When Florida beat Big Tobacco,the settlement was heralded as an historic victory for thecitizens of the state. Huge corporations had to cough up billions of dollars because they had lied, cheated and manipulated hundreds of thousands of people into addiction and death.
The satisfaction came from more than just punishing wrongdoers; the people of Florida would also receive restitution for tax-supported medical costs and to fight future generations of sickness. The 1997 agreement mandated a payout totaling $13-billion in annual installments over more than two decades. This year alone, the state will collect $440-million. Add to that another $553-million in cigarette taxes, and Florida's take for 2003 comes to nearly $1-billion, thanks to Joe Camel and the Marlboro Man.
But today, anti-smoking initiatives created from settlement dollars are virtually on life-support, as unrelenting budget cuts under Gov. Jeb Bush have eviscerated successful prevention programs overseen by the state Department of Health and funded by the landmark settlement.
Students Working Against Tobacco is one of those programs. In 1998, under the direction of Gov. Lawton Chiles, the Health Department established a pilot program led by teens to fight Big Tobacco's influence. Rather than focusing on a health message — "smoking is bad" — SWAT used the mammoth industry's own marketing tactics to expose decades of lies and manipulations that targeted young people. SWAT calls it "counter-marketing."
The Truth Campaign, the group's most visible effort in the battle against the industry, flooded Florida airwaves with ads aimed at teens. The guerilla-style campaign appealed to the dignity and integrity of the kids: Big Tobacco is trying to trick you. They've targeted you. Do you really want to get hooked and die because they think you're stupid?
SWAT's results were dramatic and swift. During its first three years, from 1998 to 2001, smoking in the state dropped by nearly half among middle school students and by 30 percent among high schoolers. With more than 70,000 teenage members in 400 Florida schools, the program was hailed nationwide and served as a model for youth prevention programs around the country.
Despite this acclaim and undeniable success, SWAT is nearly snuffed out. In 2000, the tobacco settlement's initial $200-million allocation for prevention programs expired. Since then, the Florida Legislature has slashed SWAT's funding from $70-million in its first year to a meager $1-million for 2003. The kids of SWAT essentially have been abandoned by state leadership and are now struggling to keep their message alive.
Critics accuse legislators of raiding tobacco settlement money to make up for budget shortfalls, and indeed that's what some lawmakers say they've been forced to do. "Six-billion dollars in tax breaks over the last four years have eaten away the tobacco settlement monies that were set aside for certain programs," says State Sen. Les Miller, D-Tampa.
But Jacob Baime, a senior at Hillsborough High School and former SWAT member, blames a more insidious culprit than tax cuts. "It's excruciatingly clear that the governor and the Legislature are heavily under the influence of the tobacco industry. In my opinion the cause of destruction can be narrowed down to two words: campaign contributions."
A report issued this month by Common Cause Florida, a citizens' lobbying group, asserts that Big Tobacco poured more than $3-million into the campaign coffers of Florida candidates and political parties between January 1996 and November 2002. The report also says that of the 160 state legislators currently serving in Tallahassee, only 10 have not received contributions from the tobacco industry or its allies.
According to Common Cause, Gov. Bush and the three members of his cabinet have collected a total of $66,675 since 1997 from the tobacco industry, its allies, cigarette distributors and tobacco company subsidiaries.
Gov. Bush maintains his commitment to youth tobacco-prevention programs. Spokesman Jacob DiPietre says, "The governor was disappointed that the Legislature cut his $39-million budget request for this program down to $1-million. He is committed to making sure it's funded next year."
But Bush's support hasn't always been clear.
For 2002, the Legislature appropriated $44.1-million for youth programs, but the governor used his line-item veto to cut $5-million from youth access enforcement and another $1.8-million from other parts of the Tobacco Control Program established by the settlement.
Making his position even murkier, the governor has given state employees a big stake in Big Tobacco, courtesy of high-flying stock dividends.
Two years ago, Bush and the two other members of the board overseeing Florida's pension fund reversed a 1996 executive order that divested state dollars from tobacco stocks. At Gov. Chiles' direction, a total of $845-million had been taken out of tobacco, with giant Philip Morris among the hardest hit when Florida ditched more than 14-million shares. Today, $483-million of the state's $80-billion pension fund is invested in 15 or more tobacco companies.
"If it weren't such an atrocity it'd be laughable," says Jessica Marshall, 17, chair of the Hillsborough County Chapter of SWAT. "The fact that he's investing money in the very thing we're fighting against is shocking. Last year he said he supported us and fought to get us $39-million, but his actions are somewhat suspicious as to where he wants this program to go."
Jacob Baime saw his first Truth ad in 1998. "I was galvanized by that commercial," he says. He signed up at the truth.com website. "I really felt like I was helping to defend my generation against the tobacco industry. I was enraged, and Gov. Chiles provided me with a way to do something about that."
Beyond opening his eyes to the staggering death tolls, SWAT literally changed Baime's life. "I learned so many skills to fight the tobacco industry that are applicable in many other aspects of my life," he says. "I interacted with public officials, I spoke at press conferences — SWAT empowered me to be a good citizen." He turned 18 earlier this month, and he eagerly checks the mail every day for his voter-registration card.
