In the weeks following , Maine ‘s , worst permanently chemical spill, crew scrambled to clear up tens of thousands of gallons of dangerous firefighting foam from the former , Brunswick Naval Air Station , before it could contaminate nearby personal having well or the public water supply.
Nobody cared what personnel did with the spend, so long as they took it far, far away from , Maine.
” No many questions were asked”, admits , Steve Levesque, who took over as acting head of the agency in charge of redeveloping the center after the spill. ” It was like, only get it out of around, you know? We wanted it gone as fast as possible, so it couldn’t hurt people”.
About half of it wound up at an oven three yards from the , Ontario , house of 2nd-generation farmer , Lori Vokes. She can taste the furnace stack and the sprawling waste from her white brick farmhouse, though she is not very knowledgeable about forever chemicals.
She didn’t know , Maine , was sending its poisonous substances there to be incinerated, but she wasn’t surprised. She knows most of the spare that , Clean Harbors Canada , fires and puts at the center comes from far apart. She experiences resigned breathe in the air that enters its chimney.
” I used to battle, but I’ve given up”, Vokes said. ” I am tied to this area. There is nowhere for me to hide.
She has a text for , Maine:” Tidy up your own mess. Don’t take it around”.
Like several states,  , Maine , is struggling to decide how to rid of its stock of harmful aquatic film-forming foamy, or AFFF, stored in its fire stations, airports, defense bases, oil terminals and paper mills. The foam’s ingredients are largely liquid chemicals forever.
The most common waste methods — burning, refuse and deep underground storeroom — all have disadvantages. Until researchers find safer options, states like , Maine , must grapple with the ethics of sending hazardous waste like AFFF ahead to get burned, buried or banked, often in poor communities of color.
Newly released public records show the cleanup company,  , Boston-based , Clean Harbors, trucked 12, 500 gallons of foam and tainted rinse water to its incinerator outside , Sarnia, Ontario, and 10, 000 gallons to its , El Dorado , incinerator, a poor, majority-minority company town in , Arkansas.
Because of the strong carbon-fluoride bonds that don’t degrade on their own, PFAS, which is also used to coat nonstick pans, semiconductors, and prevent fuel fires, are highly resistant to heat, water, and grease.
However, some trace amounts of PFAS compounds pose a risk to public health, according to medical researchers and federal regulators. High exposure for a long period of time can lead to cancer. Early childhood and other crucial life stages can lead to life-changing complications, including suppressed vaccine responses.
Because of the risks,  , Maine , and many federal agencies, including the , Federal Aviation Administration , and , Department of Defense, are switching to fluorine-free foams, although that market is new and the cost of buying new equipment and training firefighters to use the new foam can be high.
The disposal issue is also present.  , Maine , doesn’t know exactly how much AFFF is out there, but the , Maine Department of Environmental Protection , estimates it would cost about$ 2.3 million to incinerate the 48, 000 gallons it believes is stored in tanks, barrels and totes across the state.
In 2021,  , Maine , banned the manufacture and sale of AFFF for anyone not federally required to have it on hand, including airports like , Brunswick Executive Airport , and defense contractors like , Bath Iron Works. However, even those parties were required to change once they were no longer required to do so.
That law also requires manufacturers of AFFF sold before it went into effect to reimburse , Maine , buyers for their purchase to help defray the costs of buying new PFAS-free foam and disposal of AFFF, but years-old receipts are hard to find, and many AFFF manufacturers are defunct.
Levesque doesn’t know what the , Midcoast Regional Redevelopment Authority , paid , Clean Harbors , to incinerate the 22, 500 gallons of foam and rinsate removed from , Brunswick. The , Boston-based firm has billed him$ 551, 000 to date, but that covers all of its services, from site cleanup to equipment rental to emergency workers ‘ hotel costs.
Although agency records indicate that$ 91, 891 was billed over two October dates for “disposal service,” Levesque is unsure whether that figure includes the incineration fee, the landfilling of any leftover ash, or a completely separate disposal fee for used emergency crew protective gear.
He didn’t even know where the incineration occurred, or when. He recently took over the reins of MRRA, where he worked for 16 years before retiring in 2021, but he believed the waste went to Texas, as the former director claimed in the days that followed the spill.
Even the , U. S. Environmental Protection Agency , thought it went to , Texas. But then again, MRRA and , Clean Harbors , didn’t have to tell the , EPA , what it did with it because the transport and incineration of PFAS aren’t regulated.
Additionally, there is no requirement to even limit or test PFAS emissions at incinerators.
IS INCINERATION A SOLUTION, OR ANOTHER PROBLEM?
Clean Harbors , claims it can destroy 99.99 % of PFAS through incineration. It cites a third-party study that it commissioned to demonstrate its methods ‘ safety and effectiveness.
Some PFAS, according to environmentalists, can withstand the incineration process, escape the smokestack, and then fall back onto the soil, water, and residents who live close to the incinerators. They cite studies that found PFAS in soil and water near incinerators that burn AFFF in both , New York , and , Ohio.
