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In Arid New Mexico, Rural Towns Eye Treated Oil Wastewater as a Solution to Drought

News Feed
Wednesday, September 11, 2024

JAL, New Mexico (Reuters) - Flying over the desert landscape of southeastern New Mexico in a four-seat helicopter, Stephen Aldridge could count around a dozen man-made lagoons brimming with toxic wastewater glistening between drill rigs and pumpjacks.While it is a growing hazardous waste problem from the region’s booming drilling industry, the mayor of the tiny town of Jal - nestled near the border with Texas in the heart of U.S. oil country - viewed the sweeping scene as an opportunity: a source of water in the second-biggest oil producing state suffering from worsening drought."Our future is going to depend on the future of that produced water," he said.Aldridge is among a growing group of New Mexico politicians who want the state to develop regulations allowing for the millions of gallons of so-called produced water gushing up daily alongside the Permian basin's prolific oil and gas to be treated and used, instead of discarded, and who are encouraging companies to figure out how to make it happen cheaply, safely and at scale.In 2022, the oil and gas industry in New Mexico produced enough toxic fracking wastewater to cover 266,000 acres (107,650 hectares) of land a foot (31 cm) deep. While the state’s drillers reuse over 85% of their produced water in new oil and gas operations, the rest is pumped underground.With injection wells filling up, however, New Mexico has begun restricting deep-underground disposal, which has triggered earthquakes. The state is now expected to export over 3 million barrels of that water per day by the end of 2024 - a strange dynamic in a water-scarce state.Around 10 wastewater treatment firms in New Mexico are taking up the challenge under a state-supported pilot program that has so far spurred projects to grow crops like hemp and cotton and irrigate rangeland forage grasses.While completed pilots have shown the technology works, it is currently too expensive for widespread adoption.The companies and their backers also face a tough political battle. The debate over how this water should be used is one of the most divisive political questions facing New Mexico, with opponents mainly worried about the unintended human health consequences and subsidizing the oil industry's waste issue.New Mexico’s Democratic Governor Michelle Lujan Grisham introduced legislation late last year that would have created a strategic water reserve out of treated produced water. The bill was defeated by state lawmakers but will be brought up again in the next legislative session in January.Neighboring Texas is also dealing with growing problems around wastewater disposal, including an epidemic of exploding orphan wells as subsurface pressure rises, raising worries about a potential crackdown there too. The Permian basin, which straddles Texas and New Mexico, is the top U.S. oilfield."It’s getting close to this point of criticality," said Rob Bruant with energy consultancy B3.Other states such as Colorado and California already use treated produced water in small amounts for agriculture. But New Mexico's situation is unique because the volumes are overwhelming and the water itself needs much more intensive treatment because it is unusually briny - three times saltier than the Pacific.Aldridge stands out in dusty New Mexico, with shoulder-length white hair and a bushy beard, often wearing bright West African tunics.His chopper tour in late-July was part of a site visit to one of the state’s wastewater treatment pilot project run by a company called Aris Water Solutions.At the mobile trailer field office of the Aris project, Aldridge admired fish tanks on display filled with crystal clear water run through Aris’s treatment technology, and home to around two dozen minnows.Before it is treated, though, the water is dangerous. Employees on site are required to wear flame retardant clothing and carry portable monitors to detect deadly gases.The untreated water is trucked in by local drillers and held in two large storage tanks before getting piped through a membrane filter to remove solids, and then distilled.The process yields clear water, and leaves behind a highly toxic rust-colored mud that is reinjected underground at a registered saltwater disposal site.The water, Aris says, is free of pollutants or radionuclides, and fit for industrial and agricultural uses. Starting next year, Aris will begin growing non-food crops like cotton as part of a $10 million grant it won this year from the U.S. Department of Energy."We look at the concept of desalinating produced water and creating a new water resource for the Permian region in a similar way to how the water industry was able to demonstrate that municipal wastewater could be safely treated and used for many purposes that society could become comfortable with," said Lisa Henthorne, chief scientist at Aris.The main problem for Aris and others is cost. A barrel of Aris’ treated water costs over $2 a barrel, many times higher than what industrial or agricultural water users typically pay. Aris says its goal is to bring costs down to $1 - still representing a big bill for users.Massachusetts-based Zwitter, which recently finalized a separate water treatment pilot project in New Mexico, said treated water may never be cheap, but could become viable if it becomes cheaper than disposal."It is unlikely that agriculture or other water users will be able to pay more than cents per barrel. Therefore, the value of desalination will be driven by saving disposal costs and could be from $2 to $3/BW (per barrel of water) in the future," it said in the final report on its project.Disposal currently costs cents per barrel, but that could rise as injection sites fill up and waste needs to be trucked or piped ever further.Aris has strategic agreements with Permian oil majors including Chevron, ConocoPhillips and Exxon Mobil to develop and pilot technologies for treating produced water for potential reuse.Exxon subsidiary XTO has also partnered with Infinity Water Solutions, another water treatment firm running a pilot project in the Permian."I can tell you, the H2O molecule has no value until you run out of it," Infinity CEO Michael Dyson added.TERRIFIED OF GETTING IT WRONGAvner Vengosh, a professor of environmental quality at Duke University, said unknown safety risks are also a key concern.Under federal law, U.S. producers are not required to disclose all the chemicals they introduce to oil wells while drilling, raising worries that water treatments and testing are missing some dangerous components."There are a lot of technologies that can treat the water but the question is how can we evaluate all possible contaminants in produced water? I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I am saying it needs to be done correctly," he said. Infinity's Dyson agreed the industry needs to tread carefully."We know we're only going to get one real chance of getting this right, and if anything, I think most of us are terrified of getting it wrong," he said.The state’s environment department is updating its 2019 Produced Water Act with the aim of firming up water reuse rules and expanding research and development for use outside the oil and gas sector.During a week of hearings on the effort in early August, divisions were huge, with environmental groups and some scientists questioning how safe the end-product could be.Daniel Tso, a former Navajo Nation Council member, told Reuters the Navajo had been stung before in New Mexico when decades of uranium mining on their land in the last century led to widespread radioactive pollution.“Now the industry is trying to make this a public problem and the public has to really scrutinize the effects,” he said of produced water.James Kenney, New Mexico’s environment secretary, told Reuters that the advances in technology over the last five years give him confidence that treated produced water can be safe, but acknowledged New Mexico’s poor record."We have to acknowledge our history of things like uranium mining, the promise of wealth and the failure to protect health. So communities are right to be skeptical," he said.For Aldridge, though, the more he learns about wastewater treatment technology, the more willing he is to fight for the state to open up more uses for the water."Am I 100% convinced? No, but they're taking a step to convince me and I need to take those steps with them," he said.His own rural town of Jal, he said, could become home to "industries of the future" like data centers or green hydrogen projects, businesses that need ample supplies of water.Or it could dry up, like the drilling industry will when the Permian empties of oil and gas.“I just can't abide by the idea that small rural communities like Jal can just vanish."(Reporting by Valerie Volcovici; Editing by Richard Valdmanis and Marguerita Choy)Copyright 2024 Thomson Reuters.

