. Now, how about the director refuse to take it and return the $? That’s what should happen next.” — Carrie Boyd 

• “What incredible audacity! … Bravo to Rachel Sutz Pienta and the other board members who refused to go along with this…” — Rick Oppenheim 

Governance and oversight concerns 

• “Truly outrageous. I wonder if an audit would reveal other reckless expenditures.” — Bill Berlow 

• “The fairgrounds board has had a cloak of protection… They answer to no one. This can only change with leadership addressing it.” — Henree D. Martin 

• “This is the ‘rest of the story’ I’ve been waiting for.” — Pam Jordan Anderson 

Bigger-picture ideas 

• “The fairgrounds need to relocate to Gadsden County. Become truly regional.” — Ed Murray Jr. 

Why it matters 

The North Florida Fair is run by a private not-for-profit association but operates a community asset and regional venue. That public–private mix is fueling questions about who sets the rules, how directors are chosen, and what public oversight exists. 

What’s next 

• Welch says he’ll press for County/Blueprint inquiries into oversight levers (leases, grants, interlocal agreements). 

• Commenters are calling for the Fair Association to publish its bylaws, explain how board seats are filled, and return any inappropriate purchases. 

• Several readers urged a full audit and a public workshop before any board changes move forward. 

RTF has requested the association’s governing documents and any county/Blueprint agreements related to the fairgrounds. If you have records or perspectives to add, email info@redtapeflorida.com. 

The non-profit North Florida Fair Association board has voted to spend roughly $25,000 on a luxury retirement watch for longtime fair manager Mark Harvey, based on public records obtained by Red Tape Florida.  

That number bears repeating: twenty-five thousand dollars. On a watch. For a man already paid over $174,000 a year in salary, bonus, and benefits from a nonprofit that exists only because of public trust and taxpayer-owned land. Combined with a $10,000 donation from a fair vendor, it adds up to a $35,000 retirement gift. 

The razor thin 5-4 vote led to multiple resignations from the board, including by its president and secretary. 

How We Got Here 

The idea began innocently enough. Some board members floated the notion of a nice retirement gift for Harvey, who, by all accounts, has had a long and successful run as the fair manager.  

But it quickly spiraled. Pressed by a board member to choose a gift, Harvey identified an Audemars Piguet Code 11.59, a high-end timepiece more likely seen on Wall Street than at a county fair. At one point, a $42,000 Rolex was even under discussion. 

To defray the cost, a vendor pledged $10,000. The rest — about $25,000 — will come directly from fair funds. 

The Dissenters 

Not everyone was willing to sign on. In his resignation letter immediately after the meeting, board secretary Steve Hurm cited Florida Statute 616.07(2), which makes clear that fair association property is public property to be held in trust for the “legitimate purpose of the association.” He argued that spending tens of thousands on a luxury watch flouted that responsibility. 

Board president Rachel Pienta echoed the concerns in her resignation email, warning she could not defend the board’s action. Their point was straightforward: nonprofits benefiting from public assets cannot treat themselves like private clubs or corporations. Also submitting resignations: board members Ashley Edwards and David Gardner. 

How the Vote Went Down 

If the substance was troubling, the process was worse. After a June meeting lost its quorum, the board initially conducted an email “survey” vote, even though one board member had warned that such votes are improper and have no standing under Robert’s Rules.  

That vote was deemed invalid and at the board’s specially called July 7 meeting, the $25,0000 expenditure was approved by a 5-4 vote. 

The Optics 

The fairgrounds sit in a neighborhood where the median household income is around $25,000 — less than the cost of this watch. The board’s decision effectively told those families: we think a departing executive’s wrist deserves more than what you live on for a year. 

This is, at best, colossally bad judgment.  

The new fair manager, Miranda Muir, denied a Red Tape Florida public records request stating that the association is “not subject to the State of Florida Sunshine Laws.” Hurm, an attorney, disagrees. He warned the board in a May 7 email that “this is not something we can discuss or vote on without violating the Sunshine law.” 

Red Tape Florida was able to obtain the documents despite Muir’s stonewalling. 

Why It Matters — and the RTF Connection 

The North Florida Fair Association is not a private outfit. It is a nonprofit that exists because of public trust, tax-exempt status, and free use of Leon County land, including taxpayer-funded improvements. To wit, it has recently been in the news because more than $30 million of taxpayer dollars have been allocated via Blueprint 2020 to improve the fairgrounds’ facilities. 

