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Ranchers reported abandoned oil wells spewing wastewater. A new study blames fracking.

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Wednesday, August 7, 2024

Sign up for The Brief, The Texas Tribune’s daily newsletter that keeps readers up to speed on the most essential Texas news. Fracking wastewater, injected underground for permanent disposal, traveled 12 miles through geological faults before bursting to the surface through a previously plugged West Texas oil well in 2022, according to a new study from Southern Methodist University. It’s the first study to draw specific links between wastewater injection and recent blowouts in the Permian Basin, the nation’s top producing oil field, where old oil wells have lately begun to spray salty water. It raises concerns about the possibility of widespread groundwater contamination in West Texas and increases the urgency for oil producers to find alternative outlets for the millions of gallons of toxic wastewater that come from Permian Basin oil wells every day. “We established a significant link between wastewater injection and oil well blowouts in the Permian Basin,” wrote the authors of the study, funded in part by NASA and published last month in the journal Geophysical Research Letters. The finding suggests "a potential for more blowouts in the near future,” it said. For years, the Texas agency that regulates the oil and gas extraction industry has refrained from putting forth an explanation for the blowout phenomenon, even as a chorus of local landowners alleged that wastewater injections were driving the flows of gassy brine onto the surface of their properties since about 2022. Injection disposal is currently the primary outlet for the tremendous amount of oilfield wastewater, also known as produced water, that flows from fracked oil wells in West Texas. Thousands of injection wells dot the Permian Basin, each reviewed and permitted by Texas’ oilfield regulator, the Texas Railroad Commission. Oil producers are exploring alternatives — a small portion of produced water is reused in fracking, and Texas is in the process of permitting facilities that will treat produced water and release it into rivers and streams. Still, underground injection remains the cheapest and most popular method by far. A scientific connection has solidified between the practice of injection disposal and the increasing strength and frequency of earthquakes nearby. In the Permian Basin, a steady crescendo of tremors peaked last November with magnitude 5.4 earthquake, the state’s strongest in 30 years, triggering heightened restrictions on injections in the area. The link between injections and surface blowouts, however, has remained unconfirmed, despite widespread suspicions. The latest study marks a big step forward in scientific documentation. “It just validates what we’ve been saying,” Sarah Stogner, an oil and gas attorney who ran an unsuccessful campaign for a seat on the Railroad Commission in 2022, said about the latest study. For the last three years, Stogner has represented the Antina Cattle Ranch, where dozens of abandoned oil wells have been spraying back to life. Stogner persistently alleged that nearby wastewater injection was responsible. But she couldn’t prove it. Now a scientific consensus is beginning to fall in behind her. “Our work independently comes to this same conclusion in different areas [of the Permian Basin],” said Katie Smye, a geologist with the Center for Injection and Seismicity Research at the University of Texas at Austin, citing several upcoming papers she and her colleagues will release at major geoscience conferences in the coming year. “There is a link between injection and surface flows in some cases.” In a study published December 2023, Smye and others reported “linear surface deformation features” in parts of the Permian Basin — the ground was swelling along channels that suggested pressure moving through underground faults. Some of those were ancient geological faults, Smye said; others appeared to be created by recent human activity. Many of them were growing, heaving and bulging, the research showed. When that channel of underground pressure hits an old oil well that is broken or improperly plugged, it can shoot to the surface. “This is reaching a critical point in the Permian Basin,” Smye said. “The scale of injection needs is increasing.” About 15 million barrels, or 630 million gallons, of produced water are injected for disposal in the Permian Basin every day, Smye said. A Railroad Commission spokesperson, Patty Ramon, said in a statement the agency is “talking to operators in the Crane County area regarding geology and other data they maintain, reviewing satellite imagery, and analyzing RRC records such as well plugging information. “We will be continuing this type of analysis in our commitment to ensuring environmental protection,” Ramon said. Blowout in 2022 sparks study The SMU study examined a January 2022 blowout in Crane County that gushed almost 15 million gallons of brine before it was capped, according to the paper. That would fill about 23 Olympic-sized swimming pools. The study traced the cause of the blowout to a cluster of nine injection wells about 12 miles to the northeast. Researchers pulled publicly available data on injection volumes at those wells and found they lined up closely to surface swelling that preceded the blowout. Seven of the wells belong to Goodnight Midstream and two belong to Blackbeard Operating, according to Railroad Commission records. A spokesperson for Blackbeard said the company “is committed to ensuring prudent operations” and “will continue to operate its assets in accordance with all applicable laws and in coordination with all applicable regulatory agencies.” Goodnight did not respond to a query. According to the paper, injection at those nine wells began in 2018 at a rate of about 362,000 gallons per day and doubled to 720,000 gallons per day in late 2019. In late 2020 it doubled again to 1.5 million gallons — two Olympic-sized swimming pools crammed underground everyday — which is when the ground near the blowout site began to inflate. The study found that the volume injected matched the volume of the surface bulge 12 miles away. “These observations suggest that this group of injection wells to the NW of the study area, injecting into the San Andres and Glorieta formations, is responsible for the surface deformation in the region,” the study said. Those wells reached a depth between 4,300 and 3,300 feet. But the SMU study found that the source of the bulge in the earth