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

By Red Tape Florida 

This weekend, Tallahassee is hosting something truly historic: the World Athletics Cross Country Championships at Apalachee Regional Park, bringing the world’s best distance runners — and thousands of spectators — to our community. This isn’t just another local race or collegiate meet. This is a global sporting event that lifts Tallahassee onto the international stage and embodies exactly what sports tourism should look like.  

The 46th edition of the championships marks the first time the event has returned to the United States in more than 30 years. Apalachee Regional Park will be filled with elite runners representing more than 50 countries, competing across five championship races that will be broadcast around the world.  

This week, world-class athletes and Olympians from nations like Kenya, Uganda, Ethiopia, Spain and Great Britain arrived in Tallahassee, and spectators have descended on our community to watch them compete. Organizers are expecting more than 450 of the world’s top runners, with economic impact estimates in the millions as visitors fill hotel rooms, dine in local restaurants, and experience our city’s unique hospitality.  

What’s happening here is the culmination of years of strategic thinking and community investment. Tallahassee and Leon County didn’t stumble into this opportunity. Like any successful sports tourism destination, they built it. Apalachee Regional Park has hosted high-profile events for years — from NCAA championships to national meets — and that track record was essential to winning the bid for these world championships.  

At the center of that long game has been county leadership, especially Leon County Administrator Vince Long. Back when the county first set its sights on hosting major cross countryevents, few could have predicted that those efforts would culminate in a world championship. But it was exactly that kind of long-term vision — of recognizing sports as an economic engine and leveraging it — that put Tallahassee in a position to win a global event of this caliber.  

Under Long’s leadership, local officials, tourism partners, and community stakeholders worked together to elevate Apalachee Regional Park from a respected regional venue to a world-class site worthy of hosting the top names in athletics. That collaboration is the essence of effective sports tourism strategy: build quality facilities, cultivate experience hosting big events, and then leverage that to bring bigger opportunities home. 

This weekend, as champions chase medals and cameras broadcast our city to millions, Tallahassee isn’t just hosting a race. It’s showing what sports tourism looks like when you back a plan with persistence, partnership and leadership. 

Thanks to Vince Long and the team he’s helped steer, the world has a front-row seat — and Tallahassee is finally in the spotlight it’s long deserved. 

January 9, 2026
By Red Tape Florida

By Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida 

If you only read the agenda item, this looks easy. 

The Tallahassee Community Redevelopment Agency’s Greater Frenchtown/Southside Citizen’s Advisory Committee is being asked at its Jan. 12 meeting to approve a $750,000 grant for a modest redevelopment project at 115 West Harrison Street. 

The proposal from a developer called WeWould REIT, LLC, sounds familiar, almost comforting: a newly constructed 6,143-square-foot building, two tenants, retail and food service, site work, jobs, improved aesthetics. 

There’s even a friendly rendering. Trees. Pedestrians. A clean, modern building. A big sign on the front that reads, simply, “FOOD.” 

Nothing to see here.  

Except there is. 

And you won’t find it in the agenda summary, the staff analysis, the fiscal impact, or the recommended action. To find it, you have to do what the agenda quietly hopes you won’t: keep reading. 

What the agenda item tells you 

The CRA agenda item is careful and polished. It explains the New Construction Assistance Program, notes that the $750,000 request falls just under the program’s 25 percent cap, and emphasizes consistency with redevelopment goals. It highlights minority business participation, job creation, and long-term economic benefits. 

What it never does — not once — is tell commissioners or the public what the building is actually intended to be used for. 

There is no mention of any controversial or sensitive use. No hint of anything beyond ordinary neighborhood retail. If you stopped here, you’d have no reason to ask questions. 

The rendering helps reinforce that impression. 

About that “FOOD” sign 

Renderings aren’t neutral. They’re persuasion tools, designed to help decision-makers visualize what they’re being asked to approve. 

This one leans hard into normalcy. The most prominent visual cue on the building isn’t a logo or a tenant name, but a generic, reassuring word: food. 

That choice matters. If the project were truly just a speculative shell with no foreseeable end use, the rendering wouldn’t need to guide the viewer’s imagination so carefully. And if the CRA were comfortable openly subsidizing the actual intended use, there’d be no reason to dress it up as something else. 

Still, none of this proves anything. Not yet. 

For that, you have to turn a few more pages. Dozens of them, actually. 

Turn to page 52 

On page 52 of the application attachments — deep inside the technical appraisal materials — the first crack appears. 

In a discussion of buyer intent and marketing history, the appraisal states that the buyers “intend to redevelop the property into a medical marijuana facility.” 

That’s it. One sentence. One time. No emphasis. No explanation. Just a factual statement of purpose. 

If you didn’t know to look for it, you’d miss it. 

Turn to page 114 

Keep going. 

On page 114, the appraisal documents do it again. This time, even more plainly. The borrower plans to convert the property into a cannabis dispensary. 

Again, one mention. One sentence. Buried in valuation paperwork few people read closely and no one summarizes for the board. 

So, let’s pause here to say thank you — sincerely — to the appraiser. Appraisers don’t editorialize. They document reality. And in this case, reality made it into the record even when the City chose not to surface it. 

What’s missing — and why that matters 

The problem here isn’t legality. Medical marijuana is legal in Florida. Zoning questions are separate and ongoing. 

The problem is disclosure. 