By Valerie VolcoviciJAL, New Mexico (Reuters) - Flying over the desert landscape of southeastern New Mexico in a four-seat helicopter, Stephen...

JAL, New Mexico (Reuters) - Flying over the desert landscape of southeastern New Mexico in a four-seat helicopter, Stephen Aldridge could count around a dozen man-made lagoons brimming with toxic wastewater glistening between drill rigs and pumpjacks.

While it is a growing hazardous waste problem from the region’s booming drilling industry, the mayor of the tiny town of Jal - nestled near the border with Texas in the heart of U.S. oil country - viewed the sweeping scene as an opportunity: a source of water in the second-biggest oil producing state suffering from worsening drought.

"Our future is going to depend on the future of that produced water," he said.

Aldridge is among a growing group of New Mexico politicians who want the state to develop regulations allowing for the millions of gallons of so-called produced water gushing up daily alongside the Permian basin's prolific oil and gas to be treated and used, instead of discarded, and who are encouraging companies to figure out how to make it happen cheaply, safely and at scale.

In 2022, the oil and gas industry in New Mexico produced enough toxic fracking wastewater to cover 266,000 acres (107,650 hectares) of land a foot (31 cm) deep. While the state’s drillers reuse over 85% of their produced water in new oil and gas operations, the rest is pumped underground.

With injection wells filling up, however, New Mexico has begun restricting deep-underground disposal, which has triggered earthquakes. The state is now expected to export over 3 million barrels of that water per day by the end of 2024 - a strange dynamic in a water-scarce state.

Around 10 wastewater treatment firms in New Mexico are taking up the challenge under a state-supported pilot program that has so far spurred projects to grow crops like hemp and cotton and irrigate rangeland forage grasses.

While completed pilots have shown the technology works, it is currently too expensive for widespread adoption.

The companies and their backers also face a tough political battle. The debate over how this water should be used is one of the most divisive political questions facing New Mexico, with opponents mainly worried about the unintended human health consequences and subsidizing the oil industry's waste issue.

New Mexico’s Democratic Governor Michelle Lujan Grisham introduced legislation late last year that would have created a strategic water reserve out of treated produced water. The bill was defeated by state lawmakers but will be brought up again in the next legislative session in January.

Neighboring Texas is also dealing with growing problems around wastewater disposal, including an epidemic of exploding orphan wells as subsurface pressure rises, raising worries about a potential crackdown there too. The Permian basin, which straddles Texas and New Mexico, is the top U.S. oilfield.

"It’s getting close to this point of criticality," said Rob Bruant with energy consultancy B3.

Other states such as Colorado and California already use treated produced water in small amounts for agriculture. But New Mexico's situation is unique because the volumes are overwhelming and the water itself needs much more intensive treatment because it is unusually briny - three times saltier than the Pacific.

Aldridge stands out in dusty New Mexico, with shoulder-length white hair and a bushy beard, often wearing bright West African tunics.

His chopper tour in late-July was part of a site visit to one of the state’s wastewater treatment pilot project run by a company called Aris Water Solutions.

At the mobile trailer field office of the Aris project, Aldridge admired fish tanks on display filled with crystal clear water run through Aris’s treatment technology, and home to around two dozen minnows.

Before it is treated, though, the water is dangerous. Employees on site are required to wear flame retardant clothing and carry portable monitors to detect deadly gases.

The untreated water is trucked in by local drillers and held in two large storage tanks before getting piped through a membrane filter to remove solids, and then distilled.

The process yields clear water, and leaves behind a highly toxic rust-colored mud that is reinjected underground at a registered saltwater disposal site.

The water, Aris says, is free of pollutants or radionuclides, and fit for industrial and agricultural uses. Starting next year, Aris will begin growing non-food crops like cotton as part of a $10 million grant it won this year from the U.S. Department of Energy.

"We look at the concept of desalinating produced water and creating a new water resource for the Permian region in a similar way to how the water industry was able to demonstrate that municipal wastewater could be safely treated and used for many purposes that society could become comfortable with," said Lisa Henthorne, chief scientist at Aris.

The main problem for Aris and others is cost. A barrel of Aris’ treated water costs over $2 a barrel, many times higher than what industrial or agricultural water users typically pay. Aris says its goal is to bring costs down to $1 - still representing a big bill for users.

Massachusetts-based Zwitter, which recently finalized a separate water treatment pilot project in New Mexico, said treated water may never be cheap, but could become viable if it becomes cheaper than disposal.

"It is unlikely that agriculture or other water users will be able to pay more than cents per barrel. Therefore, the value of desalination will be driven by saving disposal costs and could be from $2 to $3/BW (per barrel of water) in the future," it said in the final report on its project.

Disposal currently costs cents per barrel, but that could rise as injection sites fill up and waste needs to be trucked or piped ever further.

Aris has strategic agreements with Permian oil majors including Chevron, ConocoPhillips and Exxon Mobil to develop and pilot technologies for treating produced water for potential reuse.

