A Sea in Flames

by Carl Safina

  So, summing: BP has agreed to pay $20 billion, pledged $500 million for a ten-year research program to study the blowout’s lasting effects, agreed to contribute $100 million to support rig workers idled by the administration’s deepwater drilling moratorium, and paid over $50 million to promote Gulf tourism.

  And yet, doesn’t it always seem that no good deed goes unpunished? The House is lining up to pass a drilling overhaul bill that, inter alia, would bar any company from drilling on the outer continental shelf if: more than ten fatalities had occurred at its offshore or onshore facilities or if, in the last seven years, it’s paid fines of $10 million or more under the Clean Air or Clean Water Acts.

  BP is the only company that currently meets that description.

  Coincidence? “The risk of having a dangerous company like BP develop new resources in the Gulf is too great,” said Daniel Weiss, Representative George Miller’s chief of staff. “Year after year after year, no matter how many incidents they’re involved in, no matter how many fines they’ve had to pay, they never changed their behavior. BP has no one to blame but themselves.”

  BP’s bargaining chip: it says that if it can’t drill, then maybe it won’t be able to pay. Our bargaining chip: in about two weeks the House will, in fact, pass that company-banning language, helping guarantee BP’s continued attention.

  This, I think, is true: BP, which gets more than 10 percent of its global production out of the Gulf of Mexico, needs us more than we need it. There are other companies that would send the same oil ashore.

  Seeming to recognize that fact, BP is—for once—on its best behavior. Not only is its $20 billion escrow agreement with the White House voluntary, but “We have committed to do a number of things that are not part of the formal agreement with the White House,” notes a BP spokesman, in case America really hadn’t noticed. “We are not making a direct statement about anything we are committed to do. We are just expressing frustration that our commitments of good will have at least in some quarters been met with this kind of response.”

  I receive this inane e-mail:

  To help clear the toxins from the water, we will be using the energies of love and appreciation, and a special prayer related by Dr. Masaru Emoto. Dr. Emoto is the Japanese scientist who has done extensive research on how the energy of love and appreciation can change the molecular structure of water at the quantum level. The Process: Stand near, or in, the Gulf of Mexico. Or, imagine that you are standing there. Direct your thoughts and energies to feelings of love and appreciation. When you are filled with loving thoughts, speak the following prayer: “To whales, dolphins, manatees, pelicans, seagulls, and all aquatic bird species, fishes, shellfish, planktons, corals, algae, and all ion creatures in the Gulf of Mexico, I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.” Join us in prayer. We are one, and the One will join us together in this great work from wherever we are!

  So there you have it.

  Back on planet Earth, the total count of sea turtles recovered dead, injured, and oiled is up to about 460. The number of turtles coming up to nest has gone down, but the cold winter could have translated into a late spring for them.

  Diane Sawyer, ABC News, has this report:

  “Who is in charge of the cleanup? For four days we have been asking that question and we have not been able to get an answer. David Muir was with two frustrated governors today. David?”

  “This barge should be out in the Gulf sucking up oil. But sixteen of these barges are docked here, all under orders not to move.”

  Louisiana Governor Jindal: “The Coast Guard stopped them from going to work.”

  David Muir: “And then today, word from the Coast Guard saying, ‘Go ahead.’ This kind of confusion is everywhere. Who’s in charge here?”

  Alabama’s Governor Bob Riley: “Great question.”

  Diane Sawyer: “Two governors saying they cannot get straight answers.”

  But alongside the video on the Web, the print version of the story says, “The Coast Guard needed to confirm that the boats were equipped with fire extinguishers and life vests.” Well, I’ve been critical of the Coast Guard, but let’s be fair: that is a straight answer.

  On June 20, Tony Hayward “steps down” from being BP’s gusher usher (after he was stepped on for making so many trips over his own feet). One day later, he has his life back. Off the Isle of Wight he attends yachting races with his son, while BP PR races to defend his right to do so. “No matter where he is, he is always in touch with what is happening within BP,” the BP spokesman says of Mr. Hayward, the very man who’d told the U.S. Congress that he was not aware of the Macondo well as Deepwater Horizon was drilling it because “with respect, sir, we drill hundreds of wells a year around the world.”

  The events prompted Senate Republican Minority Leader Mitch McConnell to say, “All of these guys could use a better PR adviser.”

  Yes, Tony Hayward has his life back, but Gulf people are saying things like “I see my life ruined. There ain’t no shrimping, there ain’t no crabbing, there ain’t no oystering. Well, the only thing I know is shrimping. That’s all I know. Now, you tell me: Where do I go from here?” The owner of a seafood company that normally ships fifteen million pounds a year gets up in the morning, walks to his empty warehouse, trudges back again, sits down in front of the TV, and stares at CNN’s oil spill coverage; then he heads back to the warehouse. “I’m just walking around in a circle,” he says. “I never been this confused in my life.” In the U.S. House of Representatives, while speaking to the House Energy and Commerce Committee, a Lousiana congressman breaks down in tears. He’s not alone. A fisherman in his fifties explains, “We start talking, and before you know it, we’re all crying. Tough men, you know? Tough as they come. Just break down and cry.”

  Fisherman: “The first thing I’d like to