Tuesday, September 23, 2008

A Different Glow

Now that endorsements of nuclear power as the answer to global warming and the energy crisis appear on the “Huffington Post,” “Daily Kos,” and on the lips of candidates from McCain to Obama, it’s no longer startling for self-described progressives to do the nuclear dance. In fact, to be less than enthused at the prospect of pervasive nuclear radiation gets one tarred with the “anti-science” label once reserved for those objecting to the presence of other poisons in the environment such as DDT, PCBs, mercury, and lead. Even Knopf, one of America’s most distinguished publishing houses, just released a book with a title that sounds as if it were dreamed up by the PR flacks at the Nuclear Energy Institute, the industry lobbying group: Power to Save the World: The Truth About Nuclear Energy. But as recently as 2004, the Philadelphia Weekly confidently wrote “there’s little doubt that, thanks in large part to the accident at TMI, there will never be another nuclear power plant built in the U.S.”

Why the change?

A glassy-eyed infatuation with technology is part of the answer—call it nuclear religion—and so is bad memory. But the real reason is laziness. Even its advocates acknowledge that, at best, the nuclear option is beset with problems. “The Future of Nuclear Power,” a 2003 M.I.T. report that explicitly set out to promote nukes as a solution to climate change, stated that “the limited prospects for nuclear power today are attributable, ultimately, to four unresolved problems”: high cost; environmental contamination; “security risks stemming from proliferation”; and “unresolved challenges in long-term management of nuclear wastes.” The present pro-nuke argument hinges on theoretical technologies that have yet to be implemented (the Generation III+ reactors), that presuppose a hitherto-unattained level of competence on the part of plant operators and machinery. Conservation is a far more effective—cheap and proven—way for us to fight climate change.

The genesis of the nuclear power industry, which has always been tied to the armaments industry and the Cold War, is not a mystery. Neither is its record. Over the decades they’ve been in use, the plants themselves consistently have faced huge overruns—according to a 1986 DoE report, the 75 American reactors then in operation were projected to cost $45 billion and ended up costing $145 billion; now a single new plant costs in the neighborhood of $5 billion—leak radiation, and produce highly poisonous by-products that no one knows quite what to do with—the only “solution” to date being to ship the stuff far from urban areas, preferably to Native American reservations. Plants typically take a decade to build; they last a mere 30-40 years; and they would never be built but for a maze of special federal tax credits, loan guarantees, risk insurance and outright subsidies. By 2005, by one estimate, the industry had received $77 billion in subsidies.

The nuclear process is one of controlled chaos. At no point is the cycle benign; collection, transport, use and disposal of the fuel involved is at all points hazardous and mishandling can result in catastrophe.

Occasionally an accident occurs that can’t be overlooked, or hidden. The two best known, of course, are the 1986 accident at Chernobyl, which according to official accounts dosed 6.6 million people with massive amounts of radiation, and the 1979 partial meltdown at Three Mile Island’s Unit 2—which leaks radiation into the Susquehanna River to this day. Unit 2 never has been cleaned up; it’s still so hot that no one’s been close enough to see exactly what’s inside.

There’s been a significant accident for every day of the year. The near-misses are legion, and rarely make their way into the news: for example, for twenty years workers at Detroit Edison’s Fermi Unit 2 tested their emergency back-up system—a diesel engine to be used to keep the reactor core stable in the event of black-outs—using the wrong answer key. So until the error was discovered in August 2006, the system had never properly been tested. In 2002, workers at the Davis-Besse, Ohio plant discovered a six-inch deep gouge in the nuclear reactor that had grown over six years; according to the Union of Concerned Scientists, it threatened a “loss-of-coolant accident” worse than Three Mile Island. And so on.

We in the United States are used to buying our way out of a “situation”—in this case global warming and high energy costs. Like Wall Street traders who’ve trashed a restaurant, we think we can simply put it on the tab. But what we need to do is clean up our mess. That means drastically reducing energy consumption and changing our lifestyle—not putting us at all risk by investing in technologies which drain scant resources from developing renewable energy.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Fireworks and Nasality


I was going to write about fireworks. I was going to tell you that every time you sit with your loved one(s) on a grassy lawn, oohing and aahing at the spectacular display overhead, you’re exposing yourself, never mind the environment we supposedly all obsess over, to a sinister mix of heavy metals—arsenic, mercury, lead, chromium, cadmium, barium, and strontium among them. I was going to write about this and more, when my attention became diverted by the mayor of the town where I was born and where I live, and I just became so irritated that I decided fireworks would have to wait for another time.