Exxon subsidiary XTO has also partnered with Infinity Water Solutions, another water treatment firm running a pilot project in the Permian.

"I can tell you, the H2O molecule has no value until you run out of it," Infinity CEO Michael Dyson added.

TERRIFIED OF GETTING IT WRONG

Avner Vengosh, a professor of environmental quality at Duke University, said unknown safety risks are also a key concern.

Under federal law, U.S. producers are not required to disclose all the chemicals they introduce to oil wells while drilling, raising worries that water treatments and testing are missing some dangerous components.

"There are a lot of technologies that can treat the water but the question is how can we evaluate all possible contaminants in produced water? I’m not saying it’s impossible, but I am saying it needs to be done correctly," he said. 

Infinity's Dyson agreed the industry needs to tread carefully.

"We know we're only going to get one real chance of getting this right, and if anything, I think most of us are terrified of getting it wrong," he said.

The state’s environment department is updating its 2019 Produced Water Act with the aim of firming up water reuse rules and expanding research and development for use outside the oil and gas sector.

During a week of hearings on the effort in early August, divisions were huge, with environmental groups and some scientists questioning how safe the end-product could be.

Daniel Tso, a former Navajo Nation Council member, told Reuters the Navajo had been stung before in New Mexico when decades of uranium mining on their land in the last century led to widespread radioactive pollution.

“Now the industry is trying to make this a public problem and the public has to really scrutinize the effects,” he said of produced water.

James Kenney, New Mexico’s environment secretary, told Reuters that the advances in technology over the last five years give him confidence that treated produced water can be safe, but acknowledged New Mexico’s poor record.

"We have to acknowledge our history of things like uranium mining, the promise of wealth and the failure to protect health. So communities are right to be skeptical," he said.

For Aldridge, though, the more he learns about wastewater treatment technology, the more willing he is to fight for the state to open up more uses for the water.

"Am I 100% convinced? No, but they're taking a step to convince me and I need to take those steps with them," he said.

His own rural town of Jal, he said, could become home to "industries of the future" like data centers or green hydrogen projects, businesses that need ample supplies of water.

Or it could dry up, like the drilling industry will when the Permian empties of oil and gas.

“I just can't abide by the idea that small rural communities like Jal can just vanish."

(Reporting by Valerie Volcovici; Editing by Richard Valdmanis and Marguerita Choy)

Copyright 2024 Thomson Reuters.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

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What Bird Flu in Wastewater Means for California and Beyond

Wastewater in several Californian cities, including San Francisco and Los Angeles, recently tested positive for bird flu. But understanding disease risk and exposure to humans isn’t so straightforward