was much shallower, between 2,300 and 1,600 feet underground. “This suggests the leakage of wastewater from the San Andres or Glorieta formations to the shallow formations,” the study said. The bottom of the Rustler Aquifer, the lowest usable source of groundwater in the Permian, sits between 800 and 1,000 feet underground. The SMU study did not examine the possibility of groundwater contamination. “Our findings highlight the need for stricter regulations on wastewater injection practices and proper management of abandoned wells,” the study said. Todd Staples, president of the Texas Oil and Gas Association, said the Railroad Commission “is taking appropriate action by thoroughly gathering and reviewing data to address the issues experienced in Crane County.” He said the industry cooperates with the Railroad Commission by providing data to help analyze geological formations. “In addition, the industry and academia continue to explore alternatives to wastewater injection through market-based water reuse and recycling as well as innovative pilot programs,” Staples said. Ranchers report damaged land West Texas ranchers who own land where contaminated water is seeping from underground are beginning to worry it will soon become uninhabitable. Last February, saltwater flooded parts of Bill Wight’s ranch, about 50 miles southwest of Odessa. The lifelong rancher purchased the land in 2012, hoping to pass it on to his kids. He told The Texas Tribune he wasn’t sure how much of the ranch would survive the leaking wells. When it was clear the flow of water threatened the property last December, he asked the Railroad Commission to seal the well the water had leaked from. It took the commission months and millions of dollars to plug the well. His brother, Schuyler Wight, faces a similar predicament at his ranch roughly 60 miles to the west in Pecos County. He has asked the Railroad Commission for years to investigate the multiple abandoned leaking wells on his property. The liquid has eroded the equipment on the surface and killed the plants. After the water dried up, the ground was crusted white from salt. “It’s what we’ve known all along,” Schuyler Wight said. “What we’re doing is not sustainable.” Ashley Watt, owner of a ranch 50 miles east of Schuyler Wight’s ranch in Crane County, told the Texas Railroad Commission during a 2022 meeting that she believed excessive injection by nearby oil producers was causing the fluids to spray from abandoned oil wells on her property. A Railroad Commission staff member said the agency asked operators to check for a source of the leak. The operators told the commission they did not find any. The Railroad Commission during the meeting also said they did not find a well in the agency’s database, and that the nearest injection wells were less than two miles away. The agency instructed staff to prevent truckers from accessing those injection sites, telling operators to find others “until further notice.” The wells continue to leak. Laura Briggs, who also owns a ranch in Pecos County less than half a mile east of Schuyler Wight’s place, said she has seen five old wells start leaking water since 2015. The Railroad Commission plugged two of them, she said, but one began to leak through the seal again. Briggs has repeatedly given testimony and submitted documentation to the Railroad Commission asking for help. Based on her experience, she believes the subterranean problems in West Texas are much more than what the Railroad Commission can handle. “If I could do one thing differently, we would have gotten a mobile home so it was easier to get the hell out of here,” Briggs said. “If this [ranch] goes leaking, we just have to leave and nobody will buy the property, no insurance will cover it, you’re just done.” Despite those problems, the Railroad Commission approved 400 new disposal wells in the Permian Basin alone in 2021, according to agency documents, and 480 in 2022. Threats to groundwater The use of injection wells for disposal has expanded immensely with the practice of fracking, according to Dominic DiGiulio, a geoscientist who worked for 30 years at the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. But DiGiulio said these wells are still regulated under rules from the 1970s and ’80s. Increasingly, he said, those rules appear insufficient. “West Texas isn’t the only place where this is happening,” DiGiulio said. “Overpressurization of aquifers due to disposal of produced water is a problem.” In 2022, DiGiulio conducted a review of Ohio’s wastewater injection program for the group Physicians, Scientists, and Engineers for Healthy Energy and found the same two problems there: Injected fluids were leaking from some formations meant to contain them, and excessive injections were causing other formations to become overpressurized. There was one big difference with Texas. In November 2021, DiGiulio’s study said, Ohio had just 228 injection wells for wastewater disposal. Texas, meanwhile, had 13,585 in 2022, according to Railroad Commission documents. The primary threat posed by produced water migrating from injection wells is groundwater contamination. If deep formations fail to contain the toxic waste injected into them, that waste could end up in shallow freshwater aquifers. It could happen two ways, DiGiulio said. If the wastewater enters the inside of an old oil well through corroded holes in the casing, it can travel up the steel pipe to the surface, spilling and seeping into the ground. If the wastewater moves up the outside of an old oil well, through the cement that surrounds the steel pipe, it could already be flowing into the aquifer. That would be bad news for West Texas, which depends almost entirely on groundwater for drinking and crop irrigation. “Once groundwater contamination happens, it’s too expensive to remediate,” DiGiulio said. “So when it occurs, that’s basically it. You’ve ruined that resource.” Disclosure: Southern Methodist University and the University of Texas at Austin have been financial supporters of The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan news organization that is funded in part by donations from members, foundations and corporate sponsors. Financial supporters play no role in the Tribune's journalism. Find a complete list of them here. The full program is now LIVE for the 2024 Texas Tribune Festival, happening Sept. 5–7 in downtown Austin. Explore the program featuring more than 100 unforgettable conversations on topics covering education, the economy, Texas and national politics, criminal justice, the border, the 2024 elections and so much more. See the full program.

