Environmentalism: East vs West

[Note: This is half of a two-part Oregon Voice article comparing approaches to environmentalism on the East and West coasts of the US. A fellow student from New Jersey is writing the other half, so it should be an interesting final product (I believe they're looking at printing next month, so look for it on oregonvoice.com) This article is also in draft form, so feedback is appreciated!]


West Coast: Keeping the Green in our Wallets

I believe the ideals of environmentalism on the west coast are best embodied by my father, an old-school conservative who grasps better than a lot of eco-conscious Generation Y-ers these days what it means to reduce, reuse and recycle. Raised by a depression-generation single mother and with decades as a small business owner behind him, the man knows how to cut corners. Yes, it’s admirable, but if you’re not careful, this frugality can deliver some unpleasant surprises.
I learned this lesson the hard way one family vacation in Hawaii a few years ago. Having forgotten to pack my own, I asked dad if I could borrow some floss. Instead of the customary plastic case containing a spool, he handed me single, suspicious-looking waxy strand. However, it was generously long, for which I give him credit. I accepted the offering, ran it between my molars and deposited it in the wastebasket as usual.
An hour later, it was his turn to perform the ritual pre-bed hygiene. He went into the bathroom. Then he came back out. With admirable coolness, he asked, “Hey, where’d you put that floss?”
“What floss?” I asked.
“The floss I gave you earlier.”
“Um, threw it away,” I said, a little confused. He looked at me with an expression of mixed disappointment for having lost his floss and dismay at my carelessness.
“Tuula,” he sighed. “That was my only piece.”

Safe in the bathroom wastebasket – where even my father wouldn’t delve – that floss was spared from the mango-fiber and pineapple-strand hell that was sure to have lain ahead during those fourteen days in the tropics.
Of course, the frayed and gummy quality of his floss over the course of that trip would never have fazed my dad. For him, stretching consumer goods beyond their reasonable lifespan is not just a way of life, it’s an ongoing little game he plays with our throw-away society. There’s nothing he enjoys more than plucking something out a discard pile, brushing it off, and using it for the next twenty years. The wobbly, undersized bicycle he rides came from a gulley near his house. He drags his firewood in off the beach. If he does come across something new, he ensures it’s darn well expired before he disposes of it himself – writing on every square inch of a used envelope and wearing t-shirts until they’re more hole than fabric.
It would be nice to believe that this thriftiness goes beyond penny-pinching and is based in a more deeply rooted conservationist ethic. But if such a philosophy does exist, it is buried under a strong aversion to environmental and social “do-gooders” that defines my father’s political views. Instead – perhaps out of a simple desire to save funds – Pop has invented his own form of environmentalism, one that rejects the entire concept of consumables.

These days, recycling the items we use in our daily lives falls under the self-righteous headings of “sustainability” or being “green” – terms that would be nice to write off on east-coast yuppies but that we’re culpable for perpetrating as well. Worse, we’ve allowed marketers to convince us to attempt to buy our way out of our multiple, converging environmental disasters with such things as hybrid cars and organic cotton clothing sold at Wal-Mart. After all, in this era of plenty, one of the luxuries we’ve earned ourselves is the ability to throw things away and purchase newer, better, greener versions. A classic example of this are the well intentioned “light bulb exchange” campaigns that you see cropping up form time to time. Sure, it sounds nice to get a free fluorescent bulb, which will save who knows how many megawatts of electricity, but do we have to throw away thousands of perfectly good “old” bulbs in order to make the transition?
So, in this context of this hip(ocritical) eco-friendliness, can west-coasters keep our cool and rationally discern between what’s good for the earth and what simply makes us feel good? The west coast in general, and Oregon in particular, has a good reputation for not only rejecting the pretentious but also enacting legislation that helps make it easier to reduce our collective footprint (which is itself a slippery concept, but we’ll run with it). Oregon was the first state to create a bottle deposit system, providing broke college students and the homeless in 11 states now the opportunity to regain some of their beer money. Its somewhat controversial land-use system – in which urban growth boundaries are strictly enforced and land designated as agricultural must remain that way – has also been heralded by environmentalists. And of course, one can’t discuss green policies without tipping a hat to Portland, where happy citizens bike, recycle and build energy-efficient structures with an air of smugness that should itself be monitored by the EPA.
Oregon’s neighbors generate a good amount of eco-friendly smug themselves. California was the first state to place emissions caps on new vehicles lower than those imposed by the federal government and is generally ahead of its east-coast counterparts in environmental leadership. Washington gained attention this winter for refusing to put salt on Seattle’s roads, irritating commuters around Puget Sound but probably generating a lot of gratitude among those who live in its waters.