The CRA agenda item does not merely fail to highlight the marijuana use — it actively constructs an alternative story. Retail. Food. Jobs. A pleasant building. A clean rendering. Meanwhile, the only honest descriptions of the project’s purpose live on page 52 and page 114 of a dense technical appendix. 

That’s not transparency. That’s a head fake. 

Especially when the developer isn’t shy elsewhere. 

What the developer says when City Hall isn’t involved 

Outside the CRA paperwork, WeWould is perfectly clear about what kind of company it is. Its website openly markets cannabis real estate, including cultivation centers and dispensary facilities. 

The Tallahassee Frenchtown site is already listed in the company’s online portfolio — before the CRA has even voted — as an available asset. 

So, the developer is transparent with investors and the market. The appraiser is transparent in the valuation documents. Only the City’s agenda item pretends this is something else. 

Then there’s the money question 

CRA staff will likely argue that this is just about the building, not the tenant. But that argument rings hollow when you look at who’s asking. 

WeWould REIT describes itself as a private-equity cannabis real estate platform with a stated ambition of assembling a $250 million portfolio and exiting to the capital markets. It touts quarterly dividends and investor returns. 

According to the NCAP application, the company has already invested roughly $1.6 million in the project and has secured a $1.1 million construction loan. 

And yet, it’s asking the CRA to contribute $750,000 — nearly the maximum allowed — from taxpayer-backed redevelopment funds. 

That raises a fair question the agenda item never asks: why is a well-capitalized, nationally oriented cannabis real estate firm seeking public subsidy to build a dispensary in one of Tallahassee’s most historically disadvantaged neighborhoods? 

The reveal the CRA avoided 

If the CRA believes subsidizing a marijuana dispensary is a wise redevelopment strategy for the Southside/Frenchtown district, it should say so plainly and defend that choice openly. 

Instead, the truth was left to page 52 and page 114, hidden behind a “FOOD” sign and a carefully sanitized agenda summary. 

That may get an item through a meeting. 

It shouldn’t get a free pass from the public. 

January 8, 2026
By Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida 

People who actually went in the water to do some good 
 

By Red Tape Florida staff 

The Red Tide Awards exist to document how red tape spreads when process goes unchecked. The Lifeguard designation exists for the opposite reason. 

In a year when delay was rewarded and avoidance passed for governance, a small number of people did something unfashionable: they intervened. They raised their hands, took public positions, and forced issues into the open — often at personal or political cost.  

The 2025 Red Tide Lifeguards are individuals who stepped in early enough to stop bureaucratic blooms from spreading — or at least made it harder for them to hide. 

Rep. Jason Shoaf, Florida House of Representatives 

When local governments quietly test the limits of state law, the easiest response for elected officials is silence. In 2025, Rep. Jason Shoaf chose the opposite approach. 

Shoaf publicly challenged Gulf County over its handling of private-provider inspection fees, calling out practices that appeared to conflict with clear legislative intent. Rather than letting the issue remain a local administrative dispute, he elevated it to a statewide compliance question — forcing transparency where there had been none. 

That matters. Private-provider laws only work if local governments follow them. Shoaf’s intervention didn’t just defend a statute; it sent a signal that defiance of state law would no longer be cost-free or invisible. 

Brian Welch, Leon County Commission 

Few figures in Florida’s growth debates have been as consistent — or as effective — at calling out contradiction as Brian Welch. 

Welch has spent years dismantling the familiar canard that communities can oppose growth while simultaneously lamenting the lack of affordable housing. In 2025, his commentary and public engagement sharpened that argument, exposing how NIMBY-driven obstruction is often repackaged as concern, planning, or “neighborhood character.” 

His contribution wasn’t procedural reform. It was narrative containment. By repeatedly forcing opponents of housing to reconcile their stated values with actual outcomes, Welch helped limit the political cover that allows bad policy to metastasize unchallenged. 

Christian Caban, Leon County Commission 

Fire services fees are rarely sexy. They are also rarely scrutinized — which is precisely why they grow so fast. 

In 2025, Leon County Commissioner Christian Caban publicly pressed the City of Tallahassee over massive increases in fire services fees tied to new construction, questioning both the methodology and the lack of proportionality. The defining fact wasn’t disagreement; it was accountability. Caban forced the issue into daylight and demanded justification for costs that had quietly tripled. 

That kind of oversight is uncommon in intergovernmental relationships, where deference often replaces diligence. By refusing to treat fee escalation as inevitable, Caban slowed a bloom that thrives on assumption and inertia. 

Al Wilson, Florida Building Code Compliance Association 

Private-provider reform in Florida has produced no shortage of quiet frustration — and very few public advocates willing to absorb the blowback. 

As CEO of the Florida Building Code Compliance Association, Al Wilson has repeatedly stepped into that gap. In 2025, he continued to challenge local governments that undermined private-provider statutes through selective discounts, inconsistent fee structures, and procedural workarounds that preserved control while defeating purpose. 

Wilson’s role isn’t symbolic. He has brought data, comparisons, and persistence to a fight many would prefer to avoid. In a system where local resistance often counts on fatigue and fragmentation, sustained leadership matters. Wilson provided it. 

Why these designations matter 

None of these Lifeguards solved Florida’s red tape problem. That was never the standard. 

They did something rarer: they interrupted it. 