An SMU study is the first scientific proof of a phenomenon local landowners have long warned was occurring.

Sign up for The Brief, The Texas Tribune’s daily newsletter that keeps readers up to speed on the most essential Texas news.


Fracking wastewater, injected underground for permanent disposal, traveled 12 miles through geological faults before bursting to the surface through a previously plugged West Texas oil well in 2022, according to a new study from Southern Methodist University.

It’s the first study to draw specific links between wastewater injection and recent blowouts in the Permian Basin, the nation’s top producing oil field, where old oil wells have lately begun to spray salty water.

It raises concerns about the possibility of widespread groundwater contamination in West Texas and increases the urgency for oil producers to find alternative outlets for the millions of gallons of toxic wastewater that come from Permian Basin oil wells every day.

“We established a significant link between wastewater injection and oil well blowouts in the Permian Basin,” wrote the authors of the study, funded in part by NASA and published last month in the journal Geophysical Research Letters. The finding suggests "a potential for more blowouts in the near future,” it said.

For years, the Texas agency that regulates the oil and gas extraction industry has refrained from putting forth an explanation for the blowout phenomenon, even as a chorus of local landowners alleged that wastewater injections were driving the flows of gassy brine onto the surface of their properties since about 2022.

Injection disposal is currently the primary outlet for the tremendous amount of oilfield wastewater, also known as produced water, that flows from fracked oil wells in West Texas. Thousands of injection wells dot the Permian Basin, each reviewed and permitted by Texas’ oilfield regulator, the Texas Railroad Commission.

Oil producers are exploring alternatives — a small portion of produced water is reused in fracking, and Texas is in the process of permitting facilities that will treat produced water and release it into rivers and streams. Still, underground injection remains the cheapest and most popular method by far.

A scientific connection has solidified between the practice of injection disposal and the increasing strength and frequency of earthquakes nearby. In the Permian Basin, a steady crescendo of tremors peaked last November with magnitude 5.4 earthquake, the state’s strongest in 30 years, triggering heightened restrictions on injections in the area.

The link between injections and surface blowouts, however, has remained unconfirmed, despite widespread suspicions. The latest study marks a big step forward in scientific documentation.

“It just validates what we’ve been saying,” Sarah Stogner, an oil and gas attorney who ran an unsuccessful campaign for a seat on the Railroad Commission in 2022, said about the latest study.

For the last three years, Stogner has represented the Antina Cattle Ranch, where dozens of abandoned oil wells have been spraying back to life. Stogner persistently alleged that nearby wastewater injection was responsible. But she couldn’t prove it.

Now a scientific consensus is beginning to fall in behind her.

“Our work independently comes to this same conclusion in different areas [of the Permian Basin],” said Katie Smye, a geologist with the Center for Injection and Seismicity Research at the University of Texas at Austin, citing several upcoming papers she and her colleagues will release at major geoscience conferences in the coming year. “There is a link between injection and surface flows in some cases.”

In a study published December 2023, Smye and others reported “linear surface deformation features” in parts of the Permian Basin — the ground was swelling along channels that suggested pressure moving through underground faults. Some of those were ancient geological faults, Smye said; others appeared to be created by recent human activity. Many of them were growing, heaving and bulging, the research showed.

When that channel of underground pressure hits an old oil well that is broken or improperly plugged, it can shoot to the surface.

“This is reaching a critical point in the Permian Basin,” Smye said. “The scale of injection needs is increasing.”

About 15 million barrels, or 630 million gallons, of produced water are injected for disposal in the Permian Basin every day, Smye said.

A Railroad Commission spokesperson, Patty Ramon, said in a statement the agency is “talking to operators in the Crane County area regarding geology and other data they maintain, reviewing satellite imagery, and analyzing RRC records such as well plugging information.

“We will be continuing this type of analysis in our commitment to ensuring environmental protection,” Ramon said.

Blowout in 2022 sparks study

The SMU study examined a January 2022 blowout in Crane County that gushed almost 15 million gallons of brine before it was capped, according to the paper. That would fill about 23 Olympic-sized swimming pools.

The study traced the cause of the blowout to a cluster of nine injection wells about 12 miles to the northeast. Researchers pulled publicly available data on injection volumes at those wells and found they lined up closely to surface swelling that preceded the blowout. Seven of the wells belong to Goodnight Midstream and two belong to Blackbeard Operating, according to Railroad Commission records.

