In 1972, thousands of Californians came together. They united by fear that the grand coast was overdeveloped, highly industrialized, ecologically reduced, and irreversibly privatized.
Sonoma State University students signed on as volunteers and called for a committee to “preserve, protect, restore and strengthen the environment and ecology of coastal zones.”
“I was one of the workers’ bees and I felt it was great to be doing something positive,” he said, adding that his role was to “gather signatures, hold the signs, show up at the assembly.”
In Sacramento, a young legislative assistant named (later to become a US lawmaker), helped ride a coastal bike led by its galvanized 20 supporters, drawing a horde of reporters as cyclists pedaled to Balboa Park in San Diego from the end of the San Francisco land.
“Highway Patrol designed the route,” recalls cyclists camping in a state park along the way, eating up food donated by supporters of the “Shore Save” call.
In Los Angeles, a team of young environmentalists originally said, “The Beach belongs to you – Don’t lock it up. Vote for Proposition No. 20.” Activists painted the word “yes” in “no.”
So why am I telling you this half a century later?
Because the creation of a Coastal Commission, voter-approved and now more threatened than ever, has been targeted by the Trump administration, federal legislation and other critics.
During a visit to Los Angeles in January after a devastating wildfire, Trump said the Coastal Commission was “thought to be the most difficult part of the nation” and that “we won’t allow them” when it comes to reconstruction.
If that sounds personal, then yes. Trump, who bought the ranch Palos Verdes Golf Course at a discount in 2002, had a dispute with the property and a and the Coastal Commission.
It was drawn in February by Trump’s special missionary Grenell. He called the Coastal Commission “leave a group of crazy unelected people,” and said “putting strings on them to remove the California Coastal Commission would make California better.”
To be clear, the commissioners are chosen by the elected people. This is often the way the fees work. And speaking of strong unelected people, the name Elon Musk comes to mind, and Trump’s oval office playmate has a coastal committee and his own beef. After Musk’s SpaceX Comperister Commissioner refused a bid to increase the number of rocket launches from the US military’s Vandenberg Space Force Base near Lompoc.
Military officials say they want to support SpaceX to increase the number of launches from 100 to 100 per year. The committee argued that most of the launches were for private interests rather than military purposes, and that the sonic boom and environmental impact were the issue.
And it might be wise to refrain from increasing launches after SpaceX Craft exploded on Thursday after taking off from Texas. A shower of shards led to grounding flights at several Florida airports. This was the second SpaceX disaster in seven weeks. At the very least, SpaceX employees should get a note asking what they did seven days before each crash.
To be fair, scrutiny and pushback should be part of the process, as Coastal Commission staff and their commissioners have always had a commissioner. Almost a decade ago, my Times colleagues and I looked into how wealthy property owners and developers used lawyers, lobbyists and political connections when trying to influence committee decisions.
In the case of the recent SpaceX incident, the commissioner refused to bid for more launches and made bony political comments about Musk when handing him naively.
The committee, which consists of over 100 staff members and 12 voting members, also has a history of frustrating property owners and governors of painful, long reviews of applications (partly lacking) for everything from new coastal construction to different types of property improvements.
Several recent bills have slashed authority powers and tried to clear the path to more housing (with limited success) by Gavin Newsom recently signed oversight to accelerate reconstruction in the fire zone of Palisades.
Meanwhile, Republicans just want to tear it all apart. On March 5, U.S. Rep. Kevin Killie (R-Looklin) called the committee of power “out of control and headed for the purpose of protecting the coast.”
Of the non-profit California Coastal Protection Network, it quickly grew what it means.
“It’s like the federal government is putting a big sale sign on the California coast,” she said. “It basically strips the ability to comment and provide feedback on state projects. It’s like an open invitation to oil drilling, commercial ventures, liquefied natural gas terminals.”
and it has a lot to do with that movement that began in 1972 (the story is captured about people who have decided to save the coast).
There is a reason to see all of those roadside beach access signs when traveling the coast.
When beachfront property owners erect illegal “private property” signs or other signs, they are quoted and have a reason to be fined.
There is a reason why the 1,100 miles of natural wonders that stretch from the Oregon border to the Mexican border mostly doesn’t resemble the devastated, overdeveloped coasts of other states.
There is a reason that all development proposals have been thoroughly reviewed, with sea level dangers in mind, and all development proposals have been thoroughly reviewed to protect ocean and coastal habitats.
This is because it is a legislatively approved framework inspired by those leading state and local governments on land and water use in coastal areas, embodying the idea that this natural wonder must be handled, not owned by anyone.
One of the agency’s first directors recognized the constant threat to the committee and the coast.
That’s why he said:
“The coast is because a lot of people really worked so hard to sacrifice it and sacrifice it, and if we want to put it there for our children, we have to keep fighting to protect it. That way, the coast is never saved, and is always saved.”
If I’m going to ride another bike, I’m ready to roll.
steve.lopez@latimes.com