Since the first avian influenza outbreaks hit the U.S. early this year, health and agriculture experts have struggled to track the virus’s spotty path as it spreads in dairy cow herds and an unknown number of humans. Infection risk still seems low for most people, but dairy workers and others directly exposed to cows have been getting sick. Canada’s first human case was just reported, in a teenager who is in critical condition. To get a better handle on the unsettling situation, scientists are picking up a pathogen-hunting tool that’s been powerful in the past: wastewater surveillance.In the past couple of weeks, wastewater samples in several locations mostly scattered around California—including the cities of Los Angeles, San Francisco, Sacramento and San Jose—tested positive for genetic material from the bird flu virus, H5N1. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s National Wastewater Surveillance System reported detections at 14 sites in California during a collection period that ended on November 2. As of November 13, across the U.S., 15 sites monitored by WastewaterSCAN, a project run by Stanford University and Emory University researchers, reported positive samples this month. But finding H5N1 material in wastewater doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a risk to human health, says WastewaterSCAN’s co-director Alexandria Boehm, a civil and environmental engineer at Stanford University.Analyzing trace amounts of viral genetic material, often shed by fecal matter in sewers, can alert scientists and public health experts to a possible increase in community infections. Wastewater sampling became instrumental in forecasting COVID cases across the U.S., for instance. But the way H5N1 affects both animal and human populations complicates identifying sources and understanding disease risk. H5N1 can be deadly in poultry. Cattle usually recover from symptoms—such as fever, dehydration and reduced milk production—but veterinarians and farmers are reporting that cows have been dying at higher rates in California than in other affected states. Cats that drink raw milk from infected cows can develop deadly neurological symptoms. The current cases in humans haven’t caused any known deaths (most people have flulike symptoms, although some develop eye infections), but past major outbreaks outside of the U.S. have resulted in fatalities.On supporting science journalismIf you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today.Scientific American spoke with Boehm about the latest bird flu detections in wastewater and the ways that scientists are using these data to better track and understand disease prevalence and exposure—among animals and humans both.[An edited transcript of the interview follows.]When did WastewaterSCAN start tracking H5N1?We noticed something very unusual in Amarillo, Tex. [In the spring of 2024,] after flu season, we saw really high levels of influenza A [one of the four flu virus types that infect humans] RNA nucleic acids in their wastewater. This was surprising because we know influenza A in wastewater tracks with cases in the community—but there were not very many cases in the community, and it was after flu season. We also then heard on the news that they had discovered cattle infected with avian influenza in the same area in Texas. So we worked in collaboration with the local wastewater treatment plants and public health officers to test the wastewater. And we found that, indeed, it was H5 [a subtype of avian influenza A virus] in their waste stream. We determined that most of that H5 was coming from legal discharges into the sanitary sewer from milk processing plants.Then when we scaled the H5 assay across the country, we were finding it in locations where, shortly thereafter, cattle were being identified as being infected [with the virus]. In June the CDC actually sent memos to the states asking them to try to measure H5 in wastewater, recognizing that the measurements can help to understand the extent and duration of the outbreak in the U.S.Has wastewater analysis been able to trace cases to any sources?We can’t always rule out that it’s wild birds or poultry or humans, but overall the preponderance of evidence suggests most of the inputs are likely from cow milk. That cow milk is getting into consumer homes, where people are disposing of it down the drain. I’m sure you have poured out milk down your sink—I know I have. It’s also coming from permitted operations where people are making cheese or yogurt or ice cream, and they might be starting with a milk product that has the avian influenza nucleic acids in it.I want to stress that the milk in people’s homes that might have the avian influenza RNA is not infectious or a threat to human health. It’s just a marker that some milk got into the food chain that originally had the virus in it. It’s killed because milk products are pasteurized—and that’s, by the way, why drinking raw milk or eating raw cheeses right now is not really recommended. The RNA that makes up the genome of these viruses is extremely stable in wastewater. It’s even stable after pasteurization. So you pasteurize the raw milk, and the RNA is still present at about the same concentrations.Detecting it in the wastewater does not mean there’s a risk to human health. What it does mean is that there are still infected cattle that are around the vicinity, and work still needs to be done to identify those cattle and remove their products from the food chain, which is the goal of the officials that are in charge of that aspect of the outbreak.How might we be able to better determine where the viral genetic material is coming from and assess human infection rates?It is very difficult because genetically the virus is not different [between sources]. It’s not like we can say, “Oh, the one in humans is going to be like this, and so let’s look for that.” We’re working really closely with public health departments that are really proactive in sequencing positive influenza cases. If we do start seeing it in [more] people, we will likely know it because we’ll see differences in the wastewater.I don’t want to be alarmist because right now the risk of getting H5N1 is very minimal, and the symptoms are really mild. But I think one of the concerns is that the virus could mutate during this influenza season coming up. Somebody who’s infected with [seasonal influenza] could also get infected with H5N1, and then it could maybe create a new strain that could be more severe. We’re hoping that the wastewater data, along with all the other data that people and agencies are collecting, will together help figure out what’s going on and protect public health better.What are trends are you seeing in your surveillance right now?Most recently, California is just lighting up. A lot of the wastewater samples in California are coming back as positive, even in locations that are very urban—such as the Bay Area and in Los Angeles. The question is: Why? In some of these locations, there actually are small operations where people are making dairy products with milk. But another explanation, like I mentioned earlier, is just the wasting of milk products.How do H5N1 levels in wastewater correlate to infections in animals?We’re sort of seeing it as an early indicator, or concurrent indicator, of cattle in the vicinity being infected with avian influenza. The first detections were in Texas, and we saw a lot of detections in Michigan for a while, and now the hot spot is California. As scientists, we’re going to analyze all this in the future. But anecdotally, the H5 detections in wastewater are following along with when herds are identified, and then once it’s sort of under control, we stop seeing it.Public health officials are using the data to say, “Okay, we got a positive in this location. What are the different sources that could account for it? Have we tested all the cattle that are contributing milk products to industries in this sewer shed? Have we gotten rid of all the infected herds in our state, because now we’re not getting any positives in the wastewater?”How else are scientists and officials staying on top of cases and spread?The [U.S. Department of Agriculture] and different entities around the country are pursuing it from an animal health perspective and a food safety perspective. So there is testing of cattle herds and milk products. There’s also testing of poultry, and then there’s testing of workers that are in contact with infected herds and infected poultry. On the clinical side, there is a push to get influenza-positive samples sequenced to understand what kind of influenza it is, as sort of a safety net to see if there might be some avian influenza circulating in people. So far, cases have been in people who are actually exposed to infected animals, who are working on farms, and perhaps in some of their family members.How has tracking H5N1 been different from or similar to COVID or other pathogens?All the other pathogens that we track have been conceptually similar to COVID, where humans are the source [of pathogenic material in wastewater]. We know that the occurrence of the viral or fungal material in wastewater match the cases. Bird flu is the first example where we’re using wastewater to track something that is primarily not, at least right now, from a human source but has potential human health implications for different reasons. It’s been a really great case study of how wastewater can be used not only for tracking human illness but also zoonotic pathogens—pathogens that affect animals. So now we’re thinking about what else wastewater could be used for. What other kinds of animal byproducts end up in the waste stream that might contain biomarkers of infectious disease? H5 is our first example, and I’m sure there will be more.

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Animals

Generative AI Could Generate Millions More Tons of E-Waste by 2030

Generative AI could saddle the planet with heaps more hazardous waste

November 14, 20243 min readGenerative AI Is Poised to Worsen the E-Waste CrisisGenerative AI could saddle the planet with heaps more hazardous waste By Saima S. IqbalA server room in a data center. Every time generative artificial intelligence drafts an e-mail or conjures up an image, the planet pays for it. Making two images can consume as much energy as charging a smartphone; a single exchange with ChatGPT can heat up a server so much that it requires a bottle’s worth of water to cool. At scale, these costs soar. By 2027, the global AI sector could annually consume as much electricity as the Netherlands, according to one recent estimate. And a new study in Nature Computational Science identifies another concern: AI’s outsize contribution to the world’s mounting heap of electronic waste. The study found that generative AI applications alone could add 1.2 million to five million metric tons of this hazardous trash to the planet by 2030, depending on how quickly the industry grows.Such a contribution would add to the tens of millions of tons of electronic products the globe discards annually. Cell phones, microwave ovens, computers and other ubiquitous digital products often contain mercury, lead or other toxins. When improperly discarded, they can contaminate air, water and soil. The United Nations found that in 2022 about 78 percent of the world’s e-waste wound up in landfills or at unofficial recycling sites, where laborers risk their health to scavenge rare metals.The worldwide AI boom rapidly churns through physical data storage devices, plus the graphics processing units and other high-performance components needed to process thousands of simultaneous calculations. This hardware lasts anywhere from two to five years—but it’s often replaced as soon as newer versions become available. Asaf Tzachor, a sustainability researcher at Israel’s Reichman University, who co-authored the new study, says its findings emphasize the need to monitor and reduce this technology’s environmental impacts.On supporting science journalismIf you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today.To calculate just how much generative AI contributes to this problem, Tzachor and his colleagues examined the type and volume of hardware used to run large language models, the length of time that these components last and the growth rate of the generative AI sector. The researchers caution that their prediction is a gross estimate that could change based on a few additional factors. More people might adopt generative AI than the authors’ models anticipate, for example. Hardware design innovations, meanwhile, could reduce e-waste in a given AI system—but other technological advances can make systems cheaper and more accessible to the public, increasing the number in use.This study’s biggest value comes from its attention to AI’s broad environmental impacts, says Shaolei Ren, a researcher at the University of California, Riverside, who studies responsible AI and was not involved in the new research. “We might want these [generative AI] companies to slow down a bit,” he says.Few countries mandate the proper disposal of e-waste, and those that do often fail to enforce their existing laws on it. Twenty-five U.S. states have e-waste management policies, but there is no federal law that requires electronics recycling. In February Democratic Senator Ed Markey of Massachusetts introduced a bill that would require federal agencies to study and develop standards for AI’s environmental impacts, including e-waste. But that bill, the Artificial Intelligence Environmental Impacts Act of 2024 (which has not passed the Senate), would not force AI developers to cooperate with its voluntary reporting system. Some companies, however, claim to be taking independent action. Microsoft and Google have pledged to reach net zero waste and net zero emissions respectively by 2030; this would likely involve reducing or recycling AI-related e-waste.Companies that use AI have numerous options to limit e-waste. It’s possible to squeeze more life out of servers, for instance, through regular maintenance and updates or by shifting worn-out devices to less-intensive applications. Refurbishing and reusing obsolete hardware components can also cut waste by 42 percent, Tzachor and his co-authors note in the new study. And more efficient chip and algorithm design could reduce generative AI’s demand for hardware and electricity. Combining all these strategies would reduce e-waste by 86 percent, the study authors estimate.There’s another wrinkle as well: AI products tend to be trickier to recycle than standard electronics because the former often contain a lot of sensitive customer data, says Kees Baldé, an e-waste researcher at the United Nations Institute for Training and Research, who wasn’t involved with the new study. But big tech companies can afford to both erase that data and properly dispose of their electronics, he points out. “Yes, it costs something,” he says of broader e-waste recycling, “but the gains for society are much larger.”

