Sandy Martinez has a car. So do her two adult children and
her sister. When all four cars were parked at Martinez's home in Lantana,
Florida, two of them sometimes extended slightly over the edge of the driveway,
which is flanked by her lawn and a walkway. Because that violation of Lantana's
municipal code is punishable by a fine of $250 per day, the city is demanding
more than $100,000 from her, plus another $63,500 for cracks in the driveway
and a fence that was blown over in a storm.
In a lawsuit that Martinez filed with help from the
Institute for Justice, she argues that such an enormous bill for trivial code
violations—amounting to nearly four times her annual income—runs afoul of
Florida's constitution. "The government cannot lock you into a lifetime of
debt and cripple you financially for minor infractions that do not threaten
health or safety," says Institute for Justice attorney Ari Bargil.
"Florida's Constitution forbids fines that are 'excessive' or 'shock the
conscience.' And that's exactly how to describe six-figure fines for petty
violations—unconscionable."
Martinez's street has no curbs and is not wide enough to
accommodate parked cars. She and her relatives therefore could not legally or
safely park on the street, leaving the driveway as the only option. But as the
complaint notes, "parking on one's own front yard space, even a tiny bit,
is illegal in Lantana."
On May 6, 2019, Martinez received a citation for
"vehicles parked on unapproved surface/grass/walkway." After a hearing five weeks later, the city
imposed an accumulated fine of $11,500. Martinez
repeatedly tried to arrange a visit by a code enforcement officer to show that
she had corrected the violation-- but after those efforts were unsuccessful. Her daily fines, however, continued to
accumulate for 407 days, and the total now exceeds $100,000. Nobody had told
her that would happen.
In addition to the parking situation, the city faulted
Martinez for driveway cracks that the complaint describes as "minor and
purely cosmetic." Because Martinez
"did not have the time or money to fix [the driveway] right away,"
the lawsuit says, she was hit with $75 daily fines for 215 days, totaling
$16,125—"far greater than the cost of an entirely new driveway."
And then there was the fence. Because it was downed by a major storm, the
repair was covered by insurance. But the
claim took quite a while to process, and meanwhile Martinez could not afford to
fix the fence. The delay resulted in $125 daily fines for 379 days, totaling
$47,375—"several times the cost of the repair and substantially more than
the cost of a completely new fence."
All told, Martinez is on the hook to the town of Lantana for
$165,250, plus interest. Although she "is now fully in compliance and has
not had any new cases opened against her," the lawsuit says, the only way
she could begin to cover that debt would be selling her home. But even that option is not feasible, because
she "would never realize nearly enough profit from the sale of the Home to
pay both her mortgage and the City's fines."
As much as Martinez might want to escape Lantana and its
draconian decrees, she is stuck where she is. "Given Sandy's career and
current income, she will be unable to move for many years, if ever," the
complaint says. "If she moves, she will owe so much money that she will be
unable to start anew anywhere else. She cannot seek a job anywhere not in
driving distance of her current home. When she is older, she will not be able
to retire at a different residence. The crippling fines she faces trap Sandy in
a place she wants to leave."
Shockingly, Martinez's cruel punishment will continue even
after she is dead and gone. While she is
currently protected from foreclosure for the fines by Florida's homestead
exemption, the city can seize the house once she dies. "But for the City's
fines against her, Sandy would be able to pass her home to her children upon
her death as long as she continues to pay her mortgage," the lawsuit
notes. "However, as a result of the fines against her, Sandy's children
will not inherit the home."
The lawsuit notes that none of Martinez's code violations
presented "a legitimate threat to the health and safety of the general
public in Lantana." It argues that the penalties violate the state
constitution's ban on "excessive fines" because they are
"grossly disproportionate" and "shock the conscience."
Lantana, Florida has a significantly higher percentage of
black and brown population versus Palm Beach County, where it is located. 17% of Lantana residents live below the
poverty line, 40% higher than the poverty rate of the county. The median household income in Lantana is
$41K vs. $53K for Palm Beach. Lantana
is run by a five-member town council, who are basically a bunch of old white
people who probably can't be counted on to see things through the eyes of
barely-making-it single Latina mother.
Martinez thinks "it's ridiculous that Lantana would
charge me over $100,000 for parking on my own grass that I paid for." She
says the fines "basically make me a renter in my own home," adding,
"I hope that by successfully challenging these fines, I can ensure that no
one else has to go through something similar."
Martinez's case is part of the Institute for Justice's
broader attack on local code enforcement practices that generate revenue by
imposing outrageous fines for trivial offenses, such as $30,000 for tall grass
in Dunedin, Florida, and $90,000 for trucks parked on rural property in Eagle,
Wisconsin. "Municipal code enforcement in America is completely out of
control," says Institute for Justice attorney Michael Greenberg. "All
over the country, hardworking people regularly face financial ruin from daily
code enforcement penalties that quickly snowball into tens or hundreds of
thousands of dollars. Our constitutional protection from excessive fines
prohibits precisely this sort of abuse."