They acted early, publicly, and with enough clarity to make avoidance harder. In a year defined by bureaucratic blooms, that was enough to keep parts of the water clear — and to earn recognition for doing the work most people avoid. 

The Red Tide Awards will continue to document where the process goes toxic. The Lifeguard designation exists to remind readers that intervention is possible — and that it usually starts with someone willing to step in, before the bloom takes over. 

January 6, 2026
By Red Tape Florida staff 

By Red Tape Florida staff 

Florida has no shortage of end-of-year scorecards, watchdog lists, and awards nobody campaigns for. The Red Tide Awards proudly join that tradition — with a saltwater twist. 

Each year, Red Tape Florida documents how routine rules and procedures quietly metastasize into delay, dysfunction, and missed opportunity. The Red Tide Awards are our annual attempt to step back and call out the worst of it — not as gotchas, but as case studies in what happens when the process goes unchecked. 

Think of these less as honors and more as field reports. When red tape behaves like an actual red tide — spreading slowly, feeding on inaction, and choking off progress — we mark the bloom. 

Every entry below earns its place with one thing Florida government reliably produces: evidence. Each Red Tide citation is anchored by a specific, verifiable fact that made the damage impossible to ignore. A few blooms were contained. Most were not. 

Grand Red Tide Award of 2025 

North Florida Fair luxury watch scandal 

Compensation alone was not the scandal. The defining fact was how easily private-sector incentive structures coexisted with a public-facing mission, absent clear policy, transparent justification, or meaningful oversight. The money moved cleanly. The accountability did not. 

This was red tide at full visibility. Documents surfaced. Emails raised questions. Lines blurred. And the more the arrangement was examined, the harder it became to determine where public stewardship ended, and private discretion began. If the Red Tide Awards are meant to capture the moment when red tape stops being abstract and becomes undeniable, this was it — a bloom that combined opacity, incentives, and public dollars in a way readers immediately understood as wrong. 

Worst Systemic Red Tide Bloom of 2025 

Florida local governments’ war on private-provider inspections 

In 2025, Florida local governments continued imposing new fees, redundant inspections, and procedural hurdles on licensed private-provider inspectors, despite state law expressly authorizing private providers to speed construction, reduce backlogs, and lower costs. 

From Gulf County to Alachua County and onward to larger, more sophisticated jurisdictions, the same playbook appeared again and again. Instead of functioning as the release valve the Legislature intended, private providers became targets of bureaucratic resistance. Jurisdictions layered on so-called “administrative” charges, cancelled inspections, and reinserted government review into processes that were supposed to bypass it entirely. 

What makes this bloom the worst systemic failure of 2025 is not any single abuse, but its repetition. Different places, same tactics. When government responds to lawful efficiency by recreating the very obstacles the law was designed to remove, red tape hasn’t just spread — it has evolved. The good news — state legislators like Rep. Jason Shoaf are starting to take notice.

Local Policy Bloom 
Caving to protest as planning — City of Ormond Beach 

The defining failure wasn’t secrecy or records management. It was that a handful of organized opponents were effectively allowed to dictate outcomes, even though the project complied with existing rules and planning frameworks. Rather than enforcing adopted policy, elected officials treated protest volume as a proxy for merit. 

This was red tide by capitulation. When commissions substitute crowd management for governance, the result isn’t compromise — it’s paralysis. And when new housing can be stalled simply by being unpopular with nearby residents, the message is clear: the rules exist until someone objects loudly enough. 

Chronic Bloom 

NIMBY veto power and the slow strangulation of housing supply 

Across Florida in 2025, multiple local governments responded to organized neighborhood opposition by delaying, downsizing, or effectively killing housing projects that complied with adopted plans and zoning. 

In these cases, the red tide wasn’t regulation itself — it was elected officials declining to exercise authority. Rather than making hard decisions and owning the consequences, commissions defaulted to delay, deferral, and “additional review,” allowing a small number of opponents to achieve what formal policy could not. 

This bloom is chronic because it compounds over time. Each stalled project tightens supply. Each capitulation signals that rules are negotiable under pressure. And each missed housing opportunity pushes affordability further out of reach — all without a single vote to change the underlying policy. 

If red tide thrives on inaction, NIMBY vetoes are its ideal nutrient source. 

Major Bloom  

City of Tallahassee / Leon County economic development apparatus 

That outcome is striking given the size and cost of the region’s economic development ecosystem, which includes multiple publicly funded entities, boards, consultants, and partner organizations. Throughout the year, projects were discussed, tours were conducted, and interest was expressed. What never happened was a closing announcement. In this case, red tape didn’t kill projects outright — it simply outlasted them. 

It begs the question: When will city and county leaders face the fact that the Office of Economic Vitality simply isn’t generating meaingful results?

Secondary Bloom 

Government growth untethered from population growth in Leon County 

New data published in 2025 showed that while Leon County’s population grew just 4.4 percent, local government staffing and associated spending increased by approximately 42 percent over a similar period. 

That tenfold disparity highlights a bureaucratic bloom that expanded quietly, largely outside public debate. While residents saw modest population growth and limited private-sector expansion, government continued to grow at a pace that far exceeded the community it serves — a classic case of red tide flourishing without a corresponding public need. 

Persistent Bloom 
Statewide implementation of Florida’s condo safety laws 

Entering 2025, condo associations across Florida were still operating under inconsistent and evolving guidance on inspection standards, reserve requirements, and enforcement timelines, despite statutory changes enacted well before the year began. 

