A half-century ago, a
pop-culture movie, Cool Hand Luke,
etched a line into my teenage brain. I can still see Captain’s (Strother Martin)
sneer as he spat out his infamous words to Luke (Paul Newman): “What we’ve got here is failure to
communicate.”
And when you
have something this special, you must wrap your loving arms around it. That is why I threw my heart into the fight
to protect the Altamaha, its tributaries, its environs and the precious water
beneath it. My wallet followed my heart. I am grateful so many did the same.
For
the last 22 months, with a slightly different twist, those words keep coming
back and back. Considering the visionary
investments to protect the Altamaha River corridor and the less-than-vigorous
effort to safeguard it from toxic coal-ash pollution, I think of the chain-gang
boss. If he were observing what’s going
on in Southeast Georgia, he’d say: “What
we’ve got here is failure to see the irony.”
Long
before I ever learned about coal combustion residuals (coal ash) or Republic’s
desire to build mountains of it in Wayne County, I knew we had something extraordinary
in our corner of the state. The Altamaha
River Basin is so special that it’s often called the Amazon of the South. No part of this gift from God can be purchased
online from the other Amazon or from big-box store shelves.
And when you
have something this special, you must wrap your loving arms around it. That is why I threw my heart into the fight
to protect the Altamaha, its tributaries, its environs and the precious water
beneath it. My wallet followed my heart. I am grateful so many did the same.
This passion
for the environment—our land, our water, our air, our people and our
critters—is rooted deep within my DNA. I
give credit to The Nature Conservancy (TNC) for helping to pull those feelings
to the surface. As a former board member
of its Georgia Chapter, I met people smarter than me who expanded my knowledge and
the need to do the right thing—now,
not later.
As you’ve just read,
so far, more than 165,000 acres bordering the Altamaha have been
protected—forever. TNC has been a key
driver in this mission. With a mixture
of public and private investments, $36 million made possible the addition of
the 19,500-acre Sansavilla tract, straddling the line between Wayne and Glynn
counties. The leadership of Georgia’s
Department of Natural Resources and its various partners deserve a standing
ovation.
“Bravo!” I say.
But before we
get too carried away with backslapping, let’s examine the big picture and the
irony of what’s happening in Broadhurst.
The Little Penholloway Creek flows through Republic’s landfill. The Little Penholloway connects with the Penholloway
Creek, which joins with the Altamaha, which wraps around Little St. Simons
Island on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean.
And not far
from Broadhurst is the Satilla River watershed, which empties into St. Andrew
Sound near Cumberland Island. Do you see
the irony of making this mega-million-dollar investment and not doing
everything we can to protect what goes on upstream?
It’s almost as
if the left hand doesn’t care what the right hand is doing. Weak laws and low tipping fees have allowed
Georgia to become a dumping ground for bordering states. Right now, as you read this, toxic coal ash
is pouring into Georgia from the Carolinas.
The Jacksonville Electric Authority has already dumped 800,000 poisonous
tons in Broadhurst. More could be on the
way.
That’s why the
left hands—from Wayne County to Atlanta and around the state—need to respect what
the right hands are doing. United, those
hands need to work for stronger environmental laws. Otherwise, despite the Sansavilla-type
successes, it’ll be: “What we’ve got here
is failure to see the irony.”
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
