Maybe it’s human nature to appreciate what we love only after we’ve lost it. Had it not been for some inspired citizen action in 1972, we might have lost our coast as we know it. People might now have been telling nostalgic stories about what once existed: natural sand cliffs glowing in the late afternoon sun, wide open ocean views from Highway 1, sandy beaches, wetlands alive with shorebirds, and public access to the shore nearly everywhere.

Fortunately, most of that is still here because 30 years ago some Californians saw what was ahead, seized the wheel, and turned away from a destructive course, just in time. Frustrated by the failure of the Legislature to protect what they cherished, citizens took the future into their own hands and, in November 1972, passed a voter initiative, Proposition 20, which established the Coastal Commission and laid the foundation for the 1976 California Coastal Act. The people of California thus created a powerful planning and regulatory agency to do what was important to them, and they have defended it ever since.

This is not to say that the Coastal Act is perfect or that all damage to the coastal commons has been averted. “It’s the interpretation of the law that’s the problem,” notes Phyllis Faber, a veteran coastal warrior. “The big battles are political: the make-up of the Legislature and the Coastal Commission.”

As Peter Douglas, executive director of the Commission, puts it, “The coast is never finally saved, it is always being saved. The public has been critically important in its watchdog role, as has the free press. The greatest threat to the coast is public ignorance and indifference. Citizen activism has been the key. The politics of the coast continue to be contentious and are in large part the politics of money. People must be involved, opposing efforts to weaken the coastal program and supporting its strengthening.”

It’s a matter of values, and of acting from the heart. When visitors from other parts of the country first see this coast, some ask: How is it that such prime real estate has not already been built up? “Ah, but that’s not real estate,” I reply. “Sure, a lot of people have property along the coast, but in a very legitimate sense we all own it. State law requires that the coast be protected for the benefit and enjoyment of future generations.” Then I often tell the story of the 1972 Coastal Initiative. I’m especially glad to tell that story now, when many citizens no longer believe in their own power.

Many community-based organizations work to defend coastal streams, forests, marshes, and headlands. But do today’s younger activists know about Proposition 20, which makes much of that defense possible? Faber recently led a group of 37 environmentally concerned women on a tour of Marin County. Most were in their 30s, and not one had heard of that historic ballot measure. I mentioned this to Janet Adams, a dynamic leader of that campaign. “Why should they know of it?” she responded.

I was thinking about that in late October while standing on a wide beach in Santa Barbara shortly after sunrise, watching seven dolphins playing just offshore. The joy of that sight was part of the legacy of Proposition 20, and that’s good to remember when the horizon gets fogged over by dreary current events. Beyond the dolphins, in the distance, I took note of some oil rigs and thought of Lois Sidenberg, who organized GOO! (Get Oil Out!) after the big blowout on Union Oil’s Platform A on January 28, 1969. Since then, no sensible politician has dared propose new oil drilling in state waters. Some of the threatened sites have been enshrined within National Marine Sanctuaries—created, it so happens, in areas where oil exploration had been proposed.

The Santa Barbara oil spill fueled the movement for Proposition 20, although the biggest catalyst was the privatization of the coast, which blocked public access at Sea Ranch in Sonoma County, Malibu, and elsewhere. “Where’s the beach?” was a campaign slogan.

Since that time it has become increasingly apparent that coastal resources are inseparably linked, from the top of the watershed to the edge of the continental shelf, and the coastal agenda has broadened. I was in Santa Barbara to attend the three-day California and the World Ocean ’02 conference, which brought together some 900 people to hear hundreds of speakers on ocean-related and coastal subjects ranging from invasive species to the complexities of water pollution, the plight of commercial fishermen, and issues facing National Marine Sanctuaries.

Recent good news was discussed as well, especially the first West Coast network of marine reserves, established in October by the Fish and Game Commission. As of January 1, 2002, all taking of marine life is forbidden in 11 designated areas, totaling 175 square miles, around the Channel Islands. Non-consumptive recreational activities will still be permitted. This is expected to benefit both marine ecosystems and fishermen, as has happened with no-take reserves elsewhere.

The more we lose, the more we value that which remains. In upcoming issues of Coast & Ocean we will bring you new ideas and knowledge that emerged at the Oceans conference. We will also interview some leading elders in the “Save Our Coast” movement, to shed light on its origins.