June 26, 2006
Chasing quicksilver | Maine has done much to control mercury pollution, but have those efforts reached the end of the line?
By Chris Churchill
In April, Maine once again passed a first-in-the-nation piece of anti-mercury legislation. The landmark bill requires manufacturers of mercury-containing thermostats to take financial responsibility for the collection and recycling of the products. The measure is the latest step in a long anti-mercury crusade undertaken by Maine lawmakers since the dramatic extent of the pollution problem caused by the toxin here became evident about 15 years ago.
Many of those anti-mercury pollution bills were passed despite anger from industry. A 2002 bill that forced the automobile industry to pay to remove mercury-containing components was so unpleasant to automakers that they sued ˆ unsuccessfully ˆ in federal court. Other laws that put pressure on manufacturers, such as a measure that forced electronic manufacturers to pay for the recycling costs of electronic items like televisions, have likewise created dispute.
With mercury ˆ a pollutant that is difficult to remove from the environment once it's established ˆ Maine lawmakers decided the best way to combat the toxin is to prevent it from entering the ground and water in the first place. And the state, pushed by the environmental community, in many cases decided industry should pay the bulk of the cost of its collecting and recycling costs. "Many of these products were sold when manufacturers knew these products were damaging to the environment," says Matt Prindiville of Augusta-based Natural Resources Council of Maine, the state's largest environmental group.
Yet the most recent legislative session saw lawmakers crafting anti-mercury laws by working with, rather than against, industry. The thermostat bill, for example, was shaped with manufacturers, contractors and distributors participating in the process. A representative from Morristown, N.J.-based Honeywell International, a thermostat maker, even attended the Good Friday bill signing. "It was important to be there, because we wanted to show as a manufacturer of the products that we support the legislation," says Dan O'Donnell, Honeywell's director of product management. "We also wanted to acknowledge that we were very involved in the process."
The bill is a shrewd compromise, putting money in manufacturers' pockets while saving it for contractors ˆ and getting potentially polluting thermostats out of homes. Under the plan, the details of which are expected to be finalized in a July meeting of state and industry officials, contractors or homeowners turning in a mercury-containing thermostat will get a $5 coupon for the purchase of a new thermostat. "Rather than just paying out cash, we're able to sell another thermometer," O'Donnell says.
The newfound cooperation between lawmakers and industry may have come at the tail end of Maine's efforts, however. So many bills have been passed, addressing nearly every in-state form of pollution, that some anti-mercury activists now concede there's little more the state can do ˆ even though studies continue to show that the pollution is disturbingly pervasive. "We've really kind of reached the end in terms of what we can do in state," Prindiville says.
Targeting problem products
To put it simply, mercury is bad stuff. It's a neurotoxin the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency says has been shown to damage the human central nervous system while it is developing, making mercury particularly dangerous for children and expectant mothers.
Mercury typically enters the environment when incinerated, exiting smokestacks and landing in rivers, streams and other waterways. It also can leach from landfills and other sites. Scientists have long believed that mercury is converted to a toxin as it interacts with bacteria in lakes and ponds. From there, it enters the food stream, especially in big fish such as tuna and swordfish ˆ the eating of which, not coincidentally, is a major source of mercury exposure for humans.
Maine, as is often said, is at the end of the nation's tail pipe. Pollutants released in Midwestern states find their way here with help of the easterly moving jet stream. It shouldn't be surprising, then, that Maine contains some of the nation's highest recorded levels of mercury. Still, when that discovery became clear in the early 1990s, it was a shock. "We were thinking of Maine as this pristine and natural place," Prindiville says, "then we find out our loons are full of mercury and that we can't eat the fish."
Scientists believe mercury would work its way out of the environment with time, but that won't happen if mercury is continually released into the environment. "There's a large stock of mercury out there," says Michael Bellivue, the Bangor-based executive director of the Environmental Health Strategy Center, "that if not collected will escape into the Maine environment. That's a challenge."
