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Bucking the tide

Coastal Commission's executive director not afraid to take on friend or foe to realize his vision for protecting California's 1,100 miles of precious seashore

By Terry Rodgers
UNION-TRIBUNE STAFF WRITER
June 5, 2005

Hiking along a ridge trail at Point Reyes National Seashore, Peter Douglas can see the shadow of his past and a glint of the future.

The deep-green landscape of conifer trees and chaparral is where he built his first home, raised two sons and spread his grandmother's ashes.

He helped establish this place as a national park and a personal reminder of why he perseveres as a leading advocate for California's 1,100-mile coastline.

A political Houdini, Douglas has spent a lifetime sparring with developers, local government and even fellow environmentalists over his vision of coastal protection.

This year marks his 20th anniversary as executive director of the California Coastal Commission, an agency created by a grass-roots ballot initiative co-written by Douglas and approved by voters in 1972. Considered one of the state's most powerful and independent agencies, the commission controls development of California's high-priced coastline.

Douglas, who recently battled throat cancer, has been called "the ultimate survivor" by close associates. But the 63-year-old doesn't have the luxury to salve his wounds or savor his accomplishments.

Any day now, the state Supreme Court could issue a ruling that shipwrecks the commission and immerses it in the greatest crisis of its history.

A lawsuit brought by property-rights activist and Sacramento attorney Ron Zumbrun contends that the commission's structure ­ four appointments each by the governor, Assembly speaker and leader of the Senate ­ is unconstitutional.

Two lower courts sided with Zumbrun. They agreed that the commission, which functions as an agency of the executive branch, violates the separation-of-powers doctrine because the Legislature controls a majority of its appointees.

If the Supreme Court forces the Coastal Commission to become subservient to the governor, the agency would lose much of its autonomy. It also would remove the shield ­ the three appointing authorities ­ that has protected Douglas from people who would like to see him replaced.

"This legal case is the Death Star circling coastal protection in California," said Douglas, using "Star Wars" imagery. "Our opponents want to annihilate us."

Douglas is used to being targeted by hostile forces.

"It comes with the territory," he said. "If we weren't generating controversy, we wouldn't be doing our job. The coast is a magnet for conflict."

Home builders, oil companies and property-rights advocates have long complained about Douglas' allegedly hard-line, anti-development approach. They view him as a formidable gatekeeper, a rigid regulator who digs in his heels rather than seeking compromise.


"They may deny this publicly, but they all have a strong aversion to him," said Joe Petrillo, a San Francisco attorney who has represented major companies and industry before the commission.

Douglas functions as the Coastal Commission's institutional memory, its most influential policy adviser and chief negotiator on controversial projects that come before the agency.

Sanford Edward, a 30-year developer, recently won the commission's approval for an upscale housing and resort project in Dana Point. Although his 121-acre Dana Headlands project includes 70 acres of public parks and open space, Edward said negotiations with Douglas were complex and frustrating.

"Peter Douglas the person is a bright, amiable fellow," he said. "But Peter Douglas the executive director allows the most extreme members of the commission and the environmental community to unduly influence his recommendations."

Douglas' staff takes the most restrictive interpretation of the Coastal Act, often ignoring the agency's own precedents, Edward said.

"Peter leaves it to the commission to find the middle ground," he said.

But Michael Hertel, environmental policy director for Southern California Edison, had a different experience and vouches for Douglas' integrity.

When the commission ordered Edison in 1997 to offset damage to fish and kelp caused by the San Onofre nuclear power plant, Douglas was helpful and fair during the tense negotiations, Hertel said.

"He never over-promised, never failed to follow through on a pledge to do the best he could to convince the commission of an agreed solution," Hertel said.

Few public officials at Douglas' level are as unconventional or outspoken.

Douglas refers to himself as a "radical pagan heretic." By his definition, that's an introspective person who reveres nature and relishes free will.

Each winter for the past four years, he has gone camping alone in the Anza-Borrego Desert for a week to hike, meditate and "recalibrate" his values.

As an environmentalist, Douglas remains a hopeful pessimist.

"The truth is, the environmental condition of Earth is grave but not as calamitous as it could be," he said in a recent speech. "I am confident we will do better. But will we do enough in time to prevent complete ecological collapse and the demise of nature as we know her?"

After finishing law school at UCLA, Douglas went to Sacramento in 1971 as a legislative aide to Democratic Assemblyman Alan Sieroty, the "father" of California's coastal protection law.

Douglas was a principal author of Proposition 20, the California Coastal Zone Conservation Act. Voters approved the ballot initiative in 1972 to create an ad hoc Coastal Commission.

He also belonged to a group of lawyers and legislators who in 1976 drafted the Coastal Act, a law that made the commission permanent.

The Coastal Act envisioned an independent agency that would apply statewide standards for coastal development more stringently and consistently than cities and counties, which might be susceptible to the influence of developers.

The result has been a commission frequently at loggerheads with local government.

A 2002 survey of planning professionals from coastal cities found that more than 40 percent felt the commission exceeded its legal authority when dealing with local communities.

