Reduce Reuse Rethink
I stretch my fingers into the plastic gloves meant to protect my hands from getting dirty and let the irony of this action hang in the air. At the end of our cleanup, these gloves will be thrown into the garbage, along with the litter we’ve removed from the roadside, and eventually take up space in a landfill somewhere — but not here — it won’t be our problem anymore.
People talk quietly to each other, shifting uncomfortably on the still-damp grass waiting for instructions. Someone hands out garbage bags and everyone disperses in search of trash and treasure.
April 22: Earth Day. Insert any year after 1970, the birth of the modern environmental movement, and it probably looks about the same: a bunch of white, well-to-do nature enthusiasts spending their morning picking up litter in an attempt to “save the Earth”. Now don’t get me wrong, I participate in these sorts of events too, and have no intention of stopping. It is important to remove the litter that finds its way into muddy streambeds swollen with spring rain, but this superficial beautification and preservation of natural spaces promoted by Earth Day doesn’t make enough of a difference.
At five years old, caring for the Earth meant dirty fingernails and pride for the little garden I made in our backyard. Sun kissed skin, freckles and sweat served as living proof that the Earth helped raise me. No plastic gloves, no guilt or obligation pulling me outside to the streams and fields and forests. The joy and wonder I found in these places was enough to instill some type of responsibility into my five year old mind: take care of the Earth: it takes care of you.
As I grew up, life got busier and convenience took precedence over conservation. The excitement I once found while exploring my backyard was matched only when taking in vistas from remote mountain summits. Even though I loved these untouched landscapes, the need to take concrete action to reduce my impact slowly returned to my conscience as I learned more about environmentalism.
Out of sight, out of mind is all too common of a narrative, particularly with our waste. When we don’t notice litter, either because of preoccupation or lack of exposure, it’s easy to forget that our trash and recycling don’t disappear from Earth when we are no longer responsible for them. That’s not where their story ends.
Recycling requires additional resources to transport, breakdown, and repurpose these materials before they return to the consumer market, causing its own environmental impact. Changing regulations around what can and can’t be recycled, as well as poor recycling practices add to the statistic that 50% of the material put in recycling bins ends up in a landfill rather than back on the consumer market. Further, when recycling is taught as a binary system of good (recycling) and bad (trash), a significant portion of our waste’s life cycle is ignored.
Without understanding the whole system, people are led to believe that their actions have a larger impact on protecting the environment than they actually do.
I crouch on the shoulder of the road sorting gum wrappers and bottle caps from the gravel. A little deeper in I spot a plastic bag tethered to a tree branch, lilting like a flag of surrender about to give up, too. I sigh, straighten up, and begin to pick my way across the low-lying brambles between me and the bag. The cool morning air of a few hours ago has been replaced by a steady warmth as the sun climbs towards noon. I’m hungry for the sandwich I quickly packed in a Ziploc bag earlier this morning — noting the irony again in my decision — before pulling the bag free from the branch and stuffing it into my plastic garbage bag as I move on in search of more litter.