A spokesperson for Blackbeard said the company “is committed to ensuring prudent operations” and “will continue to operate its assets in accordance with all applicable laws and in coordination with all applicable regulatory agencies.”

Goodnight did not respond to a query.

According to the paper, injection at those nine wells began in 2018 at a rate of about 362,000 gallons per day and doubled to 720,000 gallons per day in late 2019. In late 2020 it doubled again to 1.5 million gallons — two Olympic-sized swimming pools crammed underground everyday — which is when the ground near the blowout site began to inflate.

The study found that the volume injected matched the volume of the surface bulge 12 miles away.

“These observations suggest that this group of injection wells to the NW of the study area, injecting into the San Andres and Glorieta formations, is responsible for the surface deformation in the region,” the study said.

Those wells reached a depth between 4,300 and 3,300 feet. But the SMU study found that the source of the bulge in the earth was much shallower, between 2,300 and 1,600 feet underground.

“This suggests the leakage of wastewater from the San Andres or Glorieta formations to the shallow formations,” the study said.

The bottom of the Rustler Aquifer, the lowest usable source of groundwater in the Permian, sits between 800 and 1,000 feet underground. The SMU study did not examine the possibility of groundwater contamination.

“Our findings highlight the need for stricter regulations on wastewater injection practices and proper management of abandoned wells,” the study said.

Todd Staples, president of the Texas Oil and Gas Association, said the Railroad Commission “is taking appropriate action by thoroughly gathering and reviewing data to address the issues experienced in Crane County.”

He said the industry cooperates with the Railroad Commission by providing data to help analyze geological formations. “In addition, the industry and academia continue to explore alternatives to wastewater injection through market-based water reuse and recycling as well as innovative pilot programs,” Staples said.

Ranchers report damaged land

West Texas ranchers who own land where contaminated water is seeping from underground are beginning to worry it will soon become uninhabitable.

Last February, saltwater flooded parts of Bill Wight’s ranch, about 50 miles southwest of Odessa. The lifelong rancher purchased the land in 2012, hoping to pass it on to his kids. He told The Texas Tribune he wasn’t sure how much of the ranch would survive the leaking wells.

When it was clear the flow of water threatened the property last December, he asked the Railroad Commission to seal the well the water had leaked from. It took the commission months and millions of dollars to plug the well.

His brother, Schuyler Wight, faces a similar predicament at his ranch roughly 60 miles to the west in Pecos County. He has asked the Railroad Commission for years to investigate the multiple abandoned leaking wells on his property. The liquid has eroded the equipment on the surface and killed the plants. After the water dried up, the ground was crusted white from salt.

“It’s what we’ve known all along,” Schuyler Wight said. “What we’re doing is not sustainable.”

Ashley Watt, owner of a ranch 50 miles east of Schuyler Wight’s ranch in Crane County, told the Texas Railroad Commission during a 2022 meeting that she believed excessive injection by nearby oil producers was causing the fluids to spray from abandoned oil wells on her property.

A Railroad Commission staff member said the agency asked operators to check for a source of the leak. The operators told the commission they did not find any. The Railroad Commission during the meeting also said they did not find a well in the agency’s database, and that the nearest injection wells were less than two miles away.

The agency instructed staff to prevent truckers from accessing those injection sites, telling operators to find others “until further notice.”

The wells continue to leak.

Laura Briggs, who also owns a ranch in Pecos County less than half a mile east of Schuyler Wight’s place, said she has seen five old wells start leaking water since 2015. The Railroad Commission plugged two of them, she said, but one began to leak through the seal again.

Briggs has repeatedly given testimony and submitted documentation to the Railroad Commission asking for help. Based on her experience, she believes the subterranean problems in West Texas are much more than what the Railroad Commission can handle.

“If I could do one thing differently, we would have gotten a mobile home so it was easier to get the hell out of here,” Briggs said. “If this [ranch] goes leaking, we just have to leave and nobody will buy the property, no insurance will cover it, you’re just done.”

Despite those problems, the Railroad Commission approved 400 new disposal wells in the Permian Basin alone in 2021, according to agency documents, and 480 in 2022.

Threats to groundwater

The use of injection wells for disposal has expanded immensely with the practice of fracking, according to Dominic DiGiulio, a geoscientist who worked for 30 years at the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. But DiGiulio said these wells are still regulated under rules from the 1970s and ’80s. Increasingly, he said, those rules appear insufficient.

“West Texas isn’t the only place where this is happening,” DiGiulio said. “Overpressurization of aquifers due to disposal of produced water is a problem.”

In 2022, DiGiulio conducted a review of Ohio’s wastewater injection program for the group Physicians, Scientists, and Engineers for Healthy Energy and found the same two problems there: Injected fluids were leaking from some formations meant to contain them, and excessive injections were causing other formations to become overpressurized.

