Florida Wildlife Agency Secretly Surveilled Environmental Critics

The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission has been secretly pulling the driving records of environmental activists who criticized the agency's policies, accessing sensitive personal information dozens of times under the false pretense of criminal investigations, according to reporting by the Orlando Sentinel and Miami Herald published over the weekend.

The surveillance targeted more than a dozen critics, particularly those who opposed the agency's controversial bear hunt and spoke out against development projects approved by the wildlife commission. Records show the FWC accessed the Driver and Vehicle Information Database (DAVID) — which contains Social Security numbers, medical records, addresses, and emergency contacts — without legitimate law enforcement reasons, despite claims by agency officials that the searches were justified by security concerns.

What's happening

Between 2023 and 2025, FWC employees pulled the driving records of at least 16 environmental activists who had criticized the agency's decisions. Katrina Shadix, founder of Bear Warriors United, had her records accessed 17 times during this period. Each search listed her as being under criminal investigation, though the FWC has since acknowledged no such investigations exist or existed.

Documentary filmmaker Brent Fannin discovered the surveillance after receiving an anonymous tip. He filed a public records request with the Florida Department of Highway Safety and Motor Vehicles and learned two FWC employees had accessed his driving records seven times in April and June 2025. Fannin has never attended an FWC meeting but had drafted legislation calling for wildlife commissioners to be scientists rather than political appointees and campaign contributors.

Chuck O'Neal, founder of Speak Up Wekiva, was the most frequently targeted individual. O'Neal sued the FWC in 2015 to stop its first bear hunt in 21 years and chaired the "No to 2" campaign opposing a 2024 constitutional amendment backed by FWC leadership that enshrined hunting and fishing rights in Florida's Constitution. Other targets included Valerie Anderson, president of Friends of Split Oak Forest, who opposed an FWC-approved toll road through Split Oak Forest Preserve in Orange County; and Rhonda Roff, who leads the Sierra Club's Calusa Chapter in Southwest Florida.

Rodney Barreto, the Miami developer who chairs the wildlife commission, admitted to the Herald that the agency pulled records but characterized the searches as routine security checks because commissioners had received threats during bear hunt debates. "When people sign up to speak, their names are checked," Barreto told the paper. However, several individuals whose records were accessed never attended FWC meetings or registered to speak.

Privacy law violations

Under Florida and federal law, access to the DAVID system is restricted to authorized law enforcement officers with official reasons. The federal Driver Privacy Information Act limits who can view the records, and Florida law imposes penalties of $2,000 per incident for misuse, up from $500 before a 2021 legislative reform.

The 2021 law, sponsored by Sen. Ed Hooper (R-Palm Harbor), was passed after a 2021 WTSP-TV investigation revealed more than 900 state and local workers had misused DAVID access since 2015, including officers who tracked former romantic partners. In one prominent case, 88 officers from 25 agencies accessed a state trooper's personal information after she arrested an off-duty Miami officer for speeding; she sued and won settlements from multiple agencies.

Contacted this week, Hooper said that if the FWC is found to have violated the law, "they should face the consequences." The agency did not respond to questions about who ordered the records searches or provide documentation of threats that would justify the surveillance.

Impact on environmental advocacy

The revelation that Florida's wildlife agency targeted activists for surveillance has created a chilling effect on environmental advocacy in a state where growth and development decisions routinely pit conservation groups against politically appointed commissioners. The FWC oversees wildlife management across Florida's 67 counties, including permitting for developments that affect wetlands and endangered species habitat.

In Northeast Florida, the agency's decisions directly affect development projects that require wildlife surveys and mitigation plans. The Timucuan Ecological & Historic Preserve, the St. Johns River watershed, and the Guana Tolomato Matanzas Research Reserve all fall under FWC jurisdiction for species management. Activists working on manatee protection in the Indian River Lagoon — where Bear Warriors United successfully sued the state over pollution that led to a mass die-off — now know the agency was monitoring them during that litigation.

Shadix said she plans to use the surveillance disclosure as grounds for a lawsuit to force agency reform. "How can anyone argue the agency doesn't need reform when they're using the levers of government illegally for their own benefit to delve into the personal affairs of the people who oppose them?" she told the Florida Phoenix. She used a $300,000 settlement from a previous car accident injury to launch Bear Warriors United.

