On the morning of July 17, 2026, the news settled in with a familiar bitterness. According to Carmine DiPaolo, the governor had just approved eight million dollars for the Seminole Inn. A private restaurant would receive a generous public infusion while, in the same stroke of the pen, a 7.5-million-dollar request from the Martin County Sheriff’s Office for a mental-health evaluation and treatment program for incarcerated people was denied. One project polished a dining room; the other might have kept damaged people from cycling straight back onto the streets. The contrast was not subtle.
The night before, the Chamber of Commerce had hosted its gathering. A handful of candidates and their circles filled the room; beyond them, perhaps fifteen residents drifted through, most drawn by the free food and gone before the evening truly ended. Information was handed out, faces were seen, and the event was declared a success of sorts. Yet the real conversation circulating among those who stayed late centered on relationships—the quiet currency that decides which requests reach the governor’s desk and which do not.
DiPaolo had spoken openly about the importance of knowing the right people and swimming in the right pools of money. Those pools, of course, are filled with tax dollars. The same network that includes Josh Garcia, Kevin Powers, and the Economic Council of Indiantown appears able to open doors that remain closed to a sheriff’s mental-health proposal. Favoritism is not an accusation here; it is the only arithmetic that balances an eight-million-dollar restaurant grant against a rejected public-safety need.
The pattern repeats with water. Indiantown is receiving one hundred ten million dollars for a reverse-osmosis plant sized far beyond current demand—nine million gallons of capacity when the village has not yet used one. Reverse osmosis strips minerals from the water, costs three times more to build and operate than conventional treatment, and conveniently produces the ultra-pure supply preferred by data centers. Other municipalities in equal or worse condition have been told no. The Cadillac has been delivered; the question is whether the village budget can keep the rims from rusting and the interior from tearing once the novelty wears off.
The current Village Council has allowed these outcomes. Some members have been misled; others have been carefully cultivated. Anthony Darling, Howard Brown, Angelina, and especially Carmine DiPaolo have reached the point where continued service no longer serves the residents who live with the consequences. High-visibility campaign signs appear on properties whose owners support development interests; other candidates are simply told no. The people who will decide density, traffic, water rates, and the character of the place do not even live here. They only profit from it.
An August 8 data-center town hall has been announced. Whether it fulfills a requirement in the FPL planned-unit development or is a new public-relations exercise remains unclear. What is clear is that the public has grown weary of half-truths and managed process. A 3-2 majority that answers to residents rather than developers is the minimum necessary to slow the machinery long enough for genuine oversight to return. The time for polite endurance has passed.
(Check out page 8 at the bottom for MCSO rejection)