There was one big difference with Texas. In November 2021, DiGiulio’s study said, Ohio had just 228 injection wells for wastewater disposal. Texas, meanwhile, had 13,585 in 2022, according to Railroad Commission documents.

The primary threat posed by produced water migrating from injection wells is groundwater contamination. If deep formations fail to contain the toxic waste injected into them, that waste could end up in shallow freshwater aquifers.

It could happen two ways, DiGiulio said. If the wastewater enters the inside of an old oil well through corroded holes in the casing, it can travel up the steel pipe to the surface, spilling and seeping into the ground. If the wastewater moves up the outside of an old oil well, through the cement that surrounds the steel pipe, it could already be flowing into the aquifer.

That would be bad news for West Texas, which depends almost entirely on groundwater for drinking and crop irrigation.

“Once groundwater contamination happens, it’s too expensive to remediate,” DiGiulio said. “So when it occurs, that’s basically it. You’ve ruined that resource.”

Disclosure: Southern Methodist University and the University of Texas at Austin have been financial supporters of The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan news organization that is funded in part by donations from members, foundations and corporate sponsors. Financial supporters play no role in the Tribune's journalism. Find a complete list of them here.


The full program is now LIVE for the 2024 Texas Tribune Festival, happening Sept. 5–7 in downtown Austin. Explore the program featuring more than 100 unforgettable conversations on topics covering education, the economy, Texas and national politics, criminal justice, the border, the 2024 elections and so much more. See the full program.

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EPA to require municipal waste incinerators monitor for toxic emissions

New rule hailed as major step toward reining in source of local toxic air pollution that hits low-income neighborhoodsThe EPA plans to require the nation’s municipal waste incinerators to monitor for dangerous air emissions, a move environmental groups have hailed as a major step toward reining in a staggering source of localized toxic air pollution that most frequently hits low-income neighborhoods.Municipal incinerators’ stacks often spew hazardous pollutants like dioxins, particulate matter, PFAS, carbon monoxide, acid gases, or nitrogen oxides. The substances are linked to cancer, developmental disorders and other serious diseases, but still are burned with limited or patchwork oversight. Continue reading...

The EPA plans to require the nation’s municipal waste incinerators to monitor for dangerous air emissions, a move environmental groups have hailed as a major step toward reining in a staggering source of localized toxic air pollution that most frequently hits low-income neighborhoods.Municipal incinerators’ stacks often spew hazardous pollutants like dioxins, particulate matter, PFAS, carbon monoxide, acid gases, or nitrogen oxides. The substances are linked to cancer, developmental disorders and other serious diseases, but still are burned with limited or patchwork oversight.The new rule would require about 60 such facilities across the country to consider about 800 chemicals that are part of the federal toxic releases inventory. The data could be used to inform local residents about what’s being emitted, litigate, alert first responders, increase monitoring, or inform state and federal regulators on how to set new pollution limits.The EPA is “doing the right thing”, said Mike Ewall, executive director of the Energy Justice Network public health advocacy group. It co-led a citizens’ rulemaking petition signed by 300 environmental groups requesting the EPA take the step.“This industry is worse than landfilling, dirtier than coal burning, and disproportionately impacts people of color,” Ewall added.Municipal incinerators burn residential and commercial garbage as an alternative to landfilling. They are often prolific polluters and, public health groups say, under-regulated. The waste streams are filled with consumer goods and materials that contain PFAS that are not destroyed in the incineration process, or PVC that forms dioxins when burned.The controversial facilities have been at the center of numerous public health battles. In Detroit, a citizen lawsuit under the US Clean Air Act shut down the then-largest municipal incinerator, which for decades spewed high levels of carbon monoxide in a low income neighborhood near the city’s downtown.Despite the toxic emissions, incinerators often position themselves as “green” businesses to receive subsidies for producing energy. The new reporting requirements “will help disprove the claims”, said Tim Whitehouse, executive director of the public health advocacy group Peer, and a former EPA enforcement attorney.“A lot of people behind the scenes are applauding this because they know incinerators are greenwashing themselves as a clean energy source,” he added.The EPA did reject a portion of the petition that asked the EPA to monitor medical waste incineration and sewage sludge incineration at wastewater treatment facilities. Incineration of sewage sludge, a byproduct of the wastewater treatment process, is especially a problem because it is virtually always laden with PFAS. The agency said it does not have the staffing to monitor those, but left the door open to do it later.The EPA made the decision after receiving the rule-making petition led by Peer and the Environmental Justice Network. The agency rarely acts on such citizen petitions, but Whitehouse said the decision follows a previous EPA proposal to require monitoring.The proposal was never implemented, but the Biden EPA has reinvigorated the TRI, Whitehouse said. Environmental groups are “expecting fierce industry pushback” he added, and the measure’s proposal is uncertain with Trump taking over the EPA. But the EPA would be open to litigation if it does not implement the rules, Whitehouse said.“I’m not holding high hopes the Trump administration will rush to do this but we will hold its feet to the fire,” he added.