Another eye-opener was a lesson in real politics. Baime says his experience with SWAT has ultimately left him feeling betrayed — not only by Big Tobacco but also by state leadership. He stepped down from his position as vice-chair of the board for Florida SWAT in March, just as the budget battle was getting underway in the state house.
"I resigned because I felt that I could no longer be an effective advocate within the organization," he says. His frustration stemmed from a sense that SWAT was no longer a teen-fueled peer-to-peer effort, as Gov. Chiles had intended. "It got to the point that the youth of the organization were being manipulated by the adults of this administration as much as they were by the tobacco industry."
The teens progressively lost control over their program beginning in 2001, Baime says. The Truth Campaign in particular suffered. Instead of allowing SWAT continuing editorial control of the marketing campaign that had been so successful in targeting the lies of Big Tobacco, Department of Health officials took over and switched to a consumer-centered message.
"One of the final campaigns in the planning stages was called 'Walk Away,'" Baime says. "The message was 'Hey, teen, if you don't want to breathe second-hand smoke, walk away.'" In other words, the tobacco industry is no longer culpable; responsible citizens will simply walk away.
Despite his disillusionment, Baime hasn't given up the good fight. This summer, he spent five weeks in Washington, D.C., working as an intern for Sen. Frank Lautenberg of New Jersey. "I mostly did administrative work, but I also had the opportunity to work on a couple of health issues including tobacco," Baime says. "After working with anti-tobacco advocacy groups for several years, I was intrigued by the new perspective on the legislative process that the internship offered. Although I have had some negative experiences with government in Florida, it was refreshing to work for Sen. Lautenberg, who is a good man and a true advocate for the people of his state."
Baime now has set his sights on a national grassroots effort called Ignite, which is working to revive the anti-tobacco movement around the country. And he hasn't let up on the governor.
"Bush says publicly that SWAT needs $39-million, but I don't think he's meaningfully advocated for that," Baime says. "He has extensive line-item veto power, not to mention extensive political capital throughout the state. Gov. Chiles was an unresting advocate for the youth of Florida, and Gov. Bush has done an extremely poor job of filling his shoes."
With $1,100 in the bank and their two full-time advisors among the 150 SWAT officials around the state now either unemployed or unsure of their job status, the 2,600 kids of the Hillsborough County chapter are on their own. But they have one big gun in their corner — Steve Yerrid, one of the Florida lawyers who beat Big Tobacco. In June, Yerrid filed a lawsuit on behalf of a member of Pasco County SWAT, asserting that the stripped-down state budget violates the terms of the settlement and demanding that funding be restored.
"The state has developed a very sick dependency on tobacco dollars," Yerrid says. "We're getting $440-million this year from the settlement. How can we not give 10 percent of that money to these kids? They're fighting against the very reason for the settlement in the first place. It's inconceivable to me that there could be a more valuable program."
After a flurry of publicity and assurances from Bush and key legislators that the program was a priority, Yerrid withdrew his suit. But he's not ruling out further litigation. "Anything less than the minimum amount [to maintain a successful program], which the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates at $79-million per year, will result in an inferior product," he says. "There's got to be something very wrong with our society that allows young people to again be in the target scopes of this industry."
Outside the courts, Yerrid has continued to push for restored funding. He contacted the governor in early June to request that the then-upcoming legislative Special Session on medical malpractice be expanded to include funding for tobacco prevention. A staff member responded that Gov. Bush "calls the Legislature into Special Session only to address issues critical to the future of all Floridians. … Please be assured the Governor is aware of the importance of your issue. … Your issue may be addressed by the Legislature during its next regular session."
A July 10 response to Yerrid from state Health Secretary John Agwunobi pledged additional money for youth risk initiatives, bringing the total for prevention efforts to $4-million for this year. But instead of drawing the dollars from the tobacco settlement pot, the Health Department has been forced to pull money from federal funds and other health programs — which presumably are equally strapped. This year's Health Department take from the tobacco pot is nearly $36.5-million less than last year's allocation. The majority of those cuts came from the Tobacco Control Program, which includes SWAT and youth advocacy.
"No matter what the issues are, it's not right to de-fund a program that was the cornerstone of what the settlement was about," Yerrid says. "But it's damn sure profitable."
Meanwhile, as state leadership has gutted a successful tobacco-prevention program, the tobacco industry is dramatically increasing its marketing and promotion efforts. According to the Federal Trade Commission, tobacco companies boosted their marketing budgets by 67 percent in the three years after the 1997 settlement. For Florida, that means $651.1-million pumped into the state by Big Tobacco in 2001.
"The largest growth has been in expenditures in retail stores, where three out of four teens go every week," says William V. Corr, executive director of the Campaign for Tobacco Free Kids in Washington, D.C. "The state is handing its kids over to the tobacco industry. Florida's kids are going to pay the price."
