The Cause “Hey, are you one of those limp-wristed treehuggers?” the guy sitting next to me says. I am on a flight from Seattle to Los Angeles. His chubby finger points towards my Time magazine cover showing a polar bear forlornly looking out on a vast ocean from a small piece of floating ice. The man’s shirt buttons strain to hold back his oversized paunch. “Well, yes,” I say as I grind my teeth. I shift my body away from Paunch and pretend to focus on my magazine. “Do you use paper or plastic bags at the grocery store,” he asks. I look around. There are no other empty seats. “Paper,” I look up answering. “Paper is biodegradable.” “Biodegradable,” Paunch repeats with sarcasm. “Yes,” my voice rises with irritation. “Over time the paper rots and degrades back into dirt.” “Did you know that an Arizona State University study on a landfill, closed for twenty-five years, found hot dogs, corncobs and grapes in that landfill? They even found a 50-year-old newspaper that was still readable. You see for biodegradation to take place you need oxygen and microbes. Both are limited in a tightly packed landfill.” I feel handcuffed as I look down to my magazine and he leans closer. His breath smells like cheap airline peanuts. “Did you know that it takes 5,000 more gallons of water per ton of paper to recycle newspaper then it does to produce it from wood pulp?” I turn the magazine page, trying not to feed him more opportunities to continue. He leans a little closer and lowers his voice, “Did you ever consider that in your drive to protect the environment you actually may be causing more harm?” My face flushes hot. “You seem to have an answer for everything. I care about the environment. I drive a hybrid and feel good about what I am doing.” He shakes his head in disgust, “So if you feel good about it you can ignore the facts?” I grit my teeth and say, “The fact is that we are building mountainous landfills of trash oozing deadly toxins into the groundwater.” “Do you know how a landfill is designed?” he asks. I roll my eyes and let out a long breath, “No, but I am sure that you are going to tell me.” “Before trash is put into a landfill it is lined with 2 feet of clay,” he holds his hand apart to demonstrate. “Then a rubber membrane and 2 feet of soil are carefully added to protect the barrier. And then trash and dirt are layered as the landfill grows. Any toxic liquids leaching out of the trash is drained out of the landfill and treated. The landfill is surrounded by monitoring wells to check for leakage. Methane gas is captured and burned to prevent Greenhouse Emissions.” He pauses, relishing the moment. “Did you know that for every paper grocery bag landfilled you can fit thirty plastic bags?” I am getting tired of this guy’s did you know crap. He points to my Time magazine. “Did you know that the Arctic ice expanded one million square miles this year.” He raps the arm rest with his knuckles for emphasis, “ONE MILLION.” I look up the aisle towards the rest room. There is a line and I just went ten minutes ago. “Yes,” I counter, “but the article says that the ice is still twenty percent below normal,” I say with a comeback grin as I tap the magazine with my finger. He chews his lip. “You’re concerned about them polar bears aren’t you?” He points to a picture in the magazine. “Yes I am.” “So how many of those white fur balls are you going to save with your Kyoto Protocol?” I wonder where he is going. I remember an Al Gore talk about Kyoto, an international treaty to combat global warming, but I can’t recall the details. I hold up my hands confessing, “Hey, there are no easy solutions here. It sounds like you are proposing that we do nothing and let the earth go to hell for our children’s children. Do you feel good about that?” He ignores my comment and continues to needle, “So how many of those white fur balls is your Kyoto Protocol going to save?” I shrug my shoulders, “I am not sure that anyone knows? But we got to do something.” “According to a United Nations study Kyoto will save ZERO POINT TWO polar bears per year, fifty years from now. Your champion, Al Gore wants to spend billions of dollars every year to save ZERO POINT TWO polar bears. You know how many polar bears are shot in Canada every year?” “No, but I have a feeling that you are going to tell me.” “Two hundred. You want to save polar bears friend? Start campaigning against shooting them. You are pissing against the wind and don’t even know it.” I look around. I have to get out of here, “Excuse me. I have to go to the rest room.” He grabs my arm as I begin to stand. His expression grows somber. “Sit down,” he pleads. “You know the difference between you and me?” As I sit he pulls out his wallet. He shows me a ragged card. Across the top it reads “Greenpeace Membership.” The card is twenty years old. My mouth gapes as I study his face. His cockiness has washed away like a receding wave on the beach. He answers my questioning look, “You see, I am passionate about the environment, always have been. I love the outdoors. I joined Greenpeace to save the world from itself.” He looks down and whispers, “What I found was a group of people more concerned about the cause then the truth.” His forehead creases. He lets out a long breath and whispers, “Are you willing to listen?”
Posted on: Sun, 10 Nov 2013 11:36:45 +0000
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