Sexual predator laws force Miami sex offenders to create their own tent city

Beneath the Julia Tuttle Causeway - home to 60 Florida sex offenders (AP)

For those drivers crossing Biscayne Bay, the Julia Tuttle Causeway offers scenic views of the Miami skyline.

But the real activity is taking place under the bridge, where more than 60 homeless men - and one woman – have taken up residence.

And though they all share the common bond that is homelessness, there is an even greater connection that brings these adults together under such circumstances: all the residents of this makeshift community are sex offenders.

The Julia Tuttle Causeway is part of Florida Interstate 195, a freeway spur that connects I-95 to northern Miami Beach. For the thousands of travelers that trek along this section of highway, life, homes, jobs, families and vacations exist at either end of the concrete. Few are aware that life also exists beneath the roadway.

In Miami-Dade County there is an ordinance prohibiting sex offenders from living within 2,500 feet of any area in which children congregate. Day care centers, parks, schools, libraries, athletic fields, school bus stops, playgrounds, malls, shopping centers and most public places are among the locations covered by Miami-Dade’s sexual predator laws.

The severity of these laws, say the squatters beneath the Julia Tuttle Bridge, has left the convicted sex offenders with just one option – to create their own communities. The Tuttle is one of the few places in the county that is both covered (offering protection from the elements) and in compliance with the 2,500 foot law.

When the law was passed in 2005, Deputy County Manager Pete Hernandez told members of the County Commission there would be no developed areas for the offenders to live, and anyone who had served their prison sentence would be forced to squat at the airport, camp in the Everglades or congregate under the Causeway.

It was the latter that proved prophetic. In 2007, seven offenders were living under the bridge. On Easter Sunday, 2009, that number had reached 63. And the colony had grown as well.

Underneath the Tuttle are junked campers, wooden shanties and rows of tents. There are abandon cars, clapboard thatches and other structures that hardly seem tenable.

But inside these crude dwellings visitors can also find twin beds, hot plates, DVD players and televisions, microwave ovens and a generator to run them. Sofas, love seats, end tables and other junkyard furnishings can be found throughout the village – along with GPS devices that monitor the offenders’ whereabouts.

In fact, most probation officers are aware their clients are part of the bridge community and often visit the area. Some, when applying for a driver’s license, even list the Causeway as their home address.

And like any society, this one also has rules that must be followed. Residents of the bridge must be back in their living areas by 10 p.m. and no one may leave until 6 a.m. Violating either curfew would mean a return to jail.

A few of the offenders are picked up by wives and family members, and spend the day with loved ones before returning to the colony each night. Others work part-time jobs or spend the day seeking employment. And all have a past that has led them to this lifestyle.

One offender – whose family bought him a boat so he could fish the waters beneath the bridge – pleaded guilty to exposing his genitals to a friend’s children. Another served time for inappropriately kissing a 10-year-old girl, and still another molested a 9-year-old boy.

The lone female resident of the Tuttle community pleaded guilty to exposing herself to a girlfriend's children while playing strip poker.

Convicted rapists and other violent sexual predators are also part of the bridge population, including the man who tends the generator – he served his time for the sexual molestation of a 9-year-old girl.

“People call this place a camp, like it's pretty and fun,” a man convicted of molesting a 6-year-old boy told the Miami Herald, “It's not fun at all. We are living like animals and trying to make the best of it.”

The Miami chapter of the American Civil Liberties Union is considering a strategy to help change the sexual predator rules in Miami-Dade County.

“They have been given absolutely no hope or no recourse to change the situation,” Carlene Sawyer, chapter president for the ACLU told the Miami Herald. “This is un-American.”

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