Jessica Marshall, chair of Hillsborough County SWAT's executive committee, remains optimistic about the future of the program. "Yes, I feel let down and we're definitely sad at everything we've lost, but we're at a crossroads," she says. "This is a chance for rebirth, for us to really see what we can do with a new adventure and a new challenge."Marshall joined SWAT in 1998 when she was in the eighth grade. "Jacob Baime was at the first meeting I attended and spoke strongly of the program. I was hooked." Since then she has devoted much of her after-school time to fighting Big Tobacco.
"This is probably overused, but the most rewarding part of my involvement is knowing that I'm making a difference," Marshall says. "It's not so much that we're out there gung-ho and preaching, but simply by being a teen and talking the way I talk I'm making a difference. We've come up with this, and the fact that it's our own brand and our own material is very gratifying."
From political rallies to holiday parades, SWAT tries to get its message into the public consciousness as much as possible. The kids distribute Slinkies embossed with the SWAT logo; they throw fortune cookies with anti-industry messages tucked inside; they set up tables at the Florida State Fair to spread the word.
"People come up and tell us what great work we're doing," says Marshall. "That's important to us, but even more important is that teenagers have the chance to voice their opinions and tell tobacco agencies we're sick and tired of being lied to. We're given an outlet to say 'We're not as stupid as you think we are. We know you've tricked us into believing smoking is sexy and cool and rebellious.' The program has always been about empowerment."
SWAT also works to educate legislators. Last spring, when the group first learned their funding was in danger, a Hillsborough County SWAT member set up a meeting with House Speaker Johnnie Byrd. Deanna Aaron, now a senior at King High School, was met by a Byrd aide instead. She told the assistant about the program, what it's meant to her and the effect it has had in the community.
"If we keep pounding on them they'll start to know what we're all about and choose SWAT as something they want to support," Marshall says.
One of the biggest triumphs on the Hillsborough chapter's list of accomplishments is a county ordinance, proposed by SWAT and approved in 2000, that requires tobacco products to be placed behind the counters in convenience stores.
Jacob Baime was chair of the ordinance committee, which spent months surveying locations throughout the county and collecting data proving that tobacco products were clearly placed to appeal to youth. SWAT identified placement near candy and in spots accessible to children as a way the industry was targeting kids.
"We've done a lot of memorable things," says Marshall. "Some you remember because they were fun, and some you remember because 'Wow, we're really making progress.' That was definitely a 'Wow, we're making progress.'"
Formulating and pushing for the ordinance took about eight months. The objective was to denormalize tobacco. "When little kids run into a convenience store and the first thing they see is cigarettes, it becomes normal," Marshall says. SWAT developed a plan that would move all tobacco products four feet off the floor and behind the counter, away from inquiring eyes and curious hands.
Every County Commissioner supported the proposal, but there was one glitch: cigars.
"We never thought that in our own county we would face huge business tycoons," Marshall says, "but it hadn't occurred to us that Ybor City was built on cigars." Enormous opposition arose from the cigar industry, and SWAT had to decide whether to go for the full measure of what they wanted — no tobacco in sight, period — and run the risk of failure, or compromise and allow the ordinance to exempt cigars.
The kids met with a group of cigar executives to discuss the issue. "The fact that they wanted to meet with us and saw us as a threat was really amazing at the time. They were face-to-face with teens and they had to take us seriously," says Marshall. "The fact that they recognized that proves how effective the program is."
Eventually SWAT decided to compromise. After it was clear that the ordinance would not pass without it, the teens agreed to the cigar exemption. But not without a fight. At one point SWAT members kicked all the adults out of the room and argued among themselves for nearly an hour.
"The best part was they ended up deciding on their own," says Kevin Collado, former coordinator for Hillsborough County SWAT. "We guided them, but they made the decision, and now 90 percent of tobacco products in convenience stores are behind the counters."
"One of the greatest successes of the ordinance is that we had a ripple effect," says Baime. "Today there are over 40 counties in the state with that ordinance."
When the tobacco prevention pilot program was launched in 1997, Ercilia Rodriguez-Westhoff was among a group of Health Department employees around the state who moved into full-time positions as Tobacco Prevention Coordinators. Based in Hillsborough County, she had been with the agency for two years as a health educator in domestic violence prevention and child safety. Rodriguez-Westhoff worked with SWAT until the 2003 budget eliminated her job.Today the Tobacco Control Program has five regional coordinators. The Health Department has recreated a post for Rodriguez-Westhoff that she believes will include tobacco-related issues, but she's not sure yet of her exact role.
As a state employee, she is prohibited from any activity or comment that smacks of lobbying, so she measures her words carefully. "The state not only gets money from the settlement, but from sales taxes as well, so there's a whole lot of money being produced. I feel that we are letting the youth down. They have so much passion. These kids were saying, 'We're younger, we're stronger, we're smarter, and we're not going to let them manipulate us.' That was the key to the whole program."
Jacob Baime invokes the specter of the Exxon Valdez disaster to make his point: "The state of Alaska sued Exxon and received a huge settlement to help the fish and the otters and the seals hurt by the oil. The governor of Alaska never dreamed of saying 'It's a tight budget year' and taking that money away — and that settlement was to save the fish and the otters and the seals.
"This one is to save human beings."
Wendy Malloy is a freelance writer in Tampa.
This article appears in Aug 28 – Sep 4, 2003.