Controlling the existing stock of mercury has been the main focus of most of Maine's anti-mercury legislation, with the aim of keeping the products containing the pollutant out of the state's waste stream and away from its incinerators. To that end, the state has established novel ˆ and mandatory ˆ recycling programs, including the 2000 law mandating the recycling of fluorescent lights. The state also banned the selling of mercury thermostats.
Owners of auto scrap yards are required to pop mercury-containing switches out of junked cars, collect them and turn them in to the state or a private company working on its behalf. They get $4 per piece for their efforts, and a portion of that fee is paid by the auto industry. "There's nothing to it," says John Ingerson, owner of Freeport Auto Parts. "We just pull them off and turn them inˆ It's worth it."
That law was unpopular with the auto industry, just as a bill that would have immediately banned the use and sale of mercury-containing button cell batteries was unpopular with retailers and manufacturers. But this session, lawmakers settled for a ban on the batteries by 2011, allowing manufacturers time to phase out their use and develop new battery technologies.
The phase-out legislation is acceptable to Jim McGregor, president of the Maine Merchants Association, who had lobbied hard against an immediate ban. "If retailers can't sell a product that other states are allowed to sell, it puts them at an economic disadvantage," he says. "It never made sense to enact such a sweeping ban."
Despite the state's efforts, however, mercury is still being thrown away. The Department of Environmental Protection estimates, for example, that just 10% of mercury thermostats were turned in for recycling.
Mercury components in garbage partly explains why Regional Waste Systems, a trash-to-energy incinerator on Portland's western edge, is the state's largest emitter of mercury. The publicly owned plant is believed to release about 25 to 30 pounds of mercury each year, according to the state, out of a total of about 600 pounds released statewide.
But that's a far cry form the 300 pounds annually RWS released 10 years ago.
Mark Arienti, environmental manager at the incinerator, says the installation of mercury-removing emissions technology is responsible for the drop. Moreover, he says, RWS has encouraged its member communities to adopt mercury-recycling programs to keep the toxin out of the waste stream ˆ and away from RWS. "It'd be nice not to be identified that way, to not be listed as a top emitter," Arienti says. "But l feel we've done a lot to try to minimize the emissions."
Arienti admits more could be done, primarily by changing the incinerator's operating technology. But such a change would be expensive, he says, and a potential burden to taxpayers in the plant's member communities. And the mercury emissions at the plant, he and others note, pale in comparison to what coal-burning plants in the Midwest are allowed to burn.
One more industry fight
And for Maine, therein lies the rub. The state's efforts can control only so much, because the vast majority of mercury pollution here ˆ 85% to 90%, by the estimate of the Natural Resources Council ˆ is drifting in from out of state. While Maine is tightening mercury controls, the federal government is loosening mercury regulations on coal-burning power plants. The new rules in 2005 prompted the state ˆ and 15 others ˆ to sue the EPA in a lawsuit calling for more aggressive restrictions. That suit is still pending.
Ask environmentalists about the remaining sources of in-state mercury pollution, and the subject of cremation comes up again and again. But no area of mercury regulation created such a strong reaction.
Last year, state Sen. Scott Cowger, D-Hallowell, proposed a law requiring the crematoriums remove mercury fillings from the teeth of the dead before the cremation of cadavers. He says ˆ and the DEP agrees ˆ that the incineration of mercury dental fillings results in 40 pounds of mercury entering the environment annually. But his bill was quickly rebuffed by lawmakers responding to outraged crematorium and funeral home owners, who said they wanted no role in teeth extraction. "It was a serious issue," Cowger says, "although from the beginning people got squeamish and didn't want to talk about it."
But Stephen Burrill, superintendent of the Mt. Hope Cemetery, argues that crematoriums don't emit enough mercury to warrant regulation, and predicts emission levels will decrease anyhow, because the use of mercury fillings is declining. "If we are emitting," he says, "it will be less and less every year."