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Demolition of Homes Built on a New Orleans Toxic Waste Site Begins

Demolition of abandoned homes constructed on a toxic waste site has begun in New Orleans

NEW ORLEANS (AP) — Demolition of abandoned homes constructed on a toxic waste site began Wednesday in New Orleans, where Environmental Protection Agency Administrator Michael Regan joined local officials touting plans to replace the homes with a solar energy farm.Homes in the area known as Gordon Plaza were built in the 1970s and 1980s and marketed to Black people and low- and middle-income residents who weren’t told that the site was a one-time landfill. As awareness grew and environmentalists raised concerns, the area was named a federal Superfund cleanup site in 1994. Amid reports that the soil was contaminated with lead and carcinogens, including arsenic, residents began a decades-long effort to be relocated at government expense. The city set aside $35 million in 2022 to pay for buyouts of residents’ homes.Shortly before excavators began tearing into the first house, Regan commended Mayor LaToya Cantrell, U.S. Rep. Troy Carter, City Council members and activists who worked to bring about the buyouts.Regan said the moment was “bittersweet” during a pre-demolition news conference livestreamed by WWL-TV. “After all, this is the demolition of a neighborhood that, despite all of the issues that they face, it holds sentimental value to so many people,” Regan said. “This is where so many people bought their first home after years of work and countless sacrifices.”City Council members Oliver Thomas and Eugene Green said they had family members who had moved into the subdivision with high hopes, only to learn of the environmental dangers. “I’m pleased to be here today in recognition of the families that went through so much for so long," Green said.New Orleans officials say they hope to use power from a solar farm planned for the site to supplement energy sources for the city's street drainage pump system. Copyright 2024 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See - Sept. 2024

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A hazardous waste site becomes ‘San Francisco’s Next Great Park’

After almost 150 years, a piece of San Francisco’s last remaining natural shoreline in Bayview-Hunters Point is now accessible to the public. First, it had to be cleaned up. The post A hazardous waste site becomes ‘San Francisco’s Next Great Park’ appeared first on Bay Nature.