Wastewater treatment plants funnel PFAS into drinking water

Wastewater treatment plants in the US may discharge enough “forever chemicals” to raise concentrations in drinking water above the safe limit for millions of people

A wastewater treatment plant in CaliforniaJustin Sullivan/Getty Images Wastewater treatment facilities are a major source of PFAS contamination in drinking water in the US – they discharge enough of the “forever chemicals” to raise concentrations above safe levels for an estimated 15 million people or more. They can also release long-lasting prescription drugs into the water supply. Even though these plants clean wastewater, they do not destroy all the contaminants added upstream – and the chemicals that remain behind are released back into the same waterways that supply drinking water. “It’s a funnel into the environment,” says Bridger Ruyle at New York University. “You capture a bunch of things from a bunch of different places, and it’s all released in one place.” Perfluoroalkyl and polyfluoroalkyl substances (PFAS) are of particular concern because they contain carbon-fluorine bonds, which make them extremely persistent in the environment. Regular exposure to several types of PFAS has been associated with increased risk for many health problems, from liver damage to various forms of cancer. The US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) recently set strict limits in drinking water for six of the best-studied PFAS. Wastewater treatment facilities are a known source of PFAS contamination in the sewage sludge they produce as a by-product, which is sometimes used for fertiliser. To find out whether similar contamination remains in the treated water, Ruyle and his colleagues measured the concentration of PFAS and other molecules that contain carbon-fluorine bonds in wastewater at eight large treatment facilities around the US. Their findings suggest wastewater treatment plants across the US discharge tens of thousands of kilograms of fluorine-containing compounds into the environment each year, including a substantial amount of PFAS. Once treated wastewater is discharged from a facility, it mixes with natural waters in rivers and lakes. “That’s going to create a downstream drinking water problem,” says Ruyle. Applying these figures within a model of the US drinking water system, the researchers estimated wastewater could raise concentrations of PFAS above EPA limits in the drinking water of around 15 million people. During droughts, when there is less natural water to dilute the wastewater, the model suggests concentrations would rise above the limit for as many as 23 million people. And Ruyle says these may be conservative estimates – their model assumes the natural waters do not already contain PFAS. “It demonstrates that wastewater treatment plants are really important sources for these compounds,” says Carsten Prasse at Johns Hopkins University in Maryland, who was not involved with the study. There are ways to remove or destroy PFAS in water, and more drinking water facilities are installing such systems, but currently, “our wastewater treatment plants are not set up to deal with this”, he says. Forever chemicals alone would be a problem, but the researchers also found PFAS made up only a small fraction of the total volume of fluorinated chemicals discharged from the facilities. Most were not PFAS at all, but other compounds used in common pharmaceuticals, such as statins and SSRIs. These pharmaceuticals are also of concern for ecosystems and people. “Another person could be drinking a cocktail of fluorinated prescription medication,” says Ruyle. However, he says the consequences of long-term exposure to low doses of such compounds aren’t well understood. “We need to start conversations about whether or not we should be using a lot of fluorine in pharmaceuticals,” says Ruyle. Fluorination is widely used in drugs to enhance their effect in the body, but “preventing widespread chemical contamination should also be important”, he says.

New York City now mandates composting. Next comes the hard part.

Municipal composting has made its official debut in the country’s largest city. In October, New York City rolled out a curbside organic waste collection program for all five boroughs, expanding the service that already existed in Brooklyn and Queens. Residents and property managers have until spring to order and…