Still, despite existing legislation or adoption of new state measures, all agree that Maine's problem with mercury won't end until the national problem ends. Maine will continue to struggle with the toxin until the federal government forces power plants to the west to lower emissions of the pollutant. "It's very sad for me to see that we have all these pristine lakes, yet those lakes have the highest mercury levels in the country," Cowger says. "To have to worry about eating a fish is a travesty. The ultimate goal should be the removal of those fish advisories ˆ that's when we can declare victory."
Many of those anti-mercury pollution bills were passed despite anger from industry. A 2002 bill that forced the automobile industry to pay to remove mercury-containing components was so unpleasant to automakers that they sued ˆ unsuccessfully ˆ in federal court. Other laws that put pressure on manufacturers, such as a measure that forced electronic manufacturers to pay for the recycling costs of electronic items like televisions, have likewise created dispute.
With mercury ˆ a pollutant that is difficult to remove from the environment once it's established ˆ Maine lawmakers decided the best way to combat the toxin is to prevent it from entering the ground and water in the first place. And the state, pushed by the environmental community, in many cases decided industry should pay the bulk of the cost of its collecting and recycling costs. "Many of these products were sold when manufacturers knew these products were damaging to the environment," says Matt Prindiville of Augusta-based Natural Resources Council of Maine, the state's largest environmental group.
Yet the most recent legislative session saw lawmakers crafting anti-mercury laws by working with, rather than against, industry. The thermostat bill, for example, was shaped with manufacturers, contractors and distributors participating in the process. A representative from Morristown, N.J.-based Honeywell International, a thermostat maker, even attended the Good Friday bill signing. "It was important to be there, because we wanted to show as a manufacturer of the products that we support the legislation," says Dan O'Donnell, Honeywell's director of product management. "We also wanted to acknowledge that we were very involved in the process."
The bill is a shrewd compromise, putting money in manufacturers' pockets while saving it for contractors ˆ and getting potentially polluting thermostats out of homes. Under the plan, the details of which are expected to be finalized in a July meeting of state and industry officials, contractors or homeowners turning in a mercury-containing thermostat will get a $5 coupon for the purchase of a new thermostat. "Rather than just paying out cash, we're able to sell another thermometer," O'Donnell says.
The newfound cooperation between lawmakers and industry may have come at the tail end of Maine's efforts, however. So many bills have been passed, addressing nearly every in-state form of pollution, that some anti-mercury activists now concede there's little more the state can do ˆ even though studies continue to show that the pollution is disturbingly pervasive. "We've really kind of reached the end in terms of what we can do in state," Prindiville says.
Targeting problem products
To put it simply, mercury is bad stuff. It's a neurotoxin the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency says has been shown to damage the human central nervous system while it is developing, making mercury particularly dangerous for children and expectant mothers.
Mercury typically enters the environment when incinerated, exiting smokestacks and landing in rivers, streams and other waterways. It also can leach from landfills and other sites. Scientists have long believed that mercury is converted to a toxin as it interacts with bacteria in lakes and ponds. From there, it enters the food stream, especially in big fish such as tuna and swordfish ˆ the eating of which, not coincidentally, is a major source of mercury exposure for humans.
Maine, as is often said, is at the end of the nation's tail pipe. Pollutants released in Midwestern states find their way here with help of the easterly moving jet stream. It shouldn't be surprising, then, that Maine contains some of the nation's highest recorded levels of mercury. Still, when that discovery became clear in the early 1990s, it was a shock. "We were thinking of Maine as this pristine and natural place," Prindiville says, "then we find out our loons are full of mercury and that we can't eat the fish."
Scientists believe mercury would work its way out of the environment with time, but that won't happen if mercury is continually released into the environment. "There's a large stock of mercury out there," says Michael Bellivue, the Bangor-based executive director of the Environmental Health Strategy Center, "that if not collected will escape into the Maine environment. That's a challenge."
Controlling the existing stock of mercury has been the main focus of most of Maine's anti-mercury legislation, with the aim of keeping the products containing the pollutant out of the state's waste stream and away from its incinerators. To that end, the state has established novel ˆ and mandatory ˆ recycling programs, including the 2000 law mandating the recycling of fluorescent lights. The state also banned the selling of mercury thermostats.