Since he moved to Bayview at five years old, Darryl Watkins wondered why a neglected lot, called 900 Innes, was closed off. He often played basketball at India Basin Shoreline Park next to the yard sloping into the Bay, and peeked through the fence to find dirt, trash, neglected buildings, and a dilapidated cottage that housed shipbuilders over a century ago. It was in such disrepair that Watkins never imagined it could be a park. The parks he liked had clean bathrooms, trees, and nature—things found outside of his community. Over $200 million and four years of remediation and construction later, the fences enclosing the yard finally opened on October 19. It’s the first time residents will be able to step foot on the completely transformed property, with two new piers, a floating dock, a food pavilion, and access to some of San Francisco’s last remaining natural shoreline. The 900 Innes opening marks the completion of the second phase of a three-part plan that combines the existing India Basin Shoreline Park and 900 Innes property into one 10-acre waterfront park, while closing a major gap on the 13-mile San Francisco Blue Greenway-Bay Trail.  The 900 Innes Waterfront Park unveiling on October 19; section of the San Francisco Blue Greenway-Bay Trail; Mayor London Breed cutting the ribbon on opening day (Photos by Jillian Magtoto) The San Francisco Recreation and Parks Department (RPD)  is calling it “San Francisco’s Next Great Park” that will bring the city’s southern waterfront up to par with iconic public spaces such as Crissy Field, Washington Square Park, and Golden Gate Park. Beyond the flashy claims, the RPD wants the park to benefit local residents long burdened by a history of industrial pollution. “It’s southeast communities where the city has put all of its crap. We put our water treatment plants, we put our power plants, we put everything that no one else wanted in the city,” says David Froehlich, the RPD project manager of remediation for all three India Basin Park projects. “Whether we built a park here or not, we always promise the community that we would leave this site cleaner than it was when we purchased it.” Some Bayview-Hunters Point locals aren’t convinced RPD has done enough, while others are hopeful the park was indeed adequately remediated. “It’s been a long time coming,” says Jill Fox, who has lived across the street from 900 Innes Ave for over 30 years. “Our fingers are crossed that it will be a good thing for our community.” The old shipyard at 900 Innes Ave along San Francisco’s India Basin has long worn the past of industrial boating. The blacksmith shop, boatyard office, and tool shed had partially or almost completely collapsed. Old overhead power lines sparked and caught on fire, according to residents. The ground was blanketed with concrete, brick, glass, and wood fragments that thickened up to forty feet down into the water. It was sold to private businesses in 1991 and passed between different owners for decades, serving various roles as a homeless encampment, illegal drug lab, and construction storage yard. It remained undeveloped and inaccessible to the public until community members advocated for the property to be acquired by the RPD in 2014. “I always thought 900 Innes would be much better as a respite, a place to be with nature,” says Fox, who participated in the effort towards the lot’s public acquisition. “RPD had the funds and owned properties on either side of it.” A rendition of the India Basin Waterfront Park Project, the combination of the renovated India Basin Shoreline Park and the neighboring 900 Innes property. The result will be a 10-acre waterfront park, planned to be completed in 2026 (left); map of India Basin (right) (Photos courtesy of India Basin Waterfront Park) But the site was far from being a natural respite. Soil samples in 2017 revealed elevated levels of PCBs, petroleum hydrocarbons, and heavy metals from painting, waterproofing, and other boating activities, especially concentrated near boat launch sites. Before it could ever become a place for people, a significant cleanup was in order. “There were a lot of regulatory agencies that were involved,” says Froehlich. “And permits that I wasn’t typically used to.” Local, state, and federal agencies oversaw the remediation, including the Army Corps of Engineers, the Environmental Protection Agency, California State Water Board, and the San Francisco Water Quality Control Board. They monitored the site as the RPD installed a temporary water barrier to push back the Bay water, like the rim of a massive inflatable pool, to remove layers of concrete and up to two feet of contaminated soil. In 2022, the last year of remediation, they discovered the contaminants spread deeper. They found lead, mercury, and PCBs up to seven feet below ground, according to the Remedial Action Plan. “We excavated down to a completely clean site and put clean cover on top of that, using soil from a virgin quarry in the East Bay,” says Froehlich. “So, in theory, it’s a completely clean site.” Water barrier installed during remediation (Photo by San Francisco Recreation and Parks Department)Still, some community advocates remain unsure. “We support a new and improved park in theory, but as long as it can be clean and safe,” says Bradley Angel, the director of Greenaction, a San Francisco-based health and environmental justice nonprofit. The city’s only Superfund site is just a third of a mile southeast from 900 Innes, a former naval laboratory that leaked petroleum, pesticides, and radioactive waste into the ground for 40 years. This contamination remained unknown until 2012, when the Navy discovered that the federally-contracted consulting firm Tetra Tech EC falsified their data. While the Navy allowed Tetra Tech to clear itself in an internal investigation, whistleblowers in 2017 alleged that the Navy mishandled cleanup efforts and covered up the extent of the pollution, in a lawsuit led by Greenaction against the EPA and Navy. Still, the RPD is confident that the former naval site has no effect on 900 Innes. No radioactive chemicals were found, according to RPD communications manager, Daniel Montes. But advocates like Angel haven’t forgotten.  “Greenaction and the community for many years regarding the Hunters Point shipyard Superfund site have called for independent community oversight of all testing and cleanup activities, and that’s fallen on deaf ears,” says Bradley. “Greenaction believes that there needs to be independent retesting of India Basin and the whole shoreline in Bayview, because we do not trust for good reason.” Angel is not just concerned by what might be in the ground at 900 Innes, but also what might be in the air. South of the new park, at 700 Innes, is a planned residential and commercial complex by BUILD LLC, a private developer that agreed to give about six acres of land to the RPD. Originally planned alongside the 900 Innes property, the RPD issued a Draft Environmental Impact Report (EIR) in 2017 that combined the projected effects of both sites. Still the latest available EIR, it concluded that the joint project “would generate emissions that could expose sensitive receptors to substantial pollutant concentrations significant and unavoidable with mitigation.” Bayview-Hunters Point sees about 97 more annual cases of asthma-related emergency room visits and three more heart attack-related visits per ten thousand people than greater San Francisco. The community is among four neighborhoods in the city with the highest rate of preventable hospitalizations related to air pollution, according to a San Francisco Public Utility Commission 2017 study.  While 700 Innes has been delayed, Angel says once construction begins, the area “won’t be a safe place for some people.” “I can’t comment on the 700 Innes impacts for air quality and what that development would do,” says Froehlich. But noted that with construction complete, now and going forward, 900 Innes park will have a very small impact on air quality. The neighboring 700 Innes site (Photo by Jillian Magtoto) As the RPD moves India Basin past its history of shipping pollution into one of public recreation, a new era of boating emerges. The park opening commenced the arrival of Rocking the Boat—a nonprofit that provides nature and boat education for youth from Hunts Point, New York, with origins similar not just in name. Based in an underserved community in the Bronx, home to aging treatment plants and heavy transportation emissions, the nonprofit was offered an opportunity from the RPD to continue their work at the shop building near the floating docks at 900 Innes, fixing boats and offering rides on the water every Sunday. In March 2025, they will recruit 16 eighth graders from the community to build a 14-foot whitehall from scratch, a type of rowboat that hauled people and small goods in both New York City and San Francisco into the 19th century. Their work will  just involve wood and a little bit of glue,” says Adam Green, who founded Rocking the Boat in 2001. “My hope is that the RPD uses shavings and sawdust we collect for mulch.” The park is newly landscaped with upland sage and native vegetation that run along concrete paths. Mulch and wood chips cover the areas in between. Rocking the Boat employees working at the shop building; Whitehall boats docked at the new floating piers (Photos by Jillian Magtoto) Watkins will work at the park he once thought would never be possible. He will be working at the same Shipwright’s Cottage he saw through the fence not long ago, now a museum, to welcome visitors when they first walk in.  “I think they brought me on to be a connector between the community and the project,” says Watkins. “Having people that really care about this park will help maintain it for years to come.” Darryl Watkins at 900 Innes Ave, just next to Shipwright’s Cottage (Photo by Jillian Magtoto)

Waste
Nature
Chemicals

The Latinos fighting this CA toxic waste dump

They've been living next to 15 million tons of toxic waste in California's ‘New Appalachia’ for decades. With little government support, the residents are fighting an uphill battle to stop a permit renewal.

