By Tom Knudson
The Sacramento Bee
(Published April 22, 2001 - 1 of
5)
As a grass-roots conservationist from Oregon, Jack Shipley looked forward to his visit to Washington, D.C., to promote a community-based forest management plan. But when he stepped into the national headquarters of The Wilderness Society, his excitement turned to unease.
"It was like a giant corporation," Shipley said. "Floor after floor after floor, just like Exxon or AT&T."
In San Francisco, Sierra Club board member Chad Hanson experienced a similar letdown when he showed up for a soiree at one of the city's finest hotels in 1997.
"Here I had just been elected to the largest grass-roots environmental group in the world and I am having martinis in the penthouse of the Westin St. Francis," said Hanson, an environmental activist from Pasadena. "What's wrong with this picture? It was surreal."
Soon, Hanson was calling the Sierra Club by a new name: Club Sierra.
Extravagance is not a trait normally linked with environmental groups. The movement's tradition leans toward simplicity, economy and living light on the land. But today, as record sums of money flow to environmental causes, prosperity is pushing tradition aside, and the millions of Americans who support environmental groups are footing the bill.
High-rise offices, ritzy hotels and martinis are but one sign of wider change. Rising executive salaries and fat Wall Street portfolios are another. So, too, is a costly reliance on fund-raising consultants for financial success. Put the pieces together, and you find a movement estranged from its past, one that has come to resemble the corporate world it often seeks to reform.
This series of articles -- based on more than 200 interviews, travel across 12 states and northern Mexico, and thousands of state and federal records -- will explore the poverty of plenty that has come to characterize much of the environmental movement. Some of the highlights:
Salaries for environmental leaders have never been higher. In 1999 -- the most recent year for which comparable figures are available -- chief executives at nine of the nation's 10 largest environmental groups earned $200,000 and up, and one topped $300,000. In 1997, one group fired its president and awarded him a severance payment of $760,335.
Money is flowing to conservation in unprecedented amounts, reaching $3.5 billion in 1999, up 94% from 1992. But much of it is not actually used to protect the environment. Instead, it is siphoned off to pay for bureaucratic overhead and fund raising, including expensive direct-mail and telemarketing consultants.
Subsidized by federal tax dollars, environmental groups are filing a blizzard of lawsuits that no longer yield significant gain for the environment and sometimes infuriate federal judges and the Justice Department. During the 1990s, the U.S. Treasury paid $31.6 million in legal fees for environmental cases filed against the government.
Those who know the environment best -- the scientists who devote their careers to it -- say environmental groups often twist fact into fantasy to serve their agendas.
There is no clearinghouse for information about environmental groups, no oversight body watching for abuse and assessing job performance. What information exists is scattered among many sources, including the Internal Revenue Service, philanthropic watchdogs, the U.S. Department of Justice and nonprofit trade associations.
Sift through their material and here is what you find: Donations are at flood stage. In 1999, individuals, companies and foundations gave an average of $9.6 million a day to environmental groups, according to the National Center for Charitable Statistics, which monitors nonprofit fund raising.
"Our business is booming," said Patrick Noonan, chairman of the Conservation Fund, an Arlington, Va., group that provides financial and educational assistance to environmental organizations.
The dollars do not enrich equally. The nation's 20 largest groups -- a tiny slice of the more than 8,000 environmental organizations -- took in 29% of contributions in 1999, according to IRS Form 990 tax records. The top 10 earned spots on the Chronicle of Philanthropy's list of America's wealthiest charities.
The richest is The Nature Conservancy, an Arlington, Va., group that focuses on purchasing land to protect the diversity of species. In 1999, The Nature Conservancy received $403 million, as much as its six nearest rivals combined: Trust for Public Land, Ducks Unlimited, World Wildlife Fund, Conservation International, National Wildlife Federation and Natural Resources Defense Council.
Forty years ago, the environmental movement was a national policy sideshow. Today, it is a strong, vocal lobby that weighs in on everything from highway transportation to global trade.
One recent public opinion poll commissioned by The Nature Conservancy found that 54% of the nation's 104 million households were "extremely concerned" or "very concerned" about the environment. An additional 31% were "somewhat concerned." About three-fourths of all contributions in 1999 came from an estimated 8 million to 17 million Americans. Most personal contributions were modest but some were not.
Vice President Cheney, then-CEO of Halliburton Co., gave $10,000 to the Conservation Fund. Actor Harrison Ford gave $5 million to Conservation International. Julian Robertson Jr., a leading money manager, gave more than $100,000 to Environmental Defense and more than $50,000 to The Nature Conservancy.
