Recycled Anger
I am sick to death of hearing the myriad ways I can alter my behavior to save the planet—and I am, by some accounts, a “woke liberal” who appreciates Green Peace and the Environmental Defense Fund. But every day I am bombarded with advice about how to be more eco-friendly while the plastics industry keeps on churning out new ways to poison the planet.
The provocation this morning was an article about laundry detergent sheets that come in a cardboard box with no plastic packaging and are marketed as environmentally friendly and “plastic free.” Turns out one of the top ingredients in these sheets is polyvinyl alcohol—or PVA. Plastic. The article tells me PVA has been detected in drinking water, and even human breast milk.
Here I am again, incensed that (a) consumers are misled into thinking they are doing a good deed when, in reality, they are being suckered by another marketing ploy, and (b) that the crux of saving the planet should rest on the backs of individual consumers in the first place.
The plastic problem was created in my lifetime. When I was a kid, shampoo came in glass bottles (I don’t recommend that, but maybe there’s a compromise between glass bottles and single-use plastic containers), and laundry soap was a powder that came in a cardboard box with no plastic lining or wrapper. Veggies could be hand-chosen in the grocery store and placed into paper sacks. Small fruits, like berries, came in a little cardboard carton. These days, if I want to eat raspberries I must buy a plastic clamshell that goes immediately into the trash—can’t even be recycled.
My mother made clothes of natural fibers, using cotton thread on wooden spools and buttons made of wood, glass, or metal—until plastic buttons and polyester (plastic) thread on plastic spools became the norm. By the time I was a teen, polyester had taken over my closet.
Please don’t think I’m just mourning the “good old days” like some folks who want their women ignorant, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. (Which is bound to happen with the dissolution of Roe v. Wade, the gagging of teachers, and the banning of books that mention anything about sex.) I appreciate many human advancements: Dishwashers. Comfortable shoes. The proliferation of organic foods in grocery stores. But “green” individuals are simply no match for billionaire CEOs who have set the course for earth: extinction.
Exhausted, I am removing my “green” badge and joining the forces that throw baggies into the bin without once looking back. I’m tired of taking the blame when, in fact, none of my theoretically green choices actually makes a difference. When I’m lied to about what does or doesn’t adversely affect the environment. When I’m asked to pay more for 4 single cans of tuna than 4 cans strapped together in a piece of plastic. My piddling efforts to do the right thing are no match for corporate greed.
I will continue to recycle what I can (it saves me money. I have to haul my garbage to the dump and pay to dispose of it), and vow to buy organic green onions in a rubber band at Eureka Market rather than the laminated ones at Walmart—because who wants to eat laminated vegetables? But I am absolutely done with guilt about using plastic. The world is going to hell in a polyvinyl chloride handbasket and the powers that be don’t give a damn.
Maybe I’ll chill in time—but don’t hold your breath. (Because the effect of poisons in the air are probably worse if you don’t exhale promptly).