This story is part of a series by Reckon and Next City examining how Black and Brown communities across the U.S. are working to hold corporations accountable for environmental injustices. Previously, we covered fights for accountability and reparative work led by the port communities around Alabama’s Africatown and Barrio Logan near San Diego.Two decades ago, a group of children on a class field trip from Kettleman City — a small Latino community nestled between rolling golden hills and vast green agricultural fields in California’s plentiful Central Valley — stood in awe inside the grounds of a local recycling plant.As the kids clawed through the dirt, a man told them curious tales about digging for fossils and quartz and responsibly collecting garbage to save the planet.“It was also exciting for us,” says Brian Cadena, now 23, who recalled answering quiz questions to win toys — tiny treasures for the children of immigrant farmers in one of the nation’s poorest regions. “Our parents didn’t have extra money for stuff like that, so I really liked getting something.”Cadena and his classmates came prepared, shouting out the names of recyclable materials: plastic, cardboard, paper, and tin. The man tossed out key chains, bracelets, stress balls, yo-yos, and pens, all bearing the logo of Waste Management, the nation’s largest landfill operator.Just 3.8 miles from Cadena’s home, Waste Management owns the 1,600-acre Kettleman Hills Facility, a hazardous waste site permitted to hold up to 15 million tons of toxic materials. The landfill is already filled with millions of tons of harmful substances, including mercury, lead, asbestos, and banned PCBs — chemicals known to cause birth defects, developmental delays, and liver damage. Waste Management and its Kettleman Hills Facility did not respond to requests for comment.“It was a whole lot of lies and propaganda,” says Cadena, now a community organizer for the San Francisco-based environmental justice group Greenaction for Health and Environmental Justice. “I had no idea what was in that dirt.”The discovery of Waste Management’s deception soon after it opened in 1979 began a five-decade battle that mirrors environmental resistance nationwide in communities with similar characteristics: non-white, non-English-speaking, high unemployment, high poverty, and often in small and unincorporated areas that leave them without government representatives to champion their cause.“I’ve worked on literally hundreds and hundreds of projects,” Greenaction co-founder Bradley Angel says of his nationwide environmental justice work. “Around 90% of them are incinerators and landfills proposed in poor, rural communities of color with permission from the state.”The latest controversies go back to June 13, 2013, when the landfill’s most recent hazardous waste permit expired. Owing to a quirk in California law, the facility has carried on as normal since.That day is coming soon. The prospect has opened old wounds between environmental advocacy groups, the landfill, state agencies, and the residents of Kettleman City, all of whom played a part in the long and drawn-out permit renewal process.“It’s how the landfill and their friends in the California Department of Toxic Substance Control keep hazardous waste coming in while they work out a way to overcome new state laws and our civil rights agreement,” says Angel, referring to a 2016 landmark civil rights agreement that aimed to reduce pollution, improve health and safety, invest in community resources, enhance regulatory compliance, and increase resident involvement in environmental decision-making.“The whole thing — all the hiding, deception, and lies — never ends.”Kettleman City is unincorporated, meaning it is governed by the county rather than a municipal government that can make decisions based solely on residents’ needs.“The county supervisors here see Kettleman as a forgotten landscape of just simple farmers and farm laborers who don’t deserve the same amenities that the county seat has,” says Miguel Alatorre, a senior community organizer at Greenaction and the third generation of environmentalists in his family to advocate against the landfill. “We have 200 registered voters. Why would anyone pay attention to places like us anywhere in the country?”DTSC published Waste Management’s draft permit renewal in April; a public comment period ended on July 19 before an administrative review. Final approval is expected in March 2025.Despite DTSC claiming that the draft permit offers dozens of new environmental protections, local environmental advocacy groups argue it ignores SB673, a 2015 California environmental justice law promising greater protections to vulnerable communities when considering permit applications from hazardous waste landfills.Under that law, DTSC must weigh cumulative sources of pollution and community vulnerabilities, including poverty, unemployment, linguistic isolation, access to health care, and other health factors such as asthma, cardiovascular illness, and poor birth outcomes.“It’s in black and white that the state must consider every form of pollution being endured by residents,” Angel says. “It simply hasn’t, and you have to ask why not.”The DTSC did not respond to questions about why it allegedly failed to follow state law.Kettleman City ranks in the 92nd percentile for environmental vulnerability, according to California’s Environmental Protection Agency mapping tool, highlighting its disproportionate pollution burden. U.S. Census data shows nearly 30% of its residents live in poverty, more than double the state average of 12%.At the same time, DTSC says that unemployment, which is difficult to gauge in small immigrant farming towns, is higher than 82% of the state. Federal records show that no one in Kettleman City holds a bachelor’s degree, and its population has dropped from 1,245 in 2021 to 660.These challenges mirror those found throughout the Central Valley, often referred to as “New Appalachia” for its deep poverty, reminiscent of the economically distressed mountain region in eastern America. The nearby Latino community of Buttonwillow faces similar struggles as Kettleman City, with a hazardous landfill that’s operated unpermitted for over 18 years.The agency said in April that a permit denial would not likely reduce or eliminate the community’s vulnerabilities, claiming that the landfill’s permitted activities do not endanger human health.The state’s mapping tool shows that threats to residents include high levels of pesticide pollution, poor drinking water, home-based lead, asthma, cardiovascular disease, poverty, unemployment, lack of formal education, and weak protections for groundwater.California’s reputation for environmental justice was created partly by the eco-friendly administration of Gov. Jerry Brown, who in 2015 passed SB673 and required the Department of Toxic Substances Control to fully implement the law by 2018. While DTSC has made some progress, such as reviewing past landfill violations and requiring hazardous waste facilities to self-assess risks, it has yet to establish rules to monitor cumulative pollution effects.Advocates argue this is not the only instance of non-compliance; in 2016, DTSC signed a civil rights agreement to settle a U.S. EPA lawsuit challenging the expansion of Kettleman City’s hazardous waste landfill by 50%.Greenaction and local community group El Pueblo Para el Aire y Agua Limpia filed an administrative civil rights complaint against DTSC. The U.S. EPA accepted the complaint, finding it met many of the agency’s nondiscrimination regulations. The EPA did not rule on the complaint before the parties signed a civil rights agreement in August 2016 after seven months of mediationThe agreement settled the complaint, requiring DTSC to comply with civil rights in its regulatory processes and implement the cumulative pollution element of SB673 no later than Jan. 1, 2018.