When the environment spoils, destruction doesn’t arrive all at once. There’s no sudden onset of poison, no tsunami wave. The degradation of natural splendor and species is a slow process, a boulder pushed uphill by humans who “made decisions over decades and decades.”

Those are the words of Tampa Bay Times deputy investigative editor Bethany Barnes, who equated reviewing years of ineffectual Florida environmental regulations to watching a slow-moving horror story. On Monday, she and the team behind the Tampa Bay Times’ investigation Wasting Away gathered in a restaurant full of environmentalists, scientists, students and readers. The journalists talked about their painstakingly reported project that unpacked Florida’s worsening water pollution and manatee starvation.

Good Intentions in St. Petersburg was bursting, every seat packed with people paying keen attention despite the delicious cocktails. In this era of draconian government cuts, they had real concerns.

Isn’t development to blame for natural peril? Everyone loves manatees, but why are less adorable critters like love bugs disappearing? Could citizen scientists or even high schoolers maintain records the government won’t? As higher education gets flattened and federal jobs slashed, what’s next for the academic labor that feeds investigations like Wasting Away?

No one has a magic wand. But nights like these serve as a reminder that people remain energized. Not everyone is apathetic with fighting spirits pocked like the pickleballs at risk of overtaking state parks.

With that in mind, we wait for more of the slow-moving horror story to unfold in Tallahassee. Last week, the Florida Legislature sent a bill that would protect our parks to the desk of Gov. Ron DeSantis. The bipartisan bill bans construction of a slew of luxuries geared toward Florida’s leisure class.

You may recall that the DeSantis administration had hatched plans to build golf courses, hotels and other touristy amenities across vulnerable state lands. You may also recall that the plans were conceived in the shadows until our reporters found out. Oh, and then you may recall that DeSantis denied ever seeing the plans.

Pretty standard fare: act obtuse, blame the media, try to sell some bridges.

What wasn’t standard was the reaction from regular folks who linked across party lines to protest, decrying the scheme and demanding protection for wild lands. Here we are, awaiting the signature of the man at the helm of the whole debacle.

Will DeSantis sign? If he has one iota of political sense left, he will. But if old William Shakespeare taught us anything, it’s to never underestimate the power of hubris. Or, apparently, golf.

Then again, never underestimate this: When people are willing to work together, the results can overpower a few bad apples.

The reporters Monday reminded people in the room of their own strength. Floridians have a right to know how their tax dollars are used, how their water and land and bellwether species are being preserved or sacrificed. Journalists may have different skills and resources to explain those findings, but we’re not wizards with some special dispensation. Anyone can request public records, can demand that decisions made over decades and decades start to change.

“If you’re curious about something that’s happening in your government, ask for the records,” said investigative reporter Zack Sampson. “And if you get something good, send it to a reporter.”

Cheers to that.

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