[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 145 (1999), Part 16]
[Senate]
[Pages 23563-23564]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]



          IT CAME FROM SEATTLE: TRUE HORROR STORIES OF THE EPA

  Mr. MURKOWSKI. Mr. President, there is a letter in your mailbox from 
the Internal Revenue Service. Your pulse quickens. Beads of 
perspiration break out on your brow as you tear open the envelope to 
see what the most feared agency in Washington has in store for you.
  At least that's how it used to be. Now the Environmental Protection 
Agency appears determined to replace the IRS as the government agency 
you really don't want to hear from. Consider the following true stories 
from my office case files:
  A small land owner in Ketchikan recently opened a letter from the EPA 
to learn that he had been assessed a $40,000 fine for a wetlands 
violation. He knew he had problems with the EPA, but he had been 
meeting with EPA officials and had been encouraged that an acceptable 
mitigation plan might be negotiated. The $40,000 fine hit him like a 
bolt of lightning our of a clear blue sky.
  Meanwhile, in Anchorage the commanding general of the United States 
Army in Alaska received a letter from the EPA. The General knew he had 
a problem with the powerplant at Fort Wainwright that was not in full 
compliance with the Clear Air Act, but he and his staff had been 
working diligently to bring the plant into compliance. With the help of 
the Alaska Congressional Delegation, he had received a $15.9 million 
appropriation for new pollution control measures. He had budgeted 
another $22 million for additional upgrades next year. The Army had, of 
course, informed EPA of these efforts to bring the plant into 
compliance, and the EPA seemed satisfied. But the letter the General 
now held in his hand said that EPA was assessing the U.S. Army with a 
$16 million fine--a fine greater than the combined value of all EPA 
fines ever assessed against the U.S. Army nationwide. Another bolt of 
lightning out of a clear blue sky.
  These stories suggest that the EPA hasn't learned a fundamental 
lesson understood by every decent cop--good law enforcement requires 
discretion. When you're pulled over by a trooper for going a few miles 
per hour over the speed limit and are calmly discussing the matter with 
the officer, you have every right to expect that you will not be beaten 
senseless with a nightstick. And when a small businessman, residential 
landowner, or U.S. Army general finds himself engaged with the EPA over 
an alleged violation and is making an effort to find a resolution,

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he should not be slammed with unprecedented, punitive fines.
  We need laws to protect the environment, but the interpretation and 
enforcement of law must be blended with common sense and judgment. Take 
wetlands protection, for instance. Some wetlands perform critical roles 
in protecting water supplies and providing important wildlife habitat. 
Other wetlands are lower value muskeg. The letter of the law may not 
make the distinction, but human beings with the responsibility of 
enforcing the law should understand the difference.
  These ``bolt from the blue'' letters that Alaskans are getting in 
their mailbox are postmarked Seattle. The EPA regional office ``in 
charge'' of Alaska is in Seattle. What the EPA folks in Seattle know of 
Alaska they get from their brief visits, or from their small staff in 
Anchorage. They aren't our neighbors. They aren't Alaskans. I want to 
change that.
  At the risk of enticing the mad dog from an adjacent neighborhood to 
our own backyard, I am renewing my efforts to force EPA to create a 
separate region for Alaska. That way, the EPA officials writing these 
letters will at least have a chance to better understand the 
environment in which we live. They would live in our neighborhoods, and 
send their kids to school with ours. If you're going to get fined, 
they'll have to look us in the eye. There would be no more scary 
certified letters from distant bureaucrats in Seattle.
  In the meantime, I'm inviting the Regional Administrator of the EPA 
to come and stand with me on Gravina Island, across from Ketchikan, 
where 13 feet of rain falls each year. As the rain from a driving 
rainstorm fills his wingtips and rivulets of water cascade down the 
hill into the Tongass Narrows, I'll ask him to point out where the 
wetlands end and the uplands begin. I'll also ask him to describe the 
irreplaceable environmental value of the muskeg that the EPA wants us 
to keep undisturbed. If I'm not satisfied with his answers I'll advise 
him to start looking at real estate in Alaska, and suggest he hold a 
garage sale in preparation for a move out of Seattle. Meanwhile, be 
afraid. Be very afraid.

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