“This is what they’re dragging their feet on, because they know that if we have those criteria in place, they’re not going to be able to permit the state’s hazardous waste landfills,” said Angel. “It would all fail.”DTSC is informally using CalEnviroScreen, an online mapping tool that combines demographic and pollution data, which can calculate a vulnerability score for any location using cumulative sources of pollution.A 2021 DTSC draft framework of how the law might work notes that a community with scores above the 60th percentile would be considered vulnerable. But DSTC has not yet established an internal policy of what would happen during the permitting process should a community exceed a certain level of vulnerability, according to the agency’s SB673 implementation plan.Kettleman City’s location at the junction of Highway 41 and Interstate 5 — the country’s busiest interstate — brings high pollution levels. Contaminated water is still a problem for the community despite some improvements in recent years. At the same time, hundreds of thousands of acres of agricultural fields have created extreme levels of pesticide pollution. There’s even a human waste compost facility and multiple shipping facilities, like FedEx and UPS.Advocates for Kettleman City have fought for decades to counter environmental threats, using lawsuits and protests to raise awareness and engage state and federal politicians. In 2007-08, 20 children in the area were born with congenital disabilities, including five with cleft lip or palate. Three children died. A state investigation found no clear cause, with a health official calling it a “statistical anomaly.” In 2012, the U.S. EPA dropped a civil rights case related to hazardous waste sites, including the Kettleman Hills Facility, after 17 years.Under Trump, the federal EPA approved Waste Management’s 50% landfill expansion in 2019, frustrating residents like Angel, who see a pattern of neglect across generations.“They are gaslighting us over and over throughout decades,” said Cadena, referring to the contrasting outcomes between Kettleman City residents and KHF. “It’s generational.”There have also been vital victories for residents. Since 2017, community advocates have secured improved air and water monitoring supported by state grants. In 2018, the town’s campaign against diesel emissions saw the state help with educational efforts and “No Diesel Idling.” The biggest victory coming out of the civil rights agreement was convincing the state to replace the town’s aging and unreliable water treatment system and water source.While these concessions are often a good way to compromise, achieving justice through civil rights laws and how they are applied across states and federal agencies can be complex.In preparation for publishing Waste Management’s draft permit, DTSC hired the prominent San Francisco-based environmental protection law firm Altshuler Berzon LLP (where CalEPA’s Deputy Secretary for Law Enforcement and General Counsel Linda Lye, was a partner from 2002 to 2010). The firm’s civil rights report analyzed whether the process and subsequent draft permit decision were consistent with EPA and California civil rights laws.“Altshuler found no direct evidence of discriminatory intent or animus against Latinos or limited English proficiency Spanish-speakers,” noted the October 2023 DTSC report summary. Altshuler also concluded that the impacts of renewing the Kettleman Hills Facility permit would unlikely be adverse enough to be unlawful,” per DTSC. The law firm did not respond to requests for comment.“Those lawyers don’t live here; they don’t see the pollution and the things people have to deal with,” said Angel. “They relied on interviews with DTSC employees and its scientific analyses, which it admitted to not independently verifying.”Angel also said Altshuler did not talk to Kettleman City residents, El Pueblo or Greenaction before completing its report. Altshuler did not respond to questions about its reporting process.The state’s mapping tool shows that threats to residents include high levels of pesticide pollution, poor drinking water, home-based lead, asthma, cardiovascular disease, poverty, unemployment, lack of formal education, and weak protections for groundwater.While Altshuler’s analysis focuses specifically on Kettleman City, a broader inspection of hazardous landfill data in California shows that around 55% of the state’s permitted hazardous waste facilities are in or near disadvantaged communities, according to a 2023 DTSC report. That bears out in independent studies.Decades of research, including the 2021 report Toxic Waste and Race in the Twenty-First Century, has drawn a direct connection between hazardous waste facilities and communities of color. Published in the Journal of Society and Environment, the study notes that over half of the residents living within labor1.86 miles of toxic waste sites in the U.S. are people of color. Supporting this, the Center for Effective Government found that these individuals are nearly twice as likely as white residents to live near industrial facilities’ fenceline zones, which bring increased air pollution, safety hazards, and health risks.Kettleman City’s landfill follows a pattern alarmingly similar to the controversial 1980s Cerrell Report, a government-funded study that advised siting hazardous waste facilities in vulnerable communities to prevent resistance. As Angel observes, this strategy persists today, targeting low-income communities of color and trying to build goodwill in the community.Some residents believe the company even employs locals to push a favorable image of the landfill on social media, suggesting that toxic waste is safe and the landfill is a good neighbor.“That’s the level of infiltration and propaganda they are capable of,” added Alatorre, who has spent most of his life trying to defy Waste Management and the government forces that enable it.While at high school, he and other kids dumped trash in front of U.S. EPA officials at an event. “This is what it’s like to be dumped on,” Alatorre told them then. “The next day during our weekly mile run, my gym teacher taunted me by repeatedly saying ‘si se puede’ as I struggled to keep up.”The phrase — meaning “yes, it can be done”— is the motto of the United Farmers Union. It has also been adopted by other labor unions and civil rights groups and used as a rallying cry at immigration protests.“This is about much more than complicated legal reports, numbers and lawsuits,” Alatorre says. “If we even have one, we can’t let this be our future.”

Waste
Government
Education

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Waste
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