The Sustainability of the Coronavirus
We are losing sight of the bigger picture by focusing on feel good enviro-stories.
My student housing was on the outskirts of Dublin’s city center, just inland of Ireland’s coast. The sleek, greyscale building, the only one of its kind in a neighborhood experiencing a new wave of gentrified construction, was a block from the River Liffey that feeds into Dublin Bay. I did that once or twice — followed the River to the Bay, but the sight of cargo tankers coming in from the vast Irish Sea wasn’t my idea of tranquil. Instead, I took the southbound DART a few stops to the coastal town of Dún Laoghaire. The train ride itself was a study in charm. Once through the city center, we raced along the Bay past small football fields with tots who ran around the green, people on bikes and in cars queued up behind a yellow pole waiting for the train to pass, and mums pushing strollers with their little bairns napping. My walk from the station to Dún Laoghaire’s city center was quick and usually uneventful, aside from the time I witnessed a fistfight.
In town, I’d refill my travel mug in the hipster-esque cafe, maybe indulge in a baked good before heading further south on foot along the Bay’s concrete barrier wall to Forty Foot — a nature-made, man-assisted tourist attraction. To explain Forty Foot is to explain the inner workings of a praying mantis — impossibly complex and impossibly simple. In its most bare-bones form, it’s a swimming hole with various diving and entry spots, including a forty-foot drop, that locals, octopuses, and seals frequent year-round.
Depending on the tide, I’d either continue along the footpath where sheets of blue-grey water darkened the concrete or through a minefield of craggy rocks on which mucousy algae hats grew in the same way tufts of hair bud from a newborn’s head. And depending on the day, I’d see storm clouds roll in over the Irish Sea, or a family of seals bob their heads in the waves. Whether I made my way to Forty Foot by the concrete path or by carefully inching over rock, I felt connected. Connected to the salted air, to the rhythmic crashing of waves on rocks, to the occasional squawk of seagulls, to all of it.
This feeling of interconnectedness isn’t unique to Forty Foot or Dún Laoghaire or to Ireland. I’ve felt this way elsewhere, like in the winding paths of Central Park that I’d follow to a sun-mottled boulder, the rays of light diffused by the leaves of a tall maple. This interconnectedness isn’t unique to a specific locale, but to nature. Where I sat in the park there were no crumpled-up newspapers littered about. In the waves that reverberated against the rocks of Dún Laoghaire and Forty Foot, there weren’t plastic bags or bottles catching a ride in the surf. It was just nature and me. In the months since lockdown began, I’ve been thinking a lot about this tranquility I’ve been fortunate enough to experience. Mostly from a place of longing. But, also from fear. Fear of how the world will change when we come out of this pandemic. And fear of how our actions during this pandemic are changing the world.
Before the lockdown, the world had been breaking up with plastics. There was a growing, massive consensus that plastics were no longer an inevitable byproduct of a society on-the-go, but a serious threat to the common good that needs to be tackled. By 2019, 127 countries, 8 US states, and hundreds of US cities had passed legislation that banned or taxed single-use plastics to reduce the impact that the three-hundred million metric tons of plastic produced annually has on the environment. Even independent corporations and organizations were beginning to implement their own incentive programs that encouraged composting, going plastic-free, and for patrons to bring their own reusable containers.
I’d seen this in Ireland. At any cafe, no matter how corporate, the barista would ask your cup preference — ceramic mug for stay, and your travel mug or a paper cup for to-go. And, to the disappointment of one of my friends visiting, every straw was paper. Since the lockdowns, single-use plastics have been making a comeback.
If you’ve been on social media anytime in the past few months you’ve no doubt seen the posts celebrating the expected 4–8% drop in global carbon emission for 2020 and the overall recent reduction of air pollution. From these posts alone, you’d think that the environment is undoubtedly benefiting from the limited travel and manufacturing caused by the lockdowns. But, the notion that this has been a chance for the earth to heal from the damage we’ve caused her, or that this marks a significant change in the fight against climate change is dangerous. This noted and amazing estimated reduction in global carbon emission is just that. An estimate. As more countries are opening up this percentage is shrinking (down from an estimated drop of 17% in April). Just a walk in a park will show you how the lockdown hasn’t been a walk in the park for the environment.
These efforts taken in recent years to significantly limit plastic usage have come to a halt amid concerns of the Coronavirus’ spread. Since the start of the pandemic, shoppers have been encouraged to forgo shopping with a reusable canvas bag due to baseless claims that canvas bags are somehow more capable of object-to-object spread than plastic. This plastic resurgence isn’t just happening in stores, it’s also happening in restaurants. During the early stages of the lockdown, restaurants took precautions to protect their clientele by limiting interactions between patrons and employees. They closed sit-in dining, instead offering takeout and delivery. And with this, there was an immediate relapse on our dependency on plastics. Restaurants were encouraged to use disposable packaging to reduce spread, patrons were encouraged to nix their reusable containers and bags, and now, with the reopening (and re-locking down) of states, there’s another significant back step in plastic consumption — indoor and outdoor dining. As restaurants begin to offer more services, there are still recommendations to handout disposable utensils and drinkware.
This trend towards increased plastic consumption is perfectly illustrated by a simple scroll through Instagram. On any given weekend, Instagram stories are full of selfies and videos of people enjoying the warm summer weather, complete with margaritas in plastic cups and plastic straws. At first glance, these joyous moments signify a return to normality that is surely warmly welcomed after months of isolation. But then the reality sets in. The efforts of the last few years to take plastic waste seriously has been undone in just a few months.
Our usage of disposable PPE is also to blame for its role in counteracting the recent environmental gains. In an ideal world, only those in need of additional precautions against the Coronavirus would sparingly use and properly dispose of latex gloves — the most environmentally friendly option as they are biodegradable (in 5 years compared to hundreds) and can be sustainably sourced. With that said, gloves for the average person are not necessary PPE when proper hand washing techniques are followed. Masks on the other hand are the most effective and commonly used PPE. At first glance, disposable masks appear significantly less detrimental to the environment as they’re made of biodegradable cotton. However, they also contain non-recyclable plastics, and unless the cotton is sustainably sourced each of these masks is contributing to a water-intensive industry that accounts for 24% of global insecticide use. By relying on washable alternatives and reducing the amount of factory-made disposable masks used, we would not only shrink our reliance on the cotton industry and plastics we’d also be putting more money into small businesses.
To make matters worse, our backslide on the fight against plastics is doubly felt by the recent reversals of waste management programs. We are improperly disposing of our waste by littering, trashing, and simply using way too much single-use plastics. These plastics are winding up in the ocean, further polluting our world and adding to a problem that we were only just starting to tackle. Studies estimate that as countries continue to reopen safely, there will be a need for additional millions of tons of PPE which also means a continued significant increase in plastic production and usage. Currently, eight million metric tons of plastic end up in the ocean each year. Already the Ocean Conservancy is reporting an increase of plastics and PPE polluting our waters and beaches. As we continue to rely on disposable masks, packaging, and bags to return to normal, how many more millions of metric tons of plastic will we see produced and discarded into our environment? I fear that if we lose sight of the bigger picture to feel good facts such as the short-term decrease in global carbon emissions, we will lose the recent traction in the fight against climate change and places like Dún Laoghaire that we desperately need for life and tranquility will suffer.