Boards faced escalating costs and conflicting advice from engineers, attorneys, and local officials. The bloom persisted not because safety was disputed, but because clarity never arrived. The longer uncertainty lingered, the more decision-making froze — particularly in older, middle-income communities least equipped to absorb sudden financial shocks. 

Localized Bloom 

The infamous “shed” permitting saga, City of Tallahassee 

The defining fact was not complexity, safety, or neighborhood impact. It was that a modest, noncontroversial accessory structure became subject to repeated reviews, shifting requirements, and procedural resets, none of which materially improved the outcome. The shed did not change. The process did. 

What made this a red tide moment was scale in miniature. If a basic shed can generate confusion, delay, and escalating compliance demands, the problem is not the project — it’s the system. Like a localized environmental bloom, the damage here was small in footprint but unmistakable in diagnosis: when process overwhelms common sense, nothing is too minor to be slowed to a crawl. 

Uncontained Spread 
Miami-Dade County / City of Miami permitting process 

Rather than early containment through clear ownership of the process, applications circulated across multiple departments, each adding review without responsibility for the clock. The result was a slow but steady spread: higher carrying costs, delayed projects, and a permitting system whose complexity became the story. 

Bloom Contained 
Where the water cleared in 2025 

Not every potential bloom turned toxic. 

In a handful of cases, agencies identified problems early, clarified authority, and acted decisively — preventing delay from metastasizing. These efforts shared common traits: a single point of accountability, realistic timelines, and a willingness to say yes or no. 

They weren’t flashy. They were functional. And in a year defined by red tide, that stood out. Here are some entities that found a way to do it right. 

Doing it right: City of Tallahassee and Leon County DesignWorks urban design studio 

DesignWorks earns a spot here because it is one of the few local-government functions in the region that’s built to solve problems early rather than multiply them later — a joint city-county design studio explicitly intended to help projects get shaped correctly before they enter the permitting grinder.  

Doing it right: City of Jacksonville — Mayor Donna Deegan’s permitting overhaul 

Jacksonville gets credit for publishing a clear, multi-step permitting improvement plan and backing it with measurable outcomes — including a reported reduction in permit approval timelines from about 100 days to about 40 days after process and platform changes (JaxEPICS), plus organizational moves aimed at eliminating internal silos.  

Doing it right: City of Fort Walton Beach — code enforcement transparency 

Fort Walton Beach stands out for doing something most Florida cities never do: treating code enforcement like a system residents should understand rather than a trap to stumble into. The city held a public Community Code Enforcement Workshop and rolled out a resident-facing assistance guide designed to help property owners navigate compliance before fines escalate.  

Doing it right: Pinellas County — after-the-fact permit amnesty 

Pinellas took a practical approach to compliance by waiving penalty fees for after-the-fact permits through Dec. 31, 2025 — a policy designed to pull unpermitted repairs into the light without punishing homeowners with double-fees for trying to fix the paperwork 

Closing 

Red Tide 2025 wasn’t about bad intentions. It was about what happens when process goes unchecked and no one owns the outcome. 

Red Tape Florida will continue to document where red tape spreads — and where it’s successfully contained. Because like environmental red tide, bureaucratic blooms are not inevitable. But once ignored, they are far harder to clean up. 

December 31, 2025
By Red Tape Florida staff

To our readers

Red Tape Florida conducted a direct, extended interview with the CEO of a fast-growing technology company who requested anonymity to protect current business relationships and ongoing operations. We spoke with the CEO firsthand and at length about his company’s efforts to locate a major new facility in Tallahassee-Leon County and why those efforts ultimately failed.

We agreed to anonymity only after confirming the individual’s role, the company’s legitimacy, and the factual timeline described below, including the company’s eventual decision to locate a significant operation in another Florida market. This account reflects the CEO’s own words and experiences and is published because it offers a rare, inside view of how Tallahassee loses projects it publicly claims to want.

A Red Tape Florida exclusive, by Skip Foster

For nearly a year, the CEO of a fast-growing technology company tried to bring a major new facility to Tallahassee-Leon County.

He believed the city had the right ingredients: a major research university, access to technical talent, and a long-stated ambition to attract innovation-driven employers. He wasn’t shopping the project broadly or playing jurisdictions against one another. He wanted Tallahassee to work.

It didn’t.

“Literally nothing happened,” the CEO told Red Tape Florida. “I spent close to a year trying to move it forward. Eventually, I just gave up.”

The CEO leads a company operating at the cutting edge of advanced technology, developing equipment that requires highly specialized research, manufacturing capacity, and a skilled technical workforce. In 2023, the company began searching for a location for a significant new facility that would combine research, engineering, and manufacturing under one roof.

Tallahassee seemed, at least initially, like a logical fit.

But what unfolded was not a deal that fell apart at the margins or collapsed over money. It was, instead, a slow grind of polite engagement, shifting responsibility, and an absence of clear leadership. It fits the pattern of a lack of economic development performance Red Tape Florida wrote about earlier this year.

“Everyone was friendly. Everyone was welcoming,” the CEO said. “There were follow-up emails, welcome materials, lots of conversations.”

What never materialized was progress.

“The problem wasn’t attitude,” he said. “It was leadership.”

