‘Lead and Copper’ Shows How Water Poisoning Runs Downhill
A new documentary about the Flint water crisis draws out the complexities of the problem.
“There’s a definite sense of people being expendable in this country,” says University of Florida professor Riché Barnes in director William Hart’s new film, Lead and Copper. “And it usually runs across racial lines. When it gets outside of racial lines, it runs on economic lines.”
Barnes’s observation underscores the moral clarity that Hart brings to his investigation of the Flint water crisis, which exposed an entire community to high levels of lead through contaminated drinking water. That clarity helps cut through the morass of finger-pointing and misinformation that various politicians and bureaucrats use to abdicate responsibility. Lead and Copper reminds viewers that these decisions threaten people’s lives.
Although just forty miles from Lake Huron, Flint, a post-industrial city whose population has dwindled to a nearly 100-year low, has been getting its water via a pipeline through Detroit since 1967. To lower its water costs, the city contracted the construction of its own pipeline in 2013. The pipeline would not finish construction until 2018, so in 2014, the city started taking from the nearby, heavily polluted Flint River instead of continuing to draw from Detroit.
Very soon, mothers such as Janae Young started noticing the strange color of their water and the sores and rashes that appeared on the bodies of their children. The film follows Young through the process of caring for her children, even after their burns subside. She spreads lotion on their bodies, takes them to numerous check-ups, and boils water before using it—at least until yet another functionary informs her that boiling is ineffective against contamination.
Young and other residents report the problems to their local government, which is overseen by various state and federal agencies.
The course of action should be simple, right? Instead of using clean, if expensive, water from Detroit, the city started getting cheaper, poisoned water from the Flint River. Surely, then, one of the multiple oversight agencies in place would just order Flint to keep getting its water from Detroit until its own pipeline project is completed.
But as Lead and Copper reveals, no one in power pursued a simple solution. Instead, governors, city managers, and regulators alike evaded responsibility and let the citizens suffer.
Hart identifies a number of key culprits, including an unelected city manager appointed by Michigan’s plutocrat governor, an intentionally unrepresentative water sampling process by the state’s Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), and a lack of diligence from the federal EPA. The city only begins providing bottled water and testing kits to citizens after mother LeeAnne Walters marshals help from Federal EPA manager Miguel Del Toral and Virginia Tech professor Marc Edwards to draw attention to the problem. Together, Walters and Del Toral demanded that city officials stop using the polluted water and provide emergency provisions for Flint Residents.
Hart employs several on-screen graphics to help clarify the crisis, including a sleek line-art map of the United States and animation illustrating the passage of time. As the camera pans across the map, the narrative turns its attention away from Flint to similarly affected neighborhoods in Newark, New Jersey, and Washington, D.C., in which the full scope of the problem is revealed.
These visual elements don’t just provide clarification; they also underscore the complicated nature of the problem. One of the film’s most effective moments shows then governor of Michigan Rick Snyder at a Congressional hearing about the crisis in Flint, in which the late Representative Elijah Cummings, Democrat of Maryland, questions Snyder about the extent of his knowledge about the crisis in Flint. As the film features Snyder’s testimony, a simultaneous graphic element reveals that someone close to the governor raised concerns much earlier.
With every spin of the dial, and with every expansion on the map, viewers see in clear, unmistakable terms what various government officials and politicians have tried to obscure: that the water poisoning started after the city manager, the mayor, or someone in government made a cost-saving decision, and the adverse effects flowed down to the most vulnerable.
While Lead and Copper’s complex representation of the crisis often works to underscore the movie’s point that the least powerful suffer the most, the narrative sometimes gets unnecessarily muddy. The film’s talking heads include Newark Mayor Ras Baraka and former Flint Mayor Dayne Walling, two figures with far more influence than the mothers of afflicted children. The film allows both of these leaders to speak for themselves, rarely provides overt fact checks to their explanations, and therefore seems to endorse their claims that they, too, were duped by bureaucrats above them and helpless to change things.
Lead and Copper also gets muddled when Edwards begins diagnosing the problems. Like a good professor, he shows the viewers physical evidence of the water poisoning, such as the thick lead pipes used in the houses of most Flint residents. He explains in simple terms that lead from the pipes seeps into the water unless certain chemicals are used, and that Flint neglected to use these chemicals.
Edwards’s explanation makes sense, but he’s introducing a problem independent of the decision to get water from the Flint River. The use of lead pipes helps connect the problems of Flint to those of Newark, Washington, D.C., and several other locations listed in the movie’s final title cards. But without distinguishing between water poisoned because of pollution in the Flint River and water poisoned because of lead pipes that have been in place for decades, these revelations introduce issues beyond the city’s water source, unnecessarily complicating Lead and Copper’s central line of argument.
In fact, all of the connections between Flint, Newark, and Washington, D.C. feel more like appendices than they do expansions of the film’s central theme. With so many people actively trying to obfuscate the facts, these instances can sometimes create more confusion than clarity.
Despite these occasional problems, Lead and Copper is ultimately about the affected community members. The film reminds viewers that we are not helpless against structures that allow the powerful to carelessly poison Black and low-income families. The film might end in a terrifying set of statistics about counties across the country with high levels of lead in their water systems, but we first see footage of Janae Young educating an elementary class about recycling and LeeAnne Walters vowing to continue the fight. There’s much work to be done, but Lead and Copper can bring others along.
Given the many held unaccountable and the work yet to be done in Flint, it’s not accurate to say that Lead and Copper has a happy ending. But when we see people working to save lives and deliver justice, viewers cannot help but believe that they can turn the flow of even a poisoned river.
Lead and Copper is available to rent on streaming services everywhere starting Tuesday, November 19.
Joe George is a pop culture writer whose work has appeared in Polygon, Slate, Den of Geek, and elsewhere. You can follow him on Twitter at @jageorgeii and read more at joewriteswords.com.
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November 21, 2024
2:13 PM