"This is a growth industry -- a huge growth industry," said Daniel Beard, chief operating officer at the National Audubon Society. David Brower, the legendary former Sierra Club leader who led successful battles to keep dams out of Dinosaur National Monument and the Grand Canyon in the 1950s and '60s, said success springs from deeds, not dollars.
"We were getting members because we were doing things," Brower said before he died last year. "Our strength came from outings and trips -- getting people out. It came from full-page ads and books."
Today, there is a new approach -- junk mail and scare tactics.
Dear Friend, If you've visited a national park recently, then some of the things you're about to read may not surprise you! America's National Park System -- the first and finest in the world -- is in real trouble right now.
Yellowstone ... Great Smoky Mountains ... Grand Canyon ... . Everglades. Wilderness, wildlife, air and water in all these magnificent parks are being compromised by adjacent mining activities, noise pollution, commercial development and other dangerous threats ...
So begins a recent fund-raising letter from the National Parks Conservation Association, a 400,000-plus-member organization. The letter goes on to tell of the group's accomplishments, warn of continued threats, ask for money -- "$15 or more" -- and offer something special for signing up.
"Free as our welcome-aboard gift ... the NPCA bean bag bear!"
Let's say you did send in $15. What would become of it? According to the group's 1998-99 federal tax form, much of your money would have been routed not to parks but to more fund raising and overhead. Just $7.62 (51%) would have been spent on parks, less than the minimum 60% recommended by the American Institute of Philanthropy, a nonprofit charity watchdog group.
And the parks association is not alone.
Five other major groups -- including household names such as Greenpeace and the Sierra Club -- spend so much on fund raising, membership and overhead that they don't meet standards set by philanthropic watchdog groups.
It's not just the cost of raising money that catches attention these days. It is the nature of the fund-raising pitches themselves.
"What works with direct mail? The answer is crisis. Threats and crisis," said Beard, the Audubon Society chief operating officer. "So what you get in your mailbox is a never-ending stream of crisis-related shrill material designed to evoke emotions so you will sit down and write a check. I think it's a slow walk down a dead-end road. You reach the point where people get turned off."
Then he hesitated, adding: "But I don't want to say direct mail is bad because, frankly, it works."
Even some of those who sign the appeals are uncomfortable with them.
"Candidly, I am tired of The Wilderness Society and other organizations -- and we are a culprit here -- constantly preaching gloom and doom," said William Meadows, the society's president, whose signature appears on millions of crisis-related solicitations. "We do have positive things to say."
Many environmental groups, The Wilderness Society included, also use a legal accounting loophole to call much of what they spend on fund raising "public education." In 1999, for instance, The Wilderness Society spent $1.46 million on a major membership campaign consisting of 6.2 million letters. But when it came time to disclose that bill in its annual report, the society shifted 87% -- $1.27 million -- to public education. The group also shrank a $94,411 telemarketing bill by deciding that 71% was public education.
Dollars can disappear in other ways, of course. Some groups lose money on Wall Street. In 1997, Environmental Defense watched with dismay as a $500,000 "short-selling investment partnership" tumbled to $18,000.
Comfortable office digs and sumptuous fund-raising banquets are another drain on donor dollars. The Sierra Club spends $59,473 a month for its office lease in San Francisco. In Washington, Greenpeace pays around $45,000 a month.
Salaries gobble up money raised, too. In 1999, top salaries at the 10 largest environmental groups averaged $235,918, according to IRS tax forms. By contrast, the president of Habitat for Humanity International -- which builds homes for the poor -- earned $62,843. At Mothers Against Drunk Driving, the president made $69,570.
Among environmental groups, Ducks Unlimited paid its leader the most: $346,882.
"Those salaries are obscene," said Martin Litton, a former Sierra Club board member who worked tirelessly over a half-century to help bring about the creation of Redwoods National Park in 1968 and Sequoia National Monument last year. Litton did it for free. "There should be sacrifice in serving the environment."
One large payment occurred in 1997 when the National Parks Conservation Association fired its president, Paul Pritchard, in a dispute over management style and direction. It awarded him $760,335 to settle his contract -- the equivalent of more than 50,000 individual $15 donations. Thomas Kiernan, the group's current president, dismissed the incident as "3-year-old history" and called it "profoundly irrelevant."
"NPCA made an offer. We countered. It was just like every other negotiation," said Pritchard, now president of the National Park Trust, another parks-based group in Washington. "I'm proud of what I did at NPCA."
The Bee's Tom Knudson can be reached at tknudson@sacbee.com.
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