According to the CEO, the project was repeatedly passed between agencies, organizations, and stakeholders — including the Office of Economic Vitality — with no single entity empowered to lead or make decisions.

“There was no quarterback,” he said. “We were handed off from one group to another. Everyone was involved, but no one was actually in charge.”

As months passed, forward movement stalled while approvals were sought, internal checks were required, and additional voices entered the process.

“It felt like an endless maze,” he said. “Every time we thought we were getting somewhere, there was another step, another delay, another person who needed to weigh in.”

The CEO stressed that he encountered capable and well-intentioned individuals along the way. But without a clear chain of command, those individual efforts  were never translated into action.

“Good people don’t matter if the system doesn’t allow anyone to lead,” he said.

After roughly a year of unproductive engagement, the CEO began conversations with officials in another Florida market.

The contrast was immediate.

“In the first meeting, things started moving,” he said. “They understood what we were trying to do, they were clear about what was possible, and they acted.”

Within months, a framework was in place. Soon after, a formal agreement followed. Plans moved forward for a facility that would include manufacturing space, research labs, offices, and room for expansion.

The CEO described the project as exactly the type of development Tallahassee routinely says it wants: advanced manufacturing, high-paying technical jobs, and long-term growth potential.

What continues to frustrate him is that Tallahassee was never competing in a crowded field.

“This wasn’t a bidding war,” he said. “We weren’t shopping the project all over the country. Tallahassee had the inside track.”

Only when it became clear that nothing was going to happen did he seriously look elsewhere.

“We needed to move,” he said. “Time matters when you’re building a company.”

He emphasized that his company was not asking for extraordinary incentives or special treatment.

“We weren’t asking for anything unusual,” he said. “We were asking for less than other successful projects in Florida have received.”

Instead, the process felt designed to delay rather than enable.

“It was like a video game,” he said. “You clear one level and immediately face another obstacle.”

Eventually, delay became decisive.

“I didn’t want to walk away,” he said. “But at some point, you have to make a decision.”

Asked what Tallahassee-Leon County could do differently to win similar projects in the future, his answer was straightforward.

“They need clear leadership,” he said. “One entity that owns the relationship with business, quarterbacks the process, and makes decisions.”

He paused before adding:

“It’s great to feel welcomed. But welcoming isn’t the same thing as leading.”

December 22, 2025

By Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida 

A recent Wall Street Journal analysis offers a stark, real-world lesson in housing policy — one that Tallahassee and Leon County should be studying closely. 

The difference wasn’t developers, Wall Street, or demographic change. It was policy. 

In 2022, St. Paul enacted one of the nation’s strictest rent-control ordinances, capping annual increases at 3 percent — even on vacant units, with no inflation adjustment. Minneapolis chose a different path. It avoided rent control and focused almost entirely on allowing more housing to be built, rewriting zoning and land-use rules to permit more apartments and density. 

The results were immediate and dramatic. 

According to HUD data cited by the Journal, apartment-building permits in St. Paul fell 79 percent in early 2022 compared with the prior year. Investment activity froze. Developers halted projects. Lenders pulled back. Property values declined by at least 6 percent. St. Paul has since been forced to roll back parts of the ordinance, exempting newer construction and reconsidering the policy altogether. 

Minneapolis experienced the opposite. Apartment permits surged nearly fourfold. Downtown neighborhoods rebounded faster. New supply came online. And despite ongoing affordability challenges, rent growth in Minneapolis lagged both St. Paul and the national average during the same period. 

This wasn’t a theory. It was a side-by-side governance experiment — and it validated a warning economists have been making for decades – rent controls and growth-stifling measures hurt far more than they help. 

As Swedish economist Assar Lindbeck put it more than 50 years ago, “In many cases rent control appears to be the most efficient technique presently known to destroy a city — except for bombing.” 

Why this matters in Tallahassee and Leon County 

This matters because recent decisions in Tallahassee and Leon County point unmistakably toward the St. Paul model. 

Just weeks ago, the Leon County Commission adopted changes to the comprehensive plan that further restricts where and how housing can be built. The vote was framed as smart growth and community protection. In practice, it adds friction, delay, and uncertainty — the very conditions that cause builders and lenders to pause or walk away. 

Those early warning signs are already showing up locally. In a recent Tallahassee Real Estate Weekly market update, longtime Tallahassee broker and analyst Joe Manausa noted this key finding: “Homes in the lowest 25 percent climbed from roughly $147,000 in 2020 to about $210,000 in 2025. That is close to a 43 percent increase, and it represents the sharpest appreciation of any segment.” 

Manausa added: “When the most affordable homes rise the fastest, tens of thousands of potential future buyers find themselves pushed farther from ownership” 

At the city level, Tallahassee continues to talk about affordability while piling on layers of process, fees, discretionary review, and political veto points that make housing slower and more expensive to deliver. The language sounds pro-housing. The outcomes are not. 

Good intentions don’t override incentives 

One of the most revealing findings in the Journal’s reporting is how rent control altered landlord behavior. Because rent increases were capped annually and vacancy increases were banned, landlords began raising rents every year — even when they previously wouldn’t have — simply to avoid falling behind. Small owners sold. Maintenance was deferred. Investment left. 

This is the part often missing from local housing debates: capital is mobile. 

When government sends a signal that investment is risky, unpredictable, or politically constrained, capital doesn’t argue. It doesn’t negotiate. It goes elsewhere — often across the river. 