Of course, good ol’ dad scoffs at all of the above schemes, and maybe he’s right to do so. But at some point, the priority needs to be placed not only on protecting consumers from themselves, but also on protecting the earth from our resource-gobbling, polluting habits. The west coast does a reasonably good job of doing so, even if we’re sometimes given to “greenwashing.” One thing’s for sure, though – you won’t find many east coast yuppie environmentalists reusing floss.

The digital age has arrived: A eulogy for broadcast

Television is dead. Long live television!

As of this morning, my TV doesn’t work anymore. I didn’t do anything to provoke this, and it’s not as if I wasn’t warned. The FCC set this date months ago for the final tradition to 100% digital broadcasting, and I, as usual, am behind the curve.
Considering that my rabbit ears were on their last legs, delivering a snowy and erratic signal to my screen, and that I only actually employed them once a week for Sunday night Desperate Housewives, this doesn’t have a huge impact on my life. My roommate and I will continue to watch previous seasons of Lost online and The L Word on DVD. Instead of investing $70 for the converter box that will allow us to receive the new digital signals, I’ll spend a few bucks on one of those cool cables that lets you put your computer screen on the television screen. When Sunday nights roll around, the wireless connection had better not go out.
But there are qualities about watching TV the old-fashioned way I’ll miss, and it’s not just the fun of trying to squint out what the ever-devious Housewives are up to in that suburban blizzard of static. The first thing is the inflexibility of it. DH is a big deal in my group of friends, and on Sunday evenings, there’s usually about eight of us squeezed into my living room. We tease and nag each other before turning on the TV at 9 to watch the same thing happening among older and more beautiful people on screen. How will I get everyone to shut up at 8:59 if they know we can now actually roll the show whenever we want? Come to think of it, how will I get them there in the first place? It won’t be too long until we’re all calling each other saying “You know, I just have too much homework, how does Monday night work for you?” Monday turns into Tuesday, then Wednesday, and then another week goes by without this important social event.
Another thing I like about broadcast television is ads. Yes, I usually mute them, but I live in a happy bubble of forward-thinking, largely unmaterialistic (mostly because we’re poor) people. How will I be reminded that people actually buy – no, wrap their entire lives around having – crap made by Lexus and Adidas if the television isn’t there to remind me that I should be too? I might grow large-headed without that constant sense of brand inadequacy.
So, TV, it’s sad to see you turned into no more than a very bulky laptop screen. Those rabbit ears are cute, but they’ll be out by the dumpster as soon as one of us gets around to getting rid of them, and some slightly less useless item will take their place on top of the stereo speaker. Perhaps my leftover New Year’s party hat or a kitchen appliance that I don’t have room for on the counter. I have no use for digital signals. Sorry, FCC, you may just have to change your name to Federal Internet Commission.

Down with grass!

In the summer of 2008, farmer Harry MacCormack did something on his land that hasn’t been done in the Willamette Valley for over twenty years. In this small act, unbeknownst to most of his neighbors in nearby Corvallis, Oregon, he may have sparked a revolution that could transform the state’s economic structure and create a model for sustainable communities across the country.

So what was MacCormack up to on his farm last summer? He was growing beans. As food and fuel prices rise around the world and Oregon residents scramble for ways to reduce their demands on our fragile environment and economy, farmers are moving toward a solution that may seem simple in hindsight. Instead of devoting 80% of cropland acres to grass seed, an inedible crop of which very little actually stays in the region, farmers led by MacCormack are beginning a movement to use the valley’s fertile lands for growing food. Beans, grains, and other staples used to be primary crops in the region until suburban lawns and golf courses made grass seed a hot commodity. Today, this cash crop is as popular as ever, but increased problems with field burning and chemical use has farmers searching for alternatives.

MacCormack’s experimental planting, known by the coalition of farmers, distributors and retailers he works with as the “Bean and Grain Project,” could be the alternative. But the initiative is not without its detractors: some environmentalists say that attempting to grow certain crops in Oregon would require even more chemicals and energy than it would in their native environments. Many farmers simply cannot afford to switch from grass seed to less profitable crops. And eco-conscious as they may be, most food buyers in the region are used to the low prices allowed by importing beans and grains from countries where standards of living are lower.

Read more about the bean and grain project here: http://www.mudcitypress.com/beanandgrain.html