With these public dollars come an obligation to act as stewards, not spendthrifts. 

Instead, the board demonstrated the classic symptoms of bureaucracy-creep that Red Tape Florida was built to expose. Quasi-public bodies, cushioned by tax breaks and government assets, start operating as if the rules don’t apply to them. Transparency slips, accountability erodes, and insiders reward themselves at the public’s expense. 

The fair itself remains a cherished community institution. But its board just sent a message that stewardship takes a back seat to self-indulgence. We salute the board members who resigned in protest – this action was indefensible and wrong. 

A watch may tell time, but this one tells a deeper story — of poor judgment, of blurred lines between public and private, and of how easily trust can be squandered. Unless new board leadership steps in, the North Florida Fair Association may find that credibility, once lost, is far harder to buy back than any luxury timepiece. 

Part 2 in a series

A research facility doesn’t create economic value by itself. It needs an ecosystem — private-sector firms, infrastructure, and capital — to translate science into jobs. Tallahassee has failed to build that. 

The reasons are structural:  

• Limited commercialization pipeline. 
  Florida State University has not established a robust tech-transfer process to consistently spin out companies from MagLab research. In fiscal year 2023, FSU generated just $251,000 in licensing and royalty revenue, a modest figure compared to top-performing research universities.

• Lack of a corporate cluster. 
  Unlike national labs such as Oak Ridge and Los Alamos, the MagLab is not surrounded by a dense network of R&D firms or advanced manufacturers. Even within Innovation Park, there is little evidence of a thriving private-sector ecosystem linked to the lab’s research. 

• Inadequate infrastructure. 
  Tallahassee’s electric grid, industrial land supply, and air travel connectivity are frequently cited by site selectors and business leaders as barriers to growth. The MagLab itself accounts for 7–8% of the city’s total electricity use — and reports suggest it has been asked to reduce load during capacity constraints. 

• No targeted incentives. 
  Unlike Oak Ridge, TN — where city and county officials have deployed tailored incentive packages to attract lab-adjacent companies — Tallahassee and Leon County have no specific economic development tools tied to the MagLab’s potential spinoffs or commercialization opportunities. 

• Insufficient marketing. 
  There is no dedicated marketing campaign to promote the MagLab to corporate site selectors, research parks, or innovation investors. Though the MagLab is featured in some general OEV (Office of Economic Vitality) materials, there is no sustained marketing outreach effort positioning it as a business development asset. 

• Community culture unfriendly to business 
  Tallahassee’s reputation precedes – it is widely known in business circles that the city is not easy to work with when it comes to permitting and economic development. OEV’s clunky structure prevents even talented leaders from succeeding.  

Despite the reality on the ground, FSU often touts the MagLab’s economic development impact on the community. But things aren’t as rosy as the picture that is painted.  
 

Economic ‘impact’ 

At first glance, the economic impact figures associated with the MagLab sound impressive. Florida State University and its supporters often cite large numbers — including a $325 million annual statewide impact. But these estimates rely heavily on internal modeling, and a closer look at the components raises questions about what kind of impact is really being measured. 

Let’s break it down. 

1. Who created the impact estimates? 

The most commonly cited impact numbers trace back to FSU-affiliated analysts (CEFA) and FSU publications, not an independent third party — e.g., $325M statewide (FSU BOT materials) and $221M Tallahassee / $325M Florida (MagLab “Economic Impact” PDF sourced to CEFA 2019). To date, there is no publicly available economic impact report on the MagLab conducted by an unaffiliated national consulting firm or neutral economic research organization. 

2. What’s actually included in the “impact”? 

The $325 million impact figure includes: 

• Salaries and benefits paid to lab and university staff; 

• Federal and state funding allocated to the lab; 

• Construction, equipment, and operational spending; 

• Indirect and induced effects estimated from lab visitors, vendor spending, and employee consumption. 

These are typical components of input-output modeling — they reflect the flow of public funds through the regional economy. In other words, much of the “impact” represents economic activity, not necessarily private-sector growth or wealth creation. There is little in the estimate to suggest substantial returns in the form of new tax revenue, private investment, business formation or job creation. 

Unfortunately, these numbers are usually lapped up or parroted by business advocates and the media. 