Minneapolis understood that reality. St. Paul learned it the hard way. 

Tallahassee and Leon County are now choosing which example to follow. 

The choice ahead 

The Wall Street Journal didn’t write about Tallahassee. But it could have. 

The lesson from the Twin Cities isn’t that housing is easy, or markets are perfect. It’s that local governments can make housing crises worse — very quickly — by mistaking control for competence. 

There is still time to choose a different path. One focused on supply, speed, and certainty rather than restriction and symbolism. One that acts like Minneapolis instead of St. Paul. 

Because once projects stall and capital leaves, reversing course is far harder. 

And by then, the damage is already done. 

December 16, 2025
By Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida 

A sad tale of progressive hypocrisy; Chamber silence and a leadership void 

By Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida 

Leon County residents say they want affordable housing. They say they want workforce housing. They say they want to prepare for the 42,000 new residents projected in the decades ahead. 

And then, when given a chance to expand the Urban Services Area in a place planners have identified for years as a logical location for future growth — directly beside Southwood, along major arterials, with a mandatory master-planning process already required — the Leon County Commission caved to a vocal NIMBY minority and once again said no. 

And as is now routine in this community, they did so with no counterproposal, no housing strategy, and no leadership from the institutions, like the Greater Tallahassee Chamber, that claim to care about affordability. That vacuum — from elected officials and from the organizations that supposedly represent economic interests — hangs over every one of these debates. 

The county’s analysis of vacant and potentially developable land shows the actual supply is far more limited than advertised — only about 10,646 acres are truly viableafter accounting for environmental and regulatory constraints, and much of that land is scattered or unsuitable for meaningful housing development. Large, contiguous parcels are rare. Yet the commission just eliminated one of the few chances to build a new master-planned community on scale. 

He began with a truth that Tallahassee’s political class works hard to avoid: 

“We have to grow in this community. The biggest threat to our community is our frustration with accepting that we have to grow.” 

He then dismantled the idea that this proposal was “sprawl,” noting that the land in question sits directly beside Southwood: 

“You’re talking about a property directly next to Southwood, where there are 3,000 acres and 2,000 homes. To call that sprawl — and then to say infill in historic neighborhoods is also unacceptable — is a perfect encapsulation of the paralysis we are experiencing.” 

Paralysis is the precise word. In Leon County, every idea becomes unacceptable: 
• Infill is opposed. 
• Edge-of-USA expansion is opposed. 
• Mixed-use redevelopment is opposed. 
• Master-planned communities are opposed. 
• Density is opposed. 
• Sprawl is opposed. 

The impacts are predictable: rent keeps climbing, home prices keep rising, and families continue to struggle. 

The anti-growth coalition is not just wrong — it is causing the affordability crisis 

This is where hypocrisy becomes impossible to ignore. The same people who speak endlessly about affordable housing — who hold summits, commission studies, and lament rising rents — are the very people voting, again and again, to restrict the supply of housing. 

They are not bystanders of the crisis. They are architects of it. 

Leon County does not have an affordability problem because developers are building too much. It has an affordability problem because policymakers and anti-growth activists have spent twenty years making sure they build too little. Every time they kill a project, limit density, or wall off new land from the Urban Services Area, they tighten the noose around the working families they claim to champion. 

This isn’t academic. It’s math. When demand rises and supply doesn’t, prices go up. And when prices go up, people get pushed out — first from homeownership, then from rentals, and eventually into housing insecurity and homelessness. 

The anti-growth faction pretends these outcomes are unrelated to their decisions. 

They aren’t. 

Their obsession with halting development is not only worsening the housing shortage — it is directly feeding the rise in homelessness in this community. 

Welch said it succinctly: 

“We talk about affordable housing in the community. We have to build housing in order to create affordable housing.” 

But the majority did the opposite. Again. 

The leadership vacuum — especially from the Chamber 

The silence at Tuesday’s meeting wasn’t just on the dais. It echoed from the organizations that claim to represent this community’s future. 

That alone should prompt some soul-searching from the Chamber. But the deeper problem is institutional: 

The Chamber itself was nowhere to be found. Again. 

Not at the hearing. 
Not in public comments. 
Not in a press release. 
Not even in a social media post. 

If the business community cannot speak up for housing supply — the single largest factor driving workforce shortages and pushing families out of Leon County — then what, exactly, is it for? 

The anti-growth activists show up every time. They flood hearings. They pressure commissioners. They shape the narrative. 

The Chamber shrugs. 

Silence is a position. And on Tuesday night, silence sided with fear, stagnation and scarcity. 

The only three who saw the stakes clearly 

Welch, Caban and Maddox were the only commissioners who treated housing as a real policy issue rather than a political nuisance. 

Welch closed with a reminder that should hang over every land-use debate: 

“Everybody has a right to a home. Everybody has a right to a place to live. And we have a responsibility to facilitate that.” 

Three commissioners tried to do exactly that. 

The others did not. 

The bottom line 

Leon County says it wants affordability, opportunity and competitiveness. 

But a county cannot remain affordable if it refuses to grow. 
It cannot solve homelessness while restricting the supply of homes. 
It cannot attract employers while driving workers out. 
It cannot claim compassion while embracing policies that push families to the brink. 

Until elected leaders — and the institutions that claim to represent the business community — stop treating growth as a threat rather than a necessity, nothing will change except the price of a home. 