The surveillance also raises questions about how the agency used the personal information once obtained. The Sentinel reported that suspicion exists that FWC employees may have used the driving records to track activists' movements via Flock cameras — license-plate readers that dot Florida highways and compile travel pattern data. The agency has not confirmed or denied using Flock camera data in connection with the DAVID searches.

Development and growth conflicts

The surveillance targeted activists whose work frequently intersects with Northeast Florida development controversies. Anderson's opposition to the Split Oak Forest toll road — which would have served development pressure along the SR 528/SR 417 corridor in Orange and Osceola counties — typifies the conflicts that arise when transportation infrastructure decisions require wildlife agency approval for impacts to habitat.

Under Florida law, projects that affect wetlands or listed species habitat require review by both the St. Johns River Water Management District and the FWC. Public opposition to those projects, voiced at commission meetings or through litigation, is a routine part of the permitting process. The FWC's decision to monitor activists who participate in that process suggests the agency views critics as security threats rather than stakeholders exercising legally protected rights.

The wildlife commission's membership structure has been a focus of reform efforts. Commissioners are appointed by the governor and confirmed by the Senate but are not required to have environmental or scientific expertise. Current commissioners include developers and business owners whose professional interests may align with approving projects that convert natural lands to residential or commercial use. Barreto, the commission chair, is a politically influential Miami developer and a major campaign donor.

Agency controversies

The surveillance scandal is the latest in a series of controversies that have plagued the FWC in recent years. The agency allowed 31 sloths to die in an unlicensed Orlando warehouse while employees took no enforcement action. It permitted aquarium suppliers to capture an endangered giant manta ray for exhibition in Abu Dhabi. Officers mistakenly killed a $100,000 pregnant boa constrictor legally owned by a Broward County collector. And the agency botched the investigation of a wealthy Doral real estate broker's boat crash that killed a teenage girl.

Those incidents have fueled calls from environmental groups for sweeping leadership changes to refocus the agency on its conservation mission. The discovery that the FWC was simultaneously monitoring its critics suggests the agency has prioritized protecting commissioners and staff over transparency and accountability to the public it serves.

Shannon Knowles, the FWC's communications director, told the Phoenix that news reports "mischaracterized" the agency's actions but confirmed that "law enforcement works to ensure public safety by monitoring, preventing, and assessing potential security risks." She also said Barreto's statement that the agency checks speakers at meetings was incorrect — implying the surveillance was even broader than the chair described. An agency spokesperson told the Sentinel there are no current investigations of the activists whose records were pulled.

What happens next

O'Neal told the Phoenix that within an hour of the story breaking, five attorneys contacted him offering pro bono representation for a lawsuit against the FWC. He plans to sue the agency over the surveillance. Shadix also indicated she intends to file suit to force agency reforms.

Under the federal Driver Privacy Information Act, individuals can sue government entities that improperly access their driving records. The 2011 case brought by the state trooper whose information was accessed by 88 officers resulted in settlements from multiple police agencies. Legal experts expect the FWC activists' cases to follow a similar trajectory, with potential damages of $2,000 per improper access under state law, plus federal penalties.

Legislative oversight may also follow. Sen. Hooper, whose 2021 law strengthened DAVID misuse penalties, has not announced plans for further action but said violators should face consequences. The FWC operates under the governor's office; Gov. Ron DeSantis, who appointed the current commissioners, did not respond to requests for comment from the Phoenix.

Members of the public who have criticized the FWC in any forum can request their own DAVID access logs from the Florida Department of Highway Safety and Motor Vehicles to determine whether the agency pulled their records. That request process is how Fannin and the other activists discovered the surveillance.

The scandal over secret monitoring of environmentalists highlights the tension between rapid development and conservation advocacy across Florida, where population growth and infrastructure expansion routinely collide with efforts to protect sensitive ecosystems. As Northeast Florida continues adding rooftops in formerly rural areas — from Nocatee and SilverLeaf in St. Johns County to Wildlight in Nassau County to the First Coast Expressway corridor in Clay County — the decisions made by agencies like the FWC about habitat impacts and species protection shape how and where that growth occurs. Whether the public can trust those decisions depends on whether those making them view citizens as participants or threats.