Owners of auto scrap yards are required to pop mercury-containing switches out of junked cars, collect them and turn them in to the state or a private company working on its behalf. They get $4 per piece for their efforts, and a portion of that fee is paid by the auto industry. "There's nothing to it," says John Ingerson, owner of Freeport Auto Parts. "We just pull them off and turn them inˆ It's worth it."
That law was unpopular with the auto industry, just as a bill that would have immediately banned the use and sale of mercury-containing button cell batteries was unpopular with retailers and manufacturers. But this session, lawmakers settled for a ban on the batteries by 2011, allowing manufacturers time to phase out their use and develop new battery technologies.
The phase-out legislation is acceptable to Jim McGregor, president of the Maine Merchants Association, who had lobbied hard against an immediate ban. "If retailers can't sell a product that other states are allowed to sell, it puts them at an economic disadvantage," he says. "It never made sense to enact such a sweeping ban."
Despite the state's efforts, however, mercury is still being thrown away. The Department of Environmental Protection estimates, for example, that just 10% of mercury thermostats were turned in for recycling.
Mercury components in garbage partly explains why Regional Waste Systems, a trash-to-energy incinerator on Portland's western edge, is the state's largest emitter of mercury. The publicly owned plant is believed to release about 25 to 30 pounds of mercury each year, according to the state, out of a total of about 600 pounds released statewide.
But that's a far cry form the 300 pounds annually RWS released 10 years ago.
Mark Arienti, environmental manager at the incinerator, says the installation of mercury-removing emissions technology is responsible for the drop. Moreover, he says, RWS has encouraged its member communities to adopt mercury-recycling programs to keep the toxin out of the waste stream ˆ and away from RWS. "It'd be nice not to be identified that way, to not be listed as a top emitter," Arienti says. "But l feel we've done a lot to try to minimize the emissions."
Arienti admits more could be done, primarily by changing the incinerator's operating technology. But such a change would be expensive, he says, and a potential burden to taxpayers in the plant's member communities. And the mercury emissions at the plant, he and others note, pale in comparison to what coal-burning plants in the Midwest are allowed to burn.
One more industry fight
And for Maine, therein lies the rub. The state's efforts can control only so much, because the vast majority of mercury pollution here ˆ 85% to 90%, by the estimate of the Natural Resources Council ˆ is drifting in from out of state. While Maine is tightening mercury controls, the federal government is loosening mercury regulations on coal-burning power plants. The new rules in 2005 prompted the state ˆ and 15 others ˆ to sue the EPA in a lawsuit calling for more aggressive restrictions. That suit is still pending.
Ask environmentalists about the remaining sources of in-state mercury pollution, and the subject of cremation comes up again and again. But no area of mercury regulation created such a strong reaction.
Last year, state Sen. Scott Cowger, D-Hallowell, proposed a law requiring the crematoriums remove mercury fillings from the teeth of the dead before the cremation of cadavers. He says ˆ and the DEP agrees ˆ that the incineration of mercury dental fillings results in 40 pounds of mercury entering the environment annually. But his bill was quickly rebuffed by lawmakers responding to outraged crematorium and funeral home owners, who said they wanted no role in teeth extraction. "It was a serious issue," Cowger says, "although from the beginning people got squeamish and didn't want to talk about it."
But Stephen Burrill, superintendent of the Mt. Hope Cemetery, argues that crematoriums don't emit enough mercury to warrant regulation, and predicts emission levels will decrease anyhow, because the use of mercury fillings is declining. "If we are emitting," he says, "it will be less and less every year."
Still, despite existing legislation or adoption of new state measures, all agree that Maine's problem with mercury won't end until the national problem ends. Maine will continue to struggle with the toxin until the federal government forces power plants to the west to lower emissions of the pollutant. "It's very sad for me to see that we have all these pristine lakes, yet those lakes have the highest mercury levels in the country," Cowger says. "To have to worry about eating a fish is a travesty. The ultimate goal should be the removal of those fish advisories ˆ that's when we can declare victory."
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