And that number is only moving in one direction. 

December 11, 2025
Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida 

By Red Tape Florida 

Red Tape Florida spends plenty of time calling out local governments that weaponize code enforcement. Some cities treat it as a quiet revenue stream. Others use it as a punitive tool. Many hide the entire process behind opaque notices, magistrate hearings, and a wilting stack of certified letters. 

That is unusual. Most Florida cities treat this material like it’s proprietary. 

The city didn’t just hold a workshop. They also rolled out a new assistance guide aimed at helping property owners “navigate their way back into compliance.” The language they used is practically unheard of in the code-enforcement world: they want the process to be transparent. They want the public to understand how things work. And, most surprising of all, they emphasize working with residents rather than extracting fines from them. 

Fort Walton Beach has also begun hosting what it calls Community Code Compliance Sweeps. In a lot of places, a “sweep” means blitzing a neighborhood and writing tickets by the dozen. But here the stated goal is different. The city says it is trying to meet residents where they are, offer guidance, and secure voluntary compliance before citations are even considered. In other words: talk first, ticket later. 

Is Fort Walton Beach perfect? Of course not. Nobody knows yet whether this is a true cultural shift or just a bout of helpful messaging wrapped around the same old system. A single workshop is not proof of a transformed bureaucracy. A new pamphlet is not a guarantee that a code officer won’t still reach for the citation pad as the first resort. 

But here is why this matters: if Fort Walton Beach is trying to get code enforcement right, then every other city in Florida can too. There is nothing stopping a city like Tallahassee, Jacksonville, Orlando, or Fort Myers from hosting public workshops, providing genuine assistance guides, or tracking how many cases are resolved through cooperation instead of punishment. Transparency is not prohibited by statute. Working with residents is not a radical idea. 

At the least, Fort Walton Beach is a model worth studying. 

At the most, it’s a shining example to which other Florida localities should aspire. 

December 5, 2025
Red Tape Florida

By Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida 

Homeowners across Florida are being punished for doing something the Florida Legislature actually wants them to do: hire licensed private-sector inspection and plans review professionals to keep construction moving. 

A survey of local government policy and code documents, conducted by Red Tape Florida, shows a disturbing pattern of gaming state statutes and punishing businesses who use private providers. 

Instead of rewarding efficiency, far too many local governments are boldly slapping massive administrative penalties on homeowners who use private provider inspectors for plan reviews or inspections — penalties that have nothing to do with safety, nothing to do with oversight, and everything to do with protecting government revenue. 

This is about bureaucracy fighting to keep its monopoly. 

Florida Statute 553.791 gives homeowners the right to hire a private provider — a licensed engineer, architect, or building code professional with the same (or often higher) credentials as government inspectors, but with an actual motivation to move quickly and correctly. 

Private providers exist for one reason: too many local building departments can’t keep up. 

But instead of improving their performance and embracing private sector partners, some counties and cities have found a simpler strategy: punish the private sector for taking business away from them. 

And the numbers prove it. 

The local government list of shame 

Here’s what Florida homeowners are facing when they choose a licensed private provider instead of using the local building department: 

• Coral Gables: Keeps 70 to 85 percent of the permit fee even when the city performs zero plan review and zero inspections. The city refunds only 30 percent when both services are done by a private provider, and just 15 percent when inspections alone are outsourced. 

• Plant City: Adds a flat $225 Private Provider Fee plus surcharges, even when the city does none of the work. 

• Pinellas County: Charges a $200 base administrative fee plus 25 percent of the plan value on every private-provider permit — residential, commercial, and even inspections-only. 

• Pasco County: Imposes a $600 Private Provider Administrative Fee on residential projects, clearly shown on county receipts. 

• Hillsborough County: Uses a percentage-based penalty structure: 75 percent of the permit fee when plan review is done privately, 50 percent when only inspections are private, and 25 percent even when both are handled by the private provider. These charges apply even when the county performs none of the work. 

• Gulf County: Adds a $500 private provider fee directly to the planning department, handwritten on the county’s plan review sheet. 

FAC’s disingenuous claims 

The Florida Association of Counties is now trying to spin this crisis into a story about “safety” and “fiscal impacts,” but its claims collapse under even the slightest scrutiny. In its policy document, FAC argues that private providers are “not in the best interest of public health and safety” and warns of “devastating financial impacts on Gulf County and its residents.”  

None of that aligns with what is actually happening on the ground. 

The financial burden in Gulf County isn’t coming from private providers — it’s coming from the county itself. Gulf County slapped a $500 private-provider fee onto the planning department base fees, directly raising construction costs for homeowners who are simply trying to move their projects forward. The same pattern exists statewide: when counties stack $500 fees, $600 surcharges, or 75-percent penalties onto private-provider work, the “devastating financial impacts” land squarely on homeowners because local governments chose to weaponize their fee schedules. 

FAC’s “safety” argument collapses just as quickly. Private providers must hold the exact same state licenses as government building officials — architects, engineers, and certified code professionals — and they carry additional liability insurance. None of the opponents to private provider use have provided evidence of structures failing because of private-provider inspections. What there is, across county after county, is a pattern of chronic delays, backlogs, and bottlenecks in government inspection offices. Calling the private sector unsafe while ignoring those government failures is not consumer protection. It’s bureaucratic self-preservation. 