Municipal composting has made its official debut in the country’s largest city. In October, New York City rolled out a curbside organic waste collection program for all five boroughs, expanding the service that already existed in Brooklyn and Queens. Residents and property managers have until spring to order and begin using dedicated composting bins, or building owners will be fined $25 to $300 for each offense. The Big Apple joins a growing number of cities, counties, and states that are implementing organic waste collection policies as part of the fight against climate change. Garbage is a potent but overlooked source of climate pollution. When organic waste — everything from food scraps to grass clippings — decays in landfills, it emits methane, a greenhouse gas that can warm the planet as much as 80 times more than carbon dioxide within a 20-year period. Landfills are the third-largest source of methane emissions both in the U.S. and globally. But like other municipalities around the country, New York is now confronting the reality that translating composting policy into actual emissions reductions from landfills is a long and difficult process. The city first has to get composting bins to all its residents, an especially difficult task in crowded neighborhoods with large apartment buildings. And, although the city recently expanded a major composting facility on Staten Island, it doesn’t have enough infrastructure to process the new organic waste. Already, most of the waste from curbside compost bins is being sent to a wastewater treatment plant in Brooklyn where it’s turned into biogas, which critics have argued is neither cost-effective nor the best solution for the climate. Once green collection bins are in place, the city’s sanitation staff will still have to get 8 million people speaking hundreds of different languages on board with actually using them. “It’s a huge lift to change the behavior of millions of people,” said Justin Green, executive director of Big Reuse, a community-based environmental organization that has been composting in New York City since 2011. “There is still a lot of education that we need to do to get everyone aware and on board,” said Hillary Bosch, the outreach coordinator for the NYC Department of Sanitation, in a webinar recorded last year. ​“We are trying to get [information] in front of as many eyes as possible, but we know that it is a really, really tough task. We can’t be everywhere at once.” California’s struggles and successes New York has only to look to California for a primer on just how much effort it takes to get effective municipal compost programs up and running. In 2016, California passed a comprehensive compost law calling for a 75 percent reduction in 2014 levels of organic waste at landfills by 2025. Now, as that deadline arrives, the latest available data suggests that California is falling far short of that goal. A study released in June by CalRecycle, the state agency overseeing implementation of SB 1383, found that from 2014 to 2021, the annual amount of organic waste sent to landfills fell by only two million tons, from 21 million to 19 million. An updated study with data through 2024 will be released later in 2025. In San Francisco, where curbside organic waste has been collected since 1996, residents throw away about half as much trash per capita as the rest of the state. But about a third of what’s being thrown in the garbage is still food waste, according to data provided by city officials. SB 1383 required nearly all city and county governments to add organic waste collections to their existing trash and recycling services by 2022, with narrow exemptions for jurisdictions with low populations and those at high elevation where the food waste attracts bears. But outside California’s large cities and suburbs, many communities are still struggling to comply with this initial step. “We have rural areas that don’t even have trash service,” said Jared Carter, deputy public works director for Madera County, which stretches from north of the city of Fresno into the Sierra Nevada, encompassing a section of Yosemite National Park.

Removal of waste from site of 1984 Bhopal disaster dismissed as ‘farce’

Indian government accused of PR stunt after moving 337 tonnes of toxic waste that had been held in containersForty years after one of world’s deadliest industrial disasters struck the Indian city of Bhopal, a cleanup operation has finally begun to remove hundreds of tonnes of toxic waste from the site.However, local campaigners have accused the Indian government of greenwashing, arguing that the 337 tonnes of waste removed this week represents less than 1% of the more than 1m tonnes of hazardous materials left after the disaster and that the cleanup has done nothing to tackle chemical contamination of the area. Continue reading...

Forty years after one of world’s deadliest industrial disasters struck the Indian city of Bhopal, a cleanup operation has finally begun to remove hundreds of tonnes of toxic waste from the site.However, local campaigners have accused the Indian government of greenwashing, arguing that the 337 tonnes of waste removed this week represents less than 1% of the more than 1m tonnes of hazardous materials left after the disaster and that the cleanup has done nothing to tackle chemical contamination of the area.There have also been protests over fears that the incineration of the waste will only lead to further contamination and toxic exposure in other areas.At about midnight on 2 December 1984, the Union Carbide chemical plant in Bhopal exploded, releasing 40 tonnes of toxic methyl isocyanate and other lethal gases into the air.More than 3,000 people were killed in the immediate aftermath and at least 25,000 are estimated to have died overall.Local groups have claimed the true number is probably even higher due to the long-term effects of the poisonous gas, which include high rates of cancers, kidney and lung diseases. High numbers of babies have been stillborn or born with severe disabilities to gas-affected mothers in recent years.Despite the scale of the industrial disaster, a proper operation to remove all the toxic waste from Bhopal has never been carried out, either by the US company Union Carbide, now owned by Dow Chemicals, which was the majority owner of the factory at the time, or by the Indian government, which took back control of the land where the factory stood.Rights groups have accused the US corporations and the Indian government of attempting to play down the lasting impact of Bhopal’s untouched chemical debris.Official surveys submitted to the courts have shown that the contamination, which includes highly poisonous heavy metals and UN-banned organic pollutants, has spread to at least 42 areas in Bhopal. Testing near the site revealed levels of cancer-causing chemicals in the groundwater were 50 times higher than what is accepted as safe by the US Environmental Protection Agency.Lethal levels of toxic waste have also been found in factory pits and festering open ponds where the waste was being dumped by the Union Carbide factory prior to the explosion.For years, campaigners have been fighting for Union Carbide and Dow Chemicals to be held liable for the cost of the cleanup and safe removal of the waste, a process which is expected to cost upwards of hundreds of millions of dollars, but the US corporation has always denied liability, citing a 1989 settlement with the Indian government.In what was initially taken as progress, last month the Madhya Pradesh high court ordered authorities to finally take responsibility for the chemical waste, criticising the inertia of the past four decades and asking whether the government was “waiting for another tragedy”.However, the government has now removed 337 tonnes of overground waste that had already been put into containers and moved to a warehouse in 2005, which campaigners claim no longer posed any significant threat and was not contributing to the groundwater contamination.Rachna Dhingra, a coordinator of the International Campaign for Justice in Bhopal, called the move a “farce and greenwashing publicity stunt to remove a tiny fraction of the least harmful waste” and questioned why Union Carbide and Dow Chemicals were not being held accountable.She said: “There’s still 1.1m tonnes of poisonous waste leaching into the ground every day that they refuse to deal with. We can see for ourselves the birth defects and chronic health conditions. All this does is take the heat off the government and lets the US corporations off the hook. It does nothing to help the people in Bhopal who for decades have been seen as expendable.”Dhingra was also highly critical of the government’s decision to take the removed waste to be incinerated at a plant 150 miles away in Pithampur that has previously failed tests on conducting such operations safely and exposed local people to high levels of toxins.The incineration, which is likely to take about six months, will create 900 tonnes of toxic residue, which will then be buried in landfills. The move has provoked large protests by people in Pithampur who are fearful of further toxic exposure and leakages into their groundwater from the waste.Swatantra Kumar Singh, the director of the state government’s Bhopal gas tragedy relief and rehabilitation department, denied there was any contamination risk to the local ecosystem and said the waste would be disposed of in an environmentally safe manner.Many local people and human right groups consider the Bhopal disaster to be a continuing miscarriage of justice. The 1989 settlement led to most victims being given 25,000 rupees (about $500 at the time), while most of those who developed related conditions or died years later got nothing at all.None of the nine Indian officials who were convicted in 2010 over their roles in the disaster served any time in prison, and Dow Chemicals has maintained in the courts that it is not criminally liable for the actions of Union Carbide’s Indian subsidiary before it bought the parent company.Campaigners have accused the US government of blocking attempts to extradite Union Carbide and Dow Chemicals officials to face justice in India over failures that led to the explosion.

