A sandy road, rutted by wagon wheels,
came before the narrow ribbon of asphalt that linked our towns. These
days, there’s a 65-mph four-lane that lets us zip from
Jesup—through the pine plantations—to Brunswick and the beaches
of the Golden Isles. But long before any of these routes, there was
a water road, the Altamaha River, carrying travelers from Wayne
County to the coast.
The Altamaha, Amazon of the South,
serves much as does the proverbial canary in the coal mine. When its
waters become sick, the warning is clear: People will become ill,
too. That’s why we must be vigilant stewards of a natural resource
that has served our coastal region through the ages.
Last week, on Jekyll Island, I watched
the faces of two St. Simons Island friends. The more we discussed
Republic Services’ plan to dump up to 10,000 tons—per day—of
toxic coal ash in Broadhurst, the couple’s eyebrows arched,
mimicking the nearby Sidney Lanier Bridge.
That’s right. Coastal residents
need to be alarmed about what’s in the works 40 miles inland.
Early on, plumbers learn: “The hot goes on the left, and the stuff
runs downhill.” Whatever happens in Wayne County’s watery
ecosystem is destined to run downhill to our neighboring counties,
where the economy is driven by tourism, fishing, shrimping, crabbing
and the like.
Clicking off Brunswick Superfund
sites, my friend said, “We have enough environmental worries in
Glynn County. Please don’t send us anymore.” Warren Buffett
once explained that vision through the rearview mirror is always
20-20. I am sure Brunswick wishes that it had heeded Benjamin
Franklin’s advice: “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of
cure.”
Old Ben’s admonition is what this
anti-coal-ash hullabaloo is all about. Coastal Georgia is under an
assault that could negatively impact our natural resources, including
rivers and streams, along with our coastal marshes and saltwater
estuaries. How about the air that we breathe?
Since mid-January, Wayne County
residents have been trying to keep our community from becoming a
national experiment to see how much toxic coal ash can be buried and
piled in one place. If we lose this classic David-and-Goliath
battle, contaminating stuff will likely flow downhill. The counties
of Long, McIntosh, Pierce, Brantley, Camden and Glynn—along with
the rest of the state—should be eager to join this preventive
fight, too.
Republic Services, America’s
second-largest waste-management company, says we shouldn’t worry
about possible heavy-metal leaks from its private landfill. The $9
billion giant claims to have the expertise and resources to keep us
safe. I can’t swig from that jug of corporate Kool-Aid being
served from 2,000 miles away in Phoenix.
Republic doesn’t recognize that the
Coastal Plain—sitting barely above sea level, with the water table
near the top of the ground—is the worst possible place to risk
pollution. That alone should make our eyebrows arch. You don’t
have to be an environmental engineer to conduct this experiment.
Soak a sponge and put it on a table. Then, tip one corner of the
soggy sponge. Watch the water run out.
This is exactly what can and will
happen when the inevitable toxic leak happens—again—at
Broadhurst. Remember the almost-kept-from-the-public beryllium leak
in 2012? The past is a good predictor of the future.
That’s why I am worried—just as I
hope you are—about our ancient water road. If toxic coal ash
pollutes the Altamaha River, it can transport poison through our
already-threatened region and into Georgia’s sensitive coastline.
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