Private sector always outperforms bureaucrats 

The truth is simple: when private providers are used, projects move. When local governments fight them or bury homeowners in punitive “administrative” fees, projects stall and costs soar. FAC’s narrative tries to cast the private sector as the problem. In reality, the greatest risk — financial and otherwise — comes from counties more focused on protecting revenue than on helping citizens build safe, code-compliant homes on a reasonable timeline. 

The FAC’s own justification gives the game away. Its adopted policy document admits that private providers were originally created because local governments “could not meet the demand” for plan reviews and inspections, especially during growth cycles or after hurricanes.  

Unless the Legislature steps in, this war on the private sector will continue — quietly, expensively, and with real consequences for housing costs, construction timelines, and the basic fairness of Florida’s permitting system. 

Time for Florida Legislature to step in 

Florida doesn’t need new restrictions on private providers. It doesn’t need bureaucratic rhetoric disguised as safety. It doesn’t need to rubber-stamp FAC talking points. Florida needs lawmakers who are willing to say what counties won’t: that private-sector professionals should not be punished for doing work government offices can’t handle on time. 

The good news – several legislators are doing just that. Rep. Jason Shoaf, whose district includes Gulf County, has called on local officials to explain their actions or he would determine in “further action is warranted.”  Representative “Griff” Griffitts is sponsoring House Bill 405 that, among other reforms, requires building departments to discount a permit fee at least 50% when a private provider stands in the shoes of the government inspector. And at least two senators are questioning how a building department can charge a fee when an outside party performs the plans review and inspection. 

The Legislature has already strengthened the private-provider system through recent reforms. Now it should finish the job. 

• Reject the FAC narrative. 

• Prohibit punitive fee structures including the “work around” administrative fee. 

• Protect homeowners’ right to hire licensed private-sector professionals without being financially penalized for it. 

Local governments have their chance to keep up. Many don’t. Florida homeowners shouldn’t be punished for choosing efficiency — and the private sector shouldn’t be the target. 

The next move belongs to the Legislature. Florida’s citizens expect them to protect their choice, competition, and fairness in the permitting process. 

December 4, 2025
Skip Foster, Red Tape Florida

If there’s one truth that emerged from our four-part interview with housing expert Dr. Sam Staley, it’s this: Florida doesn’t have a housing demand problem — it has a housing supply problem. And the reason we’re not building enough homes isn’t economics or interest rates or evil developers. It’s the result of deliberate choices made by local governments — and by the residents who pressure them.

This disconnect lies at the heart of our housing crisis. So many people — especially here in Tallahassee — claim to care deeply about affordable housing. They campaign on it. They organize around it. They pray over it.

But when someone proposes a new apartment complex or a cluster of townhomes or a modest liberalization of residential planning regulations, the tone changes. Traffic. Neighborhood character. Drainage. Trees. Suddenly, that same passion for housing gets buried under a long list of reasons why this development, in this location, is unacceptable.

That position isn’t just contradictory — it’s harmful. You cannot say you want affordable housing and then work to block the very development that creates it. Those two beliefs are incompatible.

And it defies basic laws of economics.

At last weekend’s Greater Tallahassee Chamber conference, economist Ron Hetrick shared a sobering statistic: since 2021, Tallahassee’s median home prices jumped 52 percent, to $377,000. Does anybody really think that increase isn’t connected to the city’s burdensome regulations and rabid anti-growth activism?

Opposing virtually all growth is also morally repugnant. Anti-growth advocacy leads directly to homelessness. To poverty. Simultaneously opposing growth and advocating for affordable housing is like banning umbrellas and then protesting about how wet people are.

As Staley reminded us, the data is crystal clear: Housing becomes unaffordable when supply fails to meet demand. And supply fails when cities slow-walk projects, impose overly restrictive zoning, or let NIMBY pressure grind everything to a halt. The result? Fewer places for teachers to live. Longer commutes for hospital techs. Rising rents for everyone else.

It’s time we started telling the truth about what NIMBYism costs. It is not a morally neutral stance. Every blocked project is a family that didn’t find housing. Every delayed permit is a young worker who left town. If you want to oppose development, fine — own the consequences. Don’t hide behind buzzwords like “neighborhood character” or “smart growth” while the housing shortage worsens.

Groups like the Capital Area Justice Ministry have done admirable work in drawing attention to the housing crisis. But it’s not enough to demand only public sector solutions to the problem. That movement — and others like it — must evolve to support the actual steps needed to make housing more abundant. That means higher density. That means faster permitting. That means building near existing neighborhoods.

And our local leaders — including those at the Tallahassee Chamber — need to lead with courage, not caution. For too long, public officials have deferred to the loudest voices in the room, which often represent the narrowest slice of the community. It’s time they represented everyone, including those who haven’t yet arrived — the workers, students, and families who want to live here but can’t afford to.

By the way, this is a special opportunity for progressives to show some leadership – if you want to truly show you care about the “least of these” you should be leading the charge on eliminating red tape and not letting anti-growth forces run roughshod over local policy.

Growth isn’t guaranteed in Tallahassee — and lately, it’s been in short supply. The real question is whether we want to keep turning on the red light or finally roll out the red carpet for those who would build a better future here. Dr. Staley gave us the facts. Now it’s our turn to act.

August 19, 2025
Skip Foster
Red Tape Florida