By H. JOSEF HEBERT
.c The Associated Press
WASHINGTON (AP) -- It's been called the noblest and most powerful of
environmental laws, and also the most despised and feared.
When the Endangered Species Act became law 25 years ago, few lawmakers
imagined the controversy it would unleash: fights pitting the protection of
plants and animals against the rights of humans to own and manage their land,
perform their job and meet the needs of a growing population.
``It's the most visionary environmental law that has ever been passed,'' says
Interior Secretary Bruce Babbitt.
Yet even as they celebrate the law, Babbitt and many environmentalists agree
new ways must be found to address the natural conflict between landowners and
species.
Passed by Congress with hardly any opposition -- 92-0 in the Senate and 355-4
by the House -- the law protecting imperiled species was signed by President
Nixon on Dec. 28, 1973.
Strangely, it received only scant attention at a time when the country
grappled with an oil embargo, long gasoline lines and a president threatened
with impeachment.
It seemed only right then to protect an array of dwindling birds and animals:
the majestic bald eagle, the powerful grizzly, the picturesque whooping crane,
the condor with 10-foot wingspan and the feared alligator.
Few realized it also would protect the snail darter, kangaroo rat, Delhi fly,
black-spored quillwort and the much-maligned furbish lousewort (a flowering
plant in Maine).
When Nixon signed the bill, there were 109 species believed to need
protection. Today there are 1,177 species under the law's umbrella, six of
every 10 of them plants.
But while the number of protected species has grown dramatically, only a
handful have recovered or are even moving toward recovery. Only 27 species
have been removed from the list and of those 16 disappeared or had been listed
by mistake.
These numbers have been used by critics as evidence of the law's failure.
``This law is being judged by its intentions and not by its results,'' argues
Rob Gordon, founder of the National Wilderness Institute, which advocates
property rights.
But most environmentalists maintain the recovery figures are no accurate
barometer, either. The law, they say, has prevented the disappearance of
hundreds of species and changed public attitudes.
``It's been the catalyst for a profound change in how we view and treat the
land,'' says Mark Van Putten, president of the National Wildlife Federation.
Rodger Schlickeisen, president of Defenders of Wildlife and a Senate staffer
when the law was passed, marvels at its vision. It demanded that species be
protected on the basis of science, not politics, and seeks to protect from
ecological harm ``future generations that don't vote today.''
In its history, the law has on more than a few occasions raised the blood of
those in its line of sight.
``It's done violence to property rights,'' says Rep. Helen Chenoweth, R-Idaho,
who considers the law unconstitutional though it's passed Supreme Court muster
a number of times.
Rep. Richard Pombo, R-Calif., who headed a legislative task force that urged a
top-to-bottom overhaul, sees its reach as ``de facto federal control of
private property.''
It was only a few years after its virtual unanimous endorsement by Congress
that the first sign of strife emerged -- in the fight over a Tennessee dam and
the snail darter.
The Tennessee Valley Authority was building a dam on the Tellico River in 1977
when the project suddenly was blocked by an endangered species -- the snail
darter -- found in the river. Congress overrode the law and eventually the dam
was finished.
But no longer was anyone under the delusion that the law was meant to protect
only grizzlies and whooping cranes.
``It was not the best poster child for the Endangered Species Act,'' says
conservationist Van Putten. The confrontation ``gave an image of an inflexible
act.''
In 1982, Congress put flexibility into the law. It allowed landowners or
developers to get a permit for ``incidental'' killing of species or their
habitat on a case-by-case basis.
Nevertheless, over the years the law began to symbolize to some the worst of
big government.
In the Northwest the battle was over the spotted owl, an endangered species.
Logging was halted across vast stretches of forest and critics blamed the law
for loss of loggers' jobs. Environmentalists argue the restrictions helped
protect valuable old-growth forests, including the Pacific Yew, whose bark is
valuable in treating certain cancer.
And when scores of homes were destroyed by wildfires in southern California,
critics said the homes were lost because of the kangaroo rat, which the law
protects.
Homeowners, the word was, were prevented from cutting down brush near their
homes, feeding the fires. Investigators later said the fires, driven by 80 mph
winds, were so intense they would have destroyed homes even if brush had been
removed.
Today, along the New Mexico-Arizona border, attempts to reintroduce endangered
Mexican gray wolf have been stymied by what investigators believe is
systematic killing. So far five of the first 11 freed wolves have been shot
and another disappeared.
And atop Vail Mountain in Colorado, arsonists set fire to three buildings and
ski lifts this fall to protest the loss of habitat for the lynx, a small
bobcat being considered for protection. Although mainstream environmental
groups denounced the fire, a small band of militants claimed responsibility.
Though not as incendiary, other confrontations dot the landscape:
In Pennsylvania, concern over the endangered myotis sodalis, known as the
Indiana bat, is blocking a $500 million extension of an interstate highway.
Monterey, Calif., has yet to learn whether it must pay a developer $1.4
million because it moved to protect plants that are home to the endangered
Smith Blue butterfly.
People in west Texas around Lubbock wonder if the black-tailed prairie dog may
soon be added to the endangered list. The rodent seems plentiful in Lubbock,
but environmentalists say it is heading toward extinction.
Since 1993, Babbitt has sought ways to negotiate with landowners in
contractual agreements that would allow development of land, but still provide
species protection.
``Without positive incentives, the Act's goals are unlikely to be achieved,''
says Michael Bean of the Environmental Defense Fund.
Bean believes fear of the law has prompted landowners to quietly destroy
imperiled species or their habitat when found or -- at the very least -- do
little to promote protection.
Babbitt's ``habitat conservation plans'' allow landowners to harm some species
and habitat while they use the land. In turn, the landowner agrees to set
aside land and develop plans to protect certain species.
Currently there are 243 such agreements, covering 6.2 million acres in 16
states.
To spur such plans, Babbitt has offered landowners a promise of ``no
surprises'' for the contract's life, meaning no new requirements to protect
additional species in the future.
Many environmentalists criticize such assurance because of the uncertainties
that might develop years from now.
But Babbitt argues the plans are a way to avoid train wrecks. ``There is
flexibility and strength in the law,'' he insists, ``and it can be made to
work.''
AP-NY-12-26-98 1140EST
Copyright 1998 The Associated Press. The information contained in the AP news
report may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or otherwise distributed
without the prior written authority of The Associated Press. All active
hyperlinks have been inserted by AOL.