Clearwater in the Clear Light of Control: The Consequences of Ignoring Local Leadership
Clearwater, Florida. Home to sugary sand beaches, sleepy retirees, and—oh yeah—a massive, global cult with tax-exempt status and a chokehold on downtown real estate.
If that sentence made you squint, good. That means you’re paying attention.
The Church of Scientology owns a staggering portion of downtown Clearwater. Not metaphorically. As of 2023, the Church and shell companies linked to it reportedly own over 185 properties, many of them concentrated in the downtown area. That number continues to grow. Some estimates place the Church’s real estate value in Clearwater at over $168 million.
That’s not a quirky Florida headline. That’s a full-scale, creeping takeover of a city’s public and commercial heart. And it’s happening mostly behind closed doors, off tax rolls, and without a whisper from most of the country. Let’s talk about why this isn’t just bad for Clearwater, it’s a slow-moving disaster for the American ideal of local democracy.
What Happens When a Cult Buys Your Downtown?
Let’s get this out of the way: yes, “cult” is a strong word. But we’re not here to split hairs about the internal policies of a group that believes humans are infested with intergalactic trauma spirits.
Let’s talk about land.
The Church of Scientology’s properties in Clearwater include office buildings, former retail spaces, hotels, and vacant lots. Some are used. Many are not. And under IRS-recognized religious exemption, most of these buildings, about 72%, don’t contribute a dime in property tax to the local economy.
Worse still? Most of these buildings aren’t open to the general public. In fact, Scientology has a well-documented history of forbidding public access to its facilities. So these aren’t just tax-free assets, they’re black holes in the urban landscape.
Imagine if the entire downtown of your city turned into a ghost town with security cameras, guards, and no open signs. That’s Clearwater.
Clearwater resident accounts suggest that downtown can often feel like a surveillance state. A word frequently used is “eerie”. Guards in uniform stand outside buildings, eyeing passersby. Tourists walk through and describe the area as "bizarrely quiet" and "weirdly empty," despite being in a prime beachfront location. Some report being followed or asked to leave public sidewalks for merely taking pictures.
The Church's flagship building, the Flag Building (aka the Super Power Building), sits like a fortress in the middle of it all, only accessible to top-level Scientologists. Meanwhile, businesses that do try to operate nearby face chronic low foot traffic and often end up shuttered within a year or two.
How This Guts the Local Economy
Clearwater should be a goldmine. It’s walkable, by the beach, surrounded by natural beauty. But when one entity, especially a private religious organization, buys up your urban core, you get this. Vacant storefronts with no customer flow. No new restaurants, shops, or businesses, because who wants to open next to a shuttered building guarded by a guy with an earpiece? No nightlife. No tourism. No culture. No tax revenue.
And that’s the quiet tragedy here. Clearwater isn’t just weird. It’s empty. A city where economic activity should thrive is stuck in suspended animation because of one group’s monopoly.
A 2019 Tampa Bay Times investigation revealed that Clearwater’s downtown real estate, once poised for rejuvenation, has lost millions in potential value due to this domination. Local businesses are either leaving or never showing up. Potential investors back out when they realize that the city center is owned. Meanwhile, the city government’s hands are tied. They can't collect taxes on religious real estate, and they’re too deep in political politeness, maybe fear, maybe packed pockets, to do anything about it.
Why Should the Rest of the Country Care?
It’s easy to look at what’s happening in Clearwater and think, “Well, that’s Florida for you.” But that kind of dismissiveness is exactly what allows these things to fester and metastasize elsewhere. This isn’t just a local curiosity or a small-town saga, it’s a national warning shot.
Let’s start with the precedent it sets. If a controversial religious organization can quietly buy up nearly every piece of commercial real estate in a city’s core, without serious scrutiny, protest, or pushback, what stops the next one? What’s to prevent another group, religious or ideological, from doing the same in your town, or the one next door? Clearwater is sending a message: You can purchase a downtown, turn it tax-exempt, shut out the public, and nobody will stop you. And if it works once, it will happen again. Think about the long game; five, ten, twenty more towns with hollowed-out cores owned by private, secretive entities. That’s not just bad planning. That’s a systemic vulnerability.
And while we’re at it, let’s talk about what this does to public trust. When citizens watch their local government cozy up to an organization widely seen as cultish and opaque, they don’t just get angry, they check out. Why vote if the outcome is predetermined in backroom deals? Why volunteer or attend town halls if your input is worthless? The erosion of trust starts small, but spreads fast. If Clearwater becomes a punchline without a resolution, it becomes a symbol. A symbol that reinforces the worst assumptions about local politics being corrupt, performative, or both. And that cynicism doesn’t stay in Florida, it leaks out across the country.
Then there’s the money. Let’s be honest: the Church of Scientology’s Clearwater land grab is basically a blueprint for how to weaponize tax loopholes. Buy up commercial real estate, label it “religious,” pay no taxes, do nothing with the buildings, and wait. It’s not just a loophole, it’s a cheat code. And if this tactic works without legal or public consequence, you can expect to see mega-churches, political think tanks, and other well-funded “nonprofits” copying the playbook. Real estate is one of the biggest engines in the U.S. economy. When this kind of model scales, it doesn’t just hurt cities, it warps the entire system.
And while all of that unfolds, local economies suffer. Clearwater's downtown used to have restaurants, shops, galleries, life. But with no customers (because there's no reason to walk around downtown anymore), small businesses flee or fail. No foot traffic, no vibrancy, no investment. It’s a ghost town masquerading as revitalization. And the first ones to lose out? Local entrepreneurs—especially those from marginalized communities, who rely on affordable, accessible commercial space to get started. This isn’t just gentrification. It’s gentrification without the brunch spots. Just locked doors and “Do Not Enter” signs.
And finally, here’s the part that should keep you up at night: this is how democratic decay starts. Not with a bang, but with silence. No one voted to hand over Clearwater’s downtown. No one asked residents if they wanted a private organization to control the city's most visible, walkable spaces. No checks, no balances, no transparency. Just slow, steady creep. That’s how democracy erodes in America, not through a single, dramatic coup, but through hundreds of small decisions no one questioned until it was far too late.
So What Can Be Done?
First, stop calling local politics "boring." What happens at the city and county level determines:
Whether you can open a small business downtown.
Whether your favorite bar closes or thrives.
Whether you feel safe walking your dog at night.
In Clearwater’s case, change needs to start with leadership willing to push back. Citizens must vote in local elections, demand transparency, and the crucial part? TALK ABOUT IT. Shine a spotlight where others see shadows. Because once a city is bought, it doesn’t just lose tax dollars. It loses its soul, its character, its charm.
And that friends, is never just a local problem.
Want to keep your city free from culty real estate monopolies? Start by caring about city council. It’s not glamorous, but it’s the firewall between you and downtown dystopia. Clearwater may be the canary. Let’s not wait for the rest of the mine to collapse.