As a result, the town where the , U. S. Department of Defense , was incinerating its , East Coast , stockpile of AFFF tried to ban the practice. The , DOD , paused the practice and , Congress , tucked a PFAS incineration moratorium into its spending bill. The military requested that it be removed, but it is still a newly reauthorized funding law.
Incineration isn’t the only option. With a dash of oxygen ( supercritical water oxidation ), it could be buried in a landfill, injected into deep wells, or broken down in a type of pressure cooker. In theory, it could be broken down in an electrochemical cell or by high-energy milling.
In its latest guidance, the , EPA , reviewed the pros and cons of each option but did not cite a preferred disposal method, saying none were perfect and all needed more study. In the past, it called incineration a last resort, worried that it didn’t destroy all PFAS and created harmful byproducts.
Thermal destruction methods have improved since then, but , EPA , still has questions about incineration, and whether tests that companies like , Clean Harbors , cite as proof its methods are effective and safe are done right and prove all PFAS are completely and permanently destroyed.
Until then,  , EPA , appears to suggest those with storage options wait and see how the research shakes out.
Maine DEP Commissioner , Melanie Loyzim , said she is unconvinced that incineration, even at super high temperatures, can destroy all PFAS permanently and worries about the creation of potentially harmful byproducts. She also says things are changing quickly.
Loyzim doesn’t want to “pass the buck” by sending , Maine ‘s , unwanted waste to some other place. After all,  , Maine , doesn’t like it when the tables are turned. In 2022, lawmakers banned out-of-state waste from its landfills. ( Although that prohibition is halted to prevent the collapse of a state landfill that has been flooded by PFAS-laden sewage sludge. )
Studies have repeatedly shown hazardous waste incinerators are built in poor communities of color that face other environmental hardships — places like , Sarnia, Ontario, home to dozens of petrochemical plants and a First Nation reserve, or , El Dorado, Arkansas, a majority Black, struggling former oil town.
If PFAS emissions are created through incineration, they will fall back onto the soil, streams, and frightened residents who live nearby who are already dealing with environmental issues, ending up in the groundwater, drinking wells, farm fields, and food that have already been compromised.
A 2022 , University of Kentucky , study by environmental health professor , Erin Hayes , found elevated PFAS levels in every soil sample collected from a neighborhood abutting an eastern , Ohio , incinerator that has burned about 2, 600 tons of forever chemicals dating back to 2018.
In 2020, a , Bennington College , environmental studies class discovered elevated PFAS levels in soil and water at an upstate , New York , incinerator burning PFAS-laden firefighting foam for the , U. S. Department of Defense. Downwind versus upwind PFAS levels were found in tests.
The professor claimed that his research demonstrated the ineffectiveness of high-temperature incineration. The findings were criticized by both the state and the company, but the data and the resulting public outcry resulted in a state ban on foam incineration there and a fine for the company for unrelated dust violations.
” There’s still a lot we don’t know”, Loyzim said. ” We’ve been trying to figure out how to safely dispose of a foam that can no longer be legally sold in , Maine , since 2019, but the technology just hasn’t been there. Until , Brunswick, we’d been asking those who had it to store it in a safe place”.
Waiting may not be an option after , Brunswick. State Rep.  , Dan Ankeles, D-Brunswick, said the , Aug. 19 , fire suppression system malfunction that flooded the , Brunswick Landing , community with 51, 450 gallons of AFFF foam is proof that the state’s” storage in place” approach isn’t safe.
Ankeles is proposing legislation to establish a state takeback program. Ankeles claimed he is working with DEP to resolve the disposal issue and that the bill is still being refined. Loyzim has said that , Maine , doesn’t have a single facility available to safely store all of , Maine ‘s , AFFF in one place.
In 2022, DEP asked , Clean Harbors , to provide it with an estimate for such a program, plus incineration. In , Connecticut, it charged$ 1 million to collect 40, 000 gallons of AFFF from 250 fire stations. In , Maine, it estimated a$ 2.3 million price tag:$ 240 per 5-gallon barrel, plus$ 400 for each pickup location.
Loyzim said she would rather do what , New Hampshire , is doing and send the state’s unwanted stockpile of AFFF off to , Ohio , to be destroyed through supercritical water oxidization.  , New Hampshire , expects to pay$ 668, 000 to Revive Environmental to destroy 10, 000 gallons of AFFF with its” PFAS Annihalator”.
Sen.  , Stacy Brenner, D-Scarborough, strongly believes the responsibility for disposing of the toxic foam rests with the manufacturers, many of whom kept selling AFFF even after they realized it was harmful, not the unwitting consumers who bought it to fight the kind of fires that burn hottest.
Last year,  , Maine , became the latest of more than a dozen states to file suit against more than a dozen PFAS manufacturers, including foam-makers, alleging that the companies knew in the 1950s that the products were toxic but didn’t disclose that information to the public.
” Think about the profit that was made, and who was aware that the foam was harmful,” Brenner, who co-chaired the environment committee last legislative session, said. ” We need to think about culpability so we can afford the cleanup, because it shouldn’t fall on the backs of taxpayers”.
Lawmakers will undoubtedly be concerned about the disposal costs as well as how much it would cost to pay for replacement PFAS-free foams for fire departments. They will also have to confront the morality of dumping waste in underprivileged, underrepresented communities, who are disproportionately impacted by pollution.
‘ WEDON’T BUILD INCINERATORS IN … MIDDLE-CLASS NEIGHBORHOODS ‘
The , Sarnia , incinerator is about six miles from the , Aamjiwnaang First Nation , reserve, where 900 of the tribe’s 2, 500 members live in the shadow of dozens of petrochemical plants.
After residents of the community complained of what was thought to be exposure to benzene, a cancer-causing chemical used to make plastic, Aamjiwnaang declared a state of emergency in April. The tribe blamed it on a neighboring chemical manufacturer. The factory initially denied it, before declaring that it would shut down in 2026.
Clean Harbors , operates in a very different world in , El Dorado, Arkansas, where , EPA , records show the facility appears to have incinerated more shipments of PFAS since 2018 than any other in the , U. S.  , It is just 2-1/2 miles from , City Hall , and almost nobody seems to mind.
About a 20-minute drive from the , Louisiana , border, this community of 17, 000 is a company town. Until 2020,  , El Dorado , was home to , Murphy Oil, the company that runs Walmart gas stations. Murphy established a free college tuition program for the area’s residents, as well as a baseball diamond, a college dorm, and a nearby baseball diamond.
Once the richest town in the state,  , El Dorado , has fallen on hard times since the oil dried up in the 1990s.
Census data paints this picture:  , El Dorado , is majority-minority ( 55 % non-white ), undereducated ( 13 % didn’t graduate high school ) and now poor ( per capita income of$ 25, 624 and 24 % live in poverty ). In contrast, the state as a whole is 78 % white, has a per capita income of$ 33, 147 and a 16 % poverty rate.
The closer you are to the plant, the more challenging the conditions become. According to the , EPA, which tracks the populations living near regulated facilities, the population within a mile of the , El Dorado , plant is 69 % minority, has$ 20, 076 per capita income and 23 % didn’t graduate from high school.
Town officials, local merchants and even regional environmental groups in , Arkansas , refused to be interviewed for this story. Many had a relative, friend or neighbor who worked at , Clean Harbors, or who wanted to. As employers leave, complaining isn’t a good look in a town like , El Dorado, one former resident said.
” We just don’t tolerate rabblerousers”, said the former resident, who didn’t want to be named because she has family members working at the plant. ” People don’t want to know, if you know what I mean. They’re glad for a job. They’re glad for the taxes paid to the town. You hear things, and well, sometimes you smell things, but as long as it’s not blowing up, we just play dumb and trust them not to hurt us”.
Clean Harbors ‘ , facilities in , North America , burn 70 % of the continent’s hazardous waste. It disclosed to investors that it anticipated a$ 40 million to$ 50 million PFAS sector growth in 2023.
The , El Dorado , plant has had at least one violation of the federal clean air, water or hazardous waste acts in 10 of the last 12 quarters. That works out to just six violation-free months over three years. Some are administrative, but others are high priority. As a result,  , EPA , fined , Clean Harbors ,$ 40, 000.
None of those violations have anything to do with PFAS incineration, however. There are no stack limits for PFAS emissions. While it is considered a toxic substance, it is not legally classified as a hazardous waste, so the company doesn’t have to inform the , EPA , of an incineration. But often, it shows up in interstate hauling manifests.
Based on federal manifest data,  , Clean Harbors El Dorado , incinerated 1, 365 tons of PFAS between 2018 and , April 2024. The , EPA , data doesn’t include the , Brunswick , spill, which occurred in August, but it does include a , December 2022 , shipment of 340 pounds of AFFF from Coast Guard South Portland.
There are no federally licensed hazardous waste incinerators in , Maine.
” Study after study show we don’t build incinerators of any kind in white, middle-class neighborhoods”, said , Gail Carlson, an assistant professor of environmental studies at , Colby College , who studies health impacts of PFAS. ” If we don’t want to breathe it, why should we expect them to”?
Vokes, the , Ontario , farmer, likes the idea of keeping , Maine ‘s , waste out of her backyard, but she is almost too tired to care.
The corn, wheat and soybean farmer spent a decade fighting , Clean Harbors , over noxious odors that left neighbors feeling nauseous. Neighbors fought expansion plans, called for government intervention, sued for loss of property use, and even demanded a plant shutdown, but no ground was gained.
Vokes and her neighbors gave up, one by one. Some moved. Some obtained second jobs at the downtown petrochemical plants. Some, like Vokes ‘ husband Dave, died. The recent widow sometimes wonders if living on the outskirts of , Sarnia ‘s , Chemical Valley , caused his cancer.
” The government needs a place to get rid of its toxic waste”, Vokes said. ” It took me years, but I finally realized we’re that place. We are real people here, but to the rest of the world, we’re just a place to send the worst of their worst. For them, it’s out of sight, out of mind. For me, it’s my life”.
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( c ) 2024 the Portland Press Herald
Distributed by , Tribune Content Agency, LLC.