Troubled Chiquita Canyon Landfill will cease accepting trash in 2025

Texas-based Waste Connections Inc. has notified Los Angeles County that New Year's Eve would be Chiquita Canyon's final day for accepting solid waste.

Unable to extinguish a smoldering chemical reaction that sent noxious odors into area neighborhoods and triggered legal action by Los Angeles County, the owners of Chiquita Canyon Landfill announced Tuesday that they would shutter the 52-year-old municipal waste site on New Year’s Day.In a letter to California environmental regulators and public officials, a representative from Texas-based Waste Connections Inc. said that Dec. 31 was the final day it would accept solid waste at the 639-acre facility in the Santa Clarita Valley.“Chiquita had wished to maintain its crucial role in the community’s solid waste management system, but has made the difficult decision to close its active waste disposal operations,” wrote Steve Cassulo, the landfill’s manager. “Although Chiquita has available (capacity), due to the regulatory environment, maintaining ongoing operations at Chiquita is no longer economically viable.”For nearly two years, Chiquita Canyon had been struggling to handle the fallout from a rare chemical reaction that caused broiling temperatures to break out deep underground in a closed portion of the landfill. The extreme heat roasted decades-old garbage and damaged the landfill’s gas control systems, causing foul-smelling gases to drift into the nearby Val Verde and Castaic.The smoldering conditions also caused pressure to build, resulting in geysers of hazardous liquid waste bursting onto the surface and white smoke seeping out of long fissures. In recent months, Chiquita Canyon has faced increasing pressure from regulators, who placed restrictions on where waste could be placed within the landfill. Chiquita Canyon, Los Angeles County’s second-largest active landfill, typically accepted roughly 2 million tons of solid waste annually. That accounted for about one-third of all garbage disposed of in L.A. County. In a region that has long struggled with waste reduction efforts and waning disposal capacity, public officials are now examining how the closure will affect the flow of waste in Southern California. L.A. County Supervisor Kathryn Barger said public officials had anticipated Chiquita Canyon’s closure. The landfill had been accepting significantly less waste recently. L.A. County officials oversaw a diversion of this waste to Simi Valley and Antelope Valley landfills, Barger said. So far, there has not been an increase in tonnage sent to Sylmar’s Sunshine Canyon, which accepts the most waste annually. Barger said she would introduce a motion at the next Board of Supervisors meeting on Jan. 7, directing Public Works to conduct an assessment of Chiquita Canyon’s closure, including the environmental and financial implications associated with plans to send waste elsewhere. “I’m committed to ensuring that this transition doesn’t lead to any form of price gouging or unfair practices in waste management services,” Barger said. “Protections must be in place to prevent increased financial burdens on our residents and businesses. I want to emphasize that my top priority, though, continues to be bringing relief to the community that continues being afflicted by the landfill’s noxious odors.”L.A. County Public Works had previously expressed concerns about closing Chiquita Canyon. A decision to close Chiquita Canyon was not expected to resolve the chemical reaction, which was occurring in the long-dormant section of the landfill and could persist for years. The agency noted also that the closure could result in more pollution and higher fees due to transporting garbage farther.“As the agency responsible for regional waste planning in Los Angeles County, we will ensure there are no disruptions to trash collection services in our unincorporated communities and will work closely with the City of Santa Clarita to help prevent any disruptions to their services as well,” said Mark Pestrella, director of L.A. County Public Works. “The health and safety of our residents remains our top priority.”

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