#BecauseMiami: Death of a Dynasty

Not gonna lie, Roy—I’m a little choked up. It’s the end of an era: the Carollo machine is done, Frank lost to Rolando Escalona, and Eileen Higgins just became Miami’s first woman mayor and the first Democrat in decades, winning by about nineteen points.

National media called it shocking, but this result felt inevitable; Trump-world endorsements boxed Emilio in, and city races aren’t the same as Miami-Dade or the state.

The mayor’s office is mostly ceremonial, but one big power matters—she picks the city manager, which means Art Noriega’s days are likely numbered in a system where insiders protect each other with mutually assured destruction.

On Miami Beach, Monica Mateo Salinas crushed Monique Parto Pope seventy-one to twenty-nine, crossing party lines in a turnout under twenty percent; voters rejected culture-war theatrics and the candidate’s toxic baggage.

Even with new faces, lawsuits linger: a nine-figure parking tax case, a massive permits overcharge claim, and the Ball and Chain First Amendment suit. Now there’s an alleged land-grab scheme—let’s bring in the homeowners and their lawyer.

We moved in 2021, followed every historic rule, and sought a permit for a rear addition; the city said the price was roughly half our front yard, with no reason given.

When we kept asking why, our permit froze for more than a year; costs soared, our family split time with parents for childcare, and only after IJ appeared did the city suddenly drop the condition.

Their lawyer is here—what did you find, and is this bigger than one house?

Miami has been conditioning routine permits on giving up land between the public right-of-way and the setback line, expanding public use without paying owners, which the Constitution requires.

We’ve mapped sixty-six streets covering more than a thousand homes at risk; the Public Works director admitted under oath this demand has hit hundreds, and city GIS maps show the telltale zigzags where land changed hands.

Everyone told us we couldn’t win, but we couldn’t afford to quit; IJ took the case pro bono, and we’re doing this so the next family isn’t shaken down when they try to improve their home.

As a veteran, the whole thing feels un-American.

If this happened to you, go to ij.org and reach out; they’re building a list of affected homeowners.

There’s also movement on the Hope Florida scandal we covered—apparently a criminal grand jury is digging in. Representative Alex Andrade, help us sort the new numbers.

The state settled a Medicaid case for sixty-seven million, then siphoned ten million to Casey DeSantis’s Hope Florida; despite denials, the agency repaid the feds thirty-eight million, which only makes sense if that ten million was Medicaid money.

Timeline matters: the draft settlement had no mention of Hope Florida until a meeting with the governor’s office, after which the charity was added and prioritized for payment before the election.

Within days, Hope Florida sent five million each to two groups that promptly routed the money to James Uthmeyer’s PAC to fight marijuana legalization, with no meaningful board oversight and a friendly lawyer installed on the spot.

Critics call this intra-Republican warfare; are you just knifing a rival?

I endorsed DeSantis for president; this isn’t factional—it’s fraud. You can’t use Medicaid dollars for political ads, and the math, memos, and timing speak for themselves.

You also want to strengthen Florida’s sunshine laws; what’s the fix?

Set clear deadlines, require detailed responses, and force agencies to cite exemptions up front; our current attorney general ignored requests, then tried to dole out public records for political spin, which betrays the public trust.

Public records don’t leak—they belong to us and should be released. Representative, thanks for coming back; friend of the show status unlocked, and happy holidays.

What a week: the Carollo dynasty falls, the Canes charge into the playoff, and we close where we began—with Miami’s old guard fading out.

It feels like that Dark Knight scene—Joker and Batman locked forever—only now Joe’s swinging offstage. Here’s a flashback to our post-meeting run-in, when he tried to shut down questions.

It’s a press conference—let it happen.

It’s a public building, and you don’t get to sic government power on the press; stop dodging and answer the questions.