"The estrangement between local government and the commission has been unnecessary and too high of a price to pay," said Greg Hart, a former Santa Barbara councilman who served on the commission from 2001 to 2005. "The commission was supposed to be partners with local government."

Residents groups, homeowners associations and environmental regulations have supplanted the influence developers once had at city halls, Hart said.

"The whole paradigm has shifted," he said, "but Peter still operates in the 'us versus them' world that created the Coastal Act."

The agency's jurisdiction ­ the coastal zone ­ encompasses about 1.5 million acres across 15 counties and more than 110 cities. The territory extends from three miles at sea to an inland boundary that varies from a few blocks in more urban areas to about five miles in less-developed regions.

Besides overseeing coastal development, the agency pursues a multitude of goals: increasing public beach access and open space, preserving wetlands and wildlife, and protecting farmland from urban encroachment. It also has oversight of federal projects ranging from offshore oil development to completion of a triple-layered fence along the U.S.-Mexico border.

Since its inception, the commission has processed more than 100,000 coastal development permits, approving more than 95 percent of them.

Douglas was hired in 1977 as deputy director. He became executive director in July 1985, and his current annual salary is $114,180.

Douglas has assembled a staff widely described as loyal and close-knit.

"He's not a dictator. He's very collegial and very easy to talk to," said Chuck Damm, a former deputy director who recently retired after spending 32 years at the agency. "The passion he brings to his work tends to rub off on you."

Douglas said he relies on his staff to temper his bluntness. "They're always pulling me back," he said.

Critics assert that under Douglas' guidance, the agency has remained bogged down in nitpicky building-permit issues to the detriment of long-range planning.

"At a time when science suggested the need for comprehensive ecosystem management and large-scale integration of planning for the ocean, coastal and estuarine resources, the commission (has) moved relentlessly in the opposite direction," said Douglas Wheeler, a Washington, D.C., lawyer who sought Douglas' removal while serving as resources secretary for Gov. Pete Wilson.

Norbert Dall, a Sacramento-based coastal consultant, echoed that criticism.

"Peter Douglas' obsession with power and control over even the most minute development on the coast has trivialized and frustrated the coastal program," he said. "During Peter's tenure, the commission has lost the necessary focus on cooperative planning and regulation. It takes both to effectively protect significant environmental resources, make the coast accessible and support a sustainable economy."

Douglas contends that his critics are taking a pick-and-choose approach.

"The essence of coastal management is long-range thinking," he said. "However, long-range planning without focused, real-time regulation on the ground renders the former irrelevant."

Douglas' defenders say his vigilance and attention to individual projects are exactly what Californians need.

"Some very powerful and wealthy people haven't gotten their way," said Patricia McCoy, a former commissioner from Imperial Beach. "Some toes have been stepped on and some skulls cracked, but Peter has done what was best for the coast."

Douglas' supporters also say many of the Coastal Commission's shortcomings stem from decades of inadequate funding.

"The commission remains as it was in the early '70s ­ small and scrappy," said Mary D. Nichols, a UCLA law professor and former state resources secretary. "This is both a reflection of Peter's leadership style and a result of its success."

Douglas said one of his top priorities ­ assuming the commission survives the current court challenge ­ is to secure through legislation a permanent source of money for the commission.

The agency's full-time staff of 138 is 62 positions fewer than it had in 1980. Some governors have sought to limit the commission's power by putting it on a starvation diet. During the past 25 years, during which inflation increased 135 percent, the agency's total funding has risen less than 9 percent ­ from $13.5 million to $14.7 million.

Friends and foes alike fault Douglas for failing to negotiate effectively with governors and legislators, who control the commission's budget.

"An astute director gets the funds. Peter Douglas has not gotten the funds," said Dall, who is writing a book on the commission.

No one, however, questions Douglas' commitment to coastal stewardship.

"Peter Douglas has consistently stood his ground," said Rusty Areias, a former state assemblyman and the commission's chairman from 1997 to 1999. "He's done it with great consistency and without deference to either political party. In the process, he has infuriated nearly everyone at one time or another. Yet he is still there."

After being diagnosed with advanced, Stage 4 throat cancer in May 2004, Douglas refused to take a sabbatical. Work became a part of his recovery strategy.

Six months of chemotherapy and radiation treatments caused him to lose 30 pounds. Douglas' friends said the ordeal changed him in subtle ways: He seems more content and centered.

Douglas said he decided during his illness to become more spiritual, cultivate deeper friendships and get closer to nature. He now retreats regularly to a cabin in the woods on the Smith River in Northern California, where he chops wood and chips away at writing a memoir.

Even as the Coastal Commission teeters on the edge, Douglas remains a resolute warrior.

"I am confident we will prevail," he said. "I believe the law is on our side. If the court rules against us, then it's back to the initiative trenches."

Recently, as Douglas maneuvered around the edges of a tide pool at Point Reyes, a reporter reminded him, "You can't walk on water." To which Douglas replied, "You can if you know where the rocks are."