You may have heard of my town’s mayor, Bloomberg, and you have surely heard of the town itself, New York. To my dull mind, Bloomberg’s popularity is a puzzle. Sure, he’s super-rich. And people, we people, love wealth, the more blatantly displayed the better. We may not have it, but we can aspire to it. We’ve always been that way, since the first cave person managed to get more mastodon than anyone else: look at all that marbled meat...from there it’s a straight line to the pyramids, then Versailles, and the Trump Center and large nasty vehicles that use up much metal and fossil fuel. One display more nonsensical and disgusting than the next. So Bloomberg, with his zillions ($20 billion or so), fits right in in terms of wealth-bedazzlement.

But here’s my point: I would think all this would be, if you’ll forgive the phrase, trumped by his voice. How can anyone, even the wealth-obsessed, hear it without snickering? When he’s aggravated, which is not infrequently, it’s Mickey Mouse on helium. High-pitched, whiny; the rest of the time it’s just nasal...even if the guy were the proven, personal representative of God on earth I could no more follow his direction than I would shoot off fireworks in my closet.

Wait, I hear you say. The man has a disability, that we grant you, B.V. And he’s short, and somewhat...rat-featured. But a squeaky voice does not a lousy leader make. Claudius, emperor of Rome, stammered and his nose ran when he was excited. And Dick Cheney is weight-challenged and can’t aim. But such ailments did not prevent these fine leaders from doing their duty and slaughtering opponents, protecting the privileged few, etc...and nasality didn’t prevent Bloomberg from keeping NYC streets mostly free of protestors during the 2004 Republican Convention
—which cost the city untold millions during the convention itself and subsequently millions more when the scruffy malcontents had to be paid off because their constitutional rights had been violated—nor has it stopped him, in action after action, in whisking Manhattan clean of the few people not making 200Gs or more....think of what he’s done in that regard, you say:
• enabled the sale of Stuyvesant Town, one of the last bastions of what is laughingly called the “middle class” to a developer who is now already caught up in ousting longtime current residents
• manfully fought for landlords who discriminate against impoverished tenants
• maintained New York City’s status as “one of the most segregated cities in the nation”
 • kept New York City number one: we have the “highest rate of discrimination against prospective Hispanic home buyers among 20 cities, and the fifth-highest rate against African-Americans.”

Squeaky Mike has presided over the transformation of New York City into a stratified hierarchy where the super-rich lord it over the rest of us. And he keeps up the perverse fiction that he, a greed-head possessed of unimaginable wealth, is a man of the people, by boasting about his subway-riding habits (omitting the fact he takes a limousine from his town house to the subway).

You gotta admire the nerve of the man. And be stunned at the electorate that loves him.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Raisins and Welcome






Even if you haven't seen the classic "Les Raisins de la Mort," a late 1970s French flick based on the premise that pesticide use is turning vineyard workers into zombies, you might be excused for thinking twice about those shriveled little…rabbit pellet-like bits of chewiness. Like eating tiny heads of wizened old people. Here's what you knew in your heart: U.S. farmers use over fifty pesticides on table and raisin grapes, including particularly nasty herbicides such as Hydrogen cyanamide, 2,4-D dimethylamine salt, and so on. If you're exposed to this stuff in the field and lucky, you only get itchy skin, flu-like symptoms, shortness of breath…perhaps a tumor or two…and if you're not, you turn into a zombie. It's that simple. Pop one in your mouth, or even a handful, and you might as well be eating a chewy chunk of yummy pesticides. I recall some Karen Silkwood-like story about an investigative journalist in the 1970s, when I was just starting to learn the meaning of fear, who determined to expose the pesticide content in raisins; the California Raisin Board got him. Last I recall he was seen lurching off into the night, his face twisted into the horrible rictus typical of an excessive raisin-eater.

Dogs, by the way, not infrequently develop renal failure after heavy consumption of raisins or grapes. Right, precious few of you out there are dogs, and there's some argument to be made that the fewer fecal landmines on our streets the better (because of reduced dog population, thanks to raisins), but still: this Halloween I'm going dressed as a raisin.

If you've gotta eat 'em (and actually, for all that excessive consumption will give you the runs, they're chock full of nutrition) be sure they're organic. (On the other hand, now that the FDA has redefined "organic" to mean "farming with industrial chemicals"--you'll have to wait for a future blog on that--if you don't grow your own, don't eat 'em.)

Love,
B.V.