3. What’s missing from the equation? 

In economic development terms, the presence of a high-profile research facility like the MagLab would ideally spark spinoff companies, attract venture capital, support industry partnerships, and expand the local tax base. However, publicly available reports and presentations from the MagLab do not document a pattern of commercialization successes, private-sector relocations, or large-scale job creation beyond the lab itself. 

One exception is Danfoss Turbocor, a private manufacturer that has cited the MagLab as a factor in its decision to grow in Tallahassee — a point noted in an FSU Board of Trustees presentation.  

4. How does MagLab compare to national peers? 

Consider Oak Ridge National Laboratory (ORNL) in Tennessee, which has built a significant economic ecosystem around federal research. DOE’s Oak Ridge Reservation — which includes ORNL — generated $7.2 billion in economic impact and supported ~43,000 jobs in Tennessee in FY2020 (ETEC/Baker Center study). ORNL’s role is amplified by robust technology transfer and manufacturing partnerships. 

Now, again, to be fair, ultra-high field magnets (the Mag Lab’s primary focus) have limited manufacturing purpose right now. But that didn’t stop Danfoss from seeing the potential of an ecosystem forming and of the proximity to research. 

Even accounting for scale differences, the gap in economic reach and private-sector spillover is substantial. Despite being a world-class scientific asset, the MagLab has not yet catalyzed a broader innovation or manufacturing cluster in Tallahassee. 

Bottom line 

The MagLab’s economic impact claims are based on modeling of public spending and its local ripple effects — not on independent analysis of long-term economic transformation. While the lab clearly delivers scientific value and supports high-wage public-sector employment, the evidence for substantial private-sector growth around it is limited. An independent economic assessment could help clarify the lab’s true role in regional development — and what might be done to enhance it. 

Coming next: What could have been and could still be 

Introduction 

In the early 1990s, Tallahassee won what looked like a jackpot: the National High Magnetic Field Laboratory. With more than a billion dollars in federal investment, a dedication ceremony featuring Vice President Al Gore, and Gov. Bob Graham hailing it as a “lynchpin of economic development,” the MagLab was sold as Tallahassee’s ticket to a high-tech future. 

The promise was classic government pitch: build a world-class research facility and the private sector will follow. Startups will sprout, high-wage jobs will cluster, and a sleepy capital city will become a science and innovation hub. 

Three decades later, the private-sector return can be counted on one finger. Aside from oft-cited Danfoss Turbocor, there’s no visible cluster of spinoffs or manufacturing base tied to MagLab expertise. The only impact figures in circulation are FSU-affiliated: an earlier CEFA study estimated about $90 million a year in economic output for the Tallahassee MSA; newer FSU/CEFA materials scale that to ~$221 million in Tallahassee and ~$325 million statewide, numbers subsequently echoed in Board of Trustees decks and congressional letters. These are input-output accounting results built largely on university payroll and procurement, not independent evidence of new enterprise formation. 

This disconnect between the hype and the reality is exactly why Red Tape Florida exists. Too often, bureaucrats and institutions oversell projects, pocket the accolades, and move on — while taxpayers and communities are left wondering where the promised growth went. If the MagLab had landed in Austin, Raleigh, or Nashville, would it have been wasted potential or a genuine catalyst? Tallahassee’s record speaks for itself. 

The MagLab is an incredible scientific asset. And there are hopeful signs, including strong research performance and the return in 2026 of an important magnetics conference to Tallahassee. 

But as an economic engine, it’s a cautionary tale of bureaucratic inefficiency and missed opportunity. Over the next several installments, Red Tape Florida will dig into how this happened, what lessons can be learned, and what it will take to finally turn an expensive, underperforming government project into the spark of private-sector growth it was supposed to be. 

Part 1: Los Alamos vs. Tallahassee — A Tale of Two Lab Towns 

To understand what’s missing in Tallahassee, consider Los Alamos, New Mexico — home to another National Science Foundation-supported lab: Los Alamos National Laboratory (LANL). The contrast is striking. 

LANL has been a magnet for defense tech firms, manufacturing contractors, and federally funded spinoffs. More than 600 companies are part of the regional contractor network. The lab directly or indirectly supports over 25,000 jobs in the state — many in the private sector. 

Meanwhile in Tallahassee, the MagLab supports fewer than 500 jobs — most of them public university employees. There is no comparable cluster of firms, no surge of startups, no downstream manufacturing ecosystem. 

Why the difference? 

First, to be fair, Los Alamos and Tallahassee are not perfect analogs. LANL is a massive national security lab with a multibillion-dollar budget and a mission tied directly to federal defense contracting. The MagLab is smaller, academically focused, and funded by the National Science Foundation.  

But that doesn’t excuse the failure to build any real ecosystem around a world-class research facility. Other communities have done far more with less. 

Take for example the Sandia Science & Technology Park in Albuquerque  — 44 companies/organizations, 2,018 on-site employees (July 2025), nearly $500M cumulative public+private investment and 25-year impacts include $7.7B in wages and 6,500+ jobs tied to park companies 

LANL’s operator, Triad National Security LLC, actively recruits corporate partnerships and administers grants to private companies. In contrast, the MagLab is operated by a public university and has focused primarily on academic research — not economic development. The new regime in Wescott has promised more results in this area. So far, evidence is hard to find. 

In Los Alamos, the lab is an anchor for a private-sector ecosystem. In Tallahassee, it’s a silo. 

Basically, it boils down to leadership and collaboration.  

Coming next: The missing middle – why Tallahassee’s ecosystem never formed. 

In Manatee County, growth has become a political football. Local voters recently elected commissioners promising to “rein in sprawl” — and those new leaders quickly moved to cap development, raise impact fees, and restore regulatory barriers. That sparked a backlash from Tallahassee, where the DeSantis administration ordered a sweeping audit and reminded Manatee that state law, including Senate Bill 180, protects the right to reasonable, consistent growth rules. 

Some in the media are portraying this as a story of greedy developers clashing with grassroots reformers. That narrative is simplistic, wrong — and damaging. Developers are not the villains. They are the people building the very homes Florida desperately needs in the middle of an affordability crisis. Pretending otherwise lets politicians score points while families struggle to pay rent and can’t find a starter home. 

The real enemy is red tape. Every time a county drags out approvals, changes the rules midstream, or piles on new fees, the cost of housing goes up. A six-month permitting delay adds about $12,000 to the cost of an average home. A new round of fees adds another $5,000. Sudden rule changes tack on $8,000 more. That’s $25,000 per home — enough to price countless working families out of the market. 

This is why SB 180 matters. The law was designed to stop local governments from using moratoriums and procedural tricks to shut down growth. It doesn’t mean development is a free-for-all — projects still have to meet rigorous environmental, safety, and infrastructure standards. What it means is that the rules are consistent, predictable, and fair. That predictability is essential if we’re serious about delivering affordable housing. 

Every time a politician calls developers “greedy,” or a commission celebrates blocking growth, the practical result is fewer homes and higher prices. Builders won’t stick around in places where the rules change every week — they’ll move on to counties that welcome investment. The losers aren’t the developers. The losers are families who want to buy their first home, seniors looking to downsize, and renters watching their monthly bills spiral upward. 

The Manatee dispute isn’t just about one county. It’s a test case for Florida’s future. Will we choose red tape and rhetoric, or will we embrace a strategy that balances oversight with opportunity and actually makes housing attainable? 

Florida doesn’t need scapegoats. It needs more homes, more infrastructure, and more leaders willing to work with — not against — the private sector that builds them. Until we stop demonizing development and start connecting the dots between regulation and affordability, the housing crisis will only get worse. 

Whenever government officials talk about tax cuts, there’s a familiar refrain: “It’s only a dollar per person.” That’s how some Jacksonville leaders are framing the proposed $13 million property tax cut — as if saving a buck a month for the average homeowner is inconsequential. 

This is insulting. It ignores the reality of how taxes and fees actually weigh on families. For taxpayers, it’s never just a dollar. It’s dollars layered on dollars, fee stacked on fee, until the cumulative burden becomes very real. 

Consider just a few examples for the typical Jacksonville household: 

• Property taxes: The average homeowner’s bill has risen by nearly $900 over the past five years, as higher valuations outpaced the city’s small rate reductions. That’s $15–20 more every month — not “symbolic,” but a real chunk of a mortgage check. 

• Sales tax: At 7.5 percent in Duval County, families pay thousands every year. A household spending $35,000 annually on taxable goods and services hands over about $2,600 in sales tax — more than a month’s rent for many. 

• Utilities and stormwater fees: JEA bills routinely top $250 a month. Built into that are “modest” charges like stormwater fees, franchise fees, and surcharges that tack on $20–30 each cycle. Multiply that by 12 months, and it’s another $300+ a year. 

• Licenses and local fees: Car tags, building permits, garbage fees, school activity fees — they’re always pitched as small, one-off charges. But for a family of four, these routine costs often add another $500–600 annually. 

That’s already more than $4,000 a year in taxes and fees — and that’s before factoring in state gas taxes, federal payroll taxes, or the next “it’s only a dollar” idea from City Hall. 

Now, look again at that $13 million property tax cut. Spread across Jacksonville’s 950,000 residents, it might sound like “just a dollar.” But for a family of four, that’s closer to $50 a year. For 50,000 families, that’s $2.5 million staying in household budgets. For the entire city, it’s $13 million less government takes and $13 million more left with the people who earned it. 

That’s not trivial. That’s groceries, gas, utilities, medicine, school supplies — real things for real people. 

City Hall sees budgets in billions. Taxpayers live in reality, where margins are tight and every symbol matters. What officials dismiss as insignificant is precisely the point: if government truly respected the people it serves, it would stop minimizing their dollars. 

Because here’s the truth: all those “small” dollars taken by government over decades have piled up into big burdens. When leaders finally give even a few of those dollars back, the last thing taxpayers want to hear is that it doesn’t matter. 

It’s not “just a dollar.” It’s proof that taxpayers come first. 

Plantation Mayor Nick Sortal is promoting what he calls the city’s first property tax cut in seven years — a slight drop in the millage rate from 5.8 to 5.7, projected to be the lowest since 2014. On its face, that’s progress: any reduction in the tax rate is better than none. As Sortal puts it, “affordability is a significant challenge” and the city can “maintain the high quality of services” while collecting slightly less revenue.  

There is only one problem with this tax cut: It’s not a tax cut. 

This a rate cut, not a real cut. Because Plantation’s property values are rising, lowering the millage doesn’t necessarily translate to lower bills for homeowners. In many cases, residents will see their tax obligations stay steady — or even climb. 

Millage Rate ≠ Real Tax Relief 

To see why, let’s break down how Florida property taxes are calculated. Your taxable value is your home’s assessed value (often capped annually under “Save Our Homes”), minus any exemptions like homestead. That value is then divided by 1,000 and multiplied by the millage rate.  

Example: 

• Assessed (taxable) value: $200,000 

• Millage: 5.8 → 200 × 5.8 = $1,160 annual tax 

• New Millage: 5.7 → 200 × 5.7 = $1,140 annual tax 

Seems like $20 saved. Nice. But if the assessed value increases — say it climbs to $210,000 due to market trends — even at 5.7 mills, your tax bill rises to $1,197. That’s a net increase of $37, despite the rate cut.  

Real Relief Means Real Cuts 

Plantation’s seemingly heroic rate reduction is mostly symbolic as long as rising property values outpace that cut. What residents truly need is a deep enough rate slash to counteract value gains — one that actually lowers their annual bill, not just the rate technically. 

Imagine if Sortal had dropped the millage to, say, 5.0 mills. In our example: 

• 5.0 × 210 = $1,050 tax — that’s real savings and a signal that affordability matters. 

Instead, lowering from 5.8 to 5.7 feels like rearranging lounge chairs on the Titanic. 

Context Matters — But So Do Outcomes 

Our homes are our biggest investments, and for many Plantation residents, even modest tax hikes can pressure budgets. Florida, on average, has seen property tax bills surge — as much as 35% in five years — far outpacing inflation.  

So, while cutting the mill rate is technically better than holding firm, real affordability requires a rate cut substantial enough to offset increasing home values — a Mount Rushmore–level boldness, not a cameo appearance. 

Bottom line: Plantation’s “tax cut” is more symbolic than substantive. Residents need actual tax relief, not just rate maintenance. If the council is serious about affordability, they should be checking the arithmetic, not just the optics. 

Part 4: Why Reforming Permitting Is Essential — and So Hard 

In Part 1, Dr. Sam Staley explained how Florida’s housing crisis stems from an undersupply of homes. Part 2 explored how local regulatory systems choke off new development. And in Part 3, we looked at the limits of state intervention. In this final installment, we drill into one of the most fixable — and frustrating — parts of the puzzle: the broken permitting process. 

Skip Foster (RTF): Sam, a lot of your critique focuses on the permitting process. What exactly is wrong with it? 

Sam Staley: It’s slow, opaque, and often unpredictable. Developers will tell you it’s not even that they mind following rules — they just want to know what the rules are and how long it’s going to take. But in many cities, permitting timelines are open-ended. Reviews get bounced between departments. One small objection can reset the whole process. And that creates uncertainty, which increases costs. 

RTF: Why is it so hard to fix? 

Staley: Because permitting is seen as a bureaucratic function — not a core piece of economic development. Cities don’t invest in making it better. Staff are underpaid, undertrained, and overwhelmed. And there’s no real political incentive to change, because the people who suffer most are future residents — people who haven’t shown up yet to vote. 

RTF: Is there low-hanging fruit here? 

Staley: Absolutely. Digitizing the process is one. Setting performance metrics — like time-to-permit or approval ratios — is another. Just treating permitting like a service rather than a gatekeeping function would make a huge difference. It wouldn’t solve everything, but it would help a lot. 

RTF: Are there examples of this being done well? 

Staley: Some cities have experimented with “permit streamlining” or concierge-style services for major projects. Others outsource part of the review process to third-party professionals. These aren’t silver bullets, but they show what’s possible when you take the issue seriously. 

RTF: Any final thoughts on how we get out of this? 

Staley: If we want to fix housing, we have to fix the process. That means educating the public, reforming local practices, and treating housing supply like the infrastructure issue it is. Until we do that, we’re going to keep falling short. 

RTF: You’ve talked a lot about zoning and permitting. But what role do local comprehensive plans play in the housing crisis? 

Staley: A major one — and it’s often overlooked. Every local government in Florida is required by law to include a housing element in their comprehensive plan. But in practice, it’s routinely ignored or subordinated to other priorities like parks, commercial development, or downtown revitalization. Cities may have 10 or 12 different elements, but housing — arguably the most urgent — is rarely the top priority. That needs to change. 

RTF: What should be done to elevate the housing element and make it more effective? 

Staley: I think the state can and should play a stronger role here. Local governments should be required not just to include a housing element, but to prioritize it. At a minimum, comp plans should include measurable targets to ensure housing supply keeps pace with population growth. And if population or job growth exceeds projections, the default should be to allow more housing — not less. There needs to be a presumption toward accommodating growth, not resisting it. 

Last night, Tallahassee International Airport pulled off the rare double-play of shutting down both of its runways — and its communications channels. One runway was already closed for construction. The other was blocked by a disabled aircraft that the airport apparently couldn’t move because they didn’t have the right equipment. The result: inbound flights were told midair to turn around and head elsewhere. 

One Dallas–Tallahassee flight got within minutes of landing before being sent all the way back to Texas, where passengers landed at 11:15 p.m. Eastern. From there, they were told to “sit tight” while the airline figured out whether to put them up overnight or send them back to Tally on another plane. 

You might think an airport with 58 full-time employees and a $19 million budget would be able to tell the public what was going on. You would be wrong. TLH’s social media feeds were a graveyard — the airport’s X (Twitter) page hasn’t posted since May, and not a single real-time update appeared last night. The only official, public-facing acknowledgment of the problem came from the FAA’s status page, which blandly reported a “disabled aircraft on the runway” with an end time around 10:30 p.m. Eastern. 

It’s not like the airport shouldn’t be able to handle communications with that budget, but even if they can’t, we respectfully point out that the City of Tallahassee Communications department has 9 staffers and a budget of almost $1.5 million. Surely between the 67 staffers in those two departments there is somebody who can alert travelers about a major disruption.  

If this were a one-off, maybe it’s just bad luck. But Red Tape Florida has reported before on operational gaps that go beyond the occasional mishap. In March, flight delays left planes sitting on the tarmac. One passenger said the pilot announced that: “Their one maintenance contractor lives 45 min east of town and has to drive in whenever there’s sign off needed.”  

Tuesday night’s silence is especially baffling given that TLH is in the middle of a major airfield rehab project — including work on Taxiway B approved this spring — which already reduces runway capacity. When you’ve only got one usable runway, you’d think “publicly explain when it’s closed” would be at the top of the to-do list. Apparently not. 

This isn’t about whether an airport can prevent a mechanical issue — it can’t, and no one expects it to. It’s about whether they can grab their phone, type “Runway closed due to disabled aircraft, expect diversions” and hit “post” before hundreds of passengers find out the hard way from a pilot in a holding pattern – not to mention friends and family waiting on the ground. 

If Tallahassee International wants to be taken seriously as a growing regional hub, it might start by proving it can communicate during the most basic of operational hiccups. Last night, runways for airplanes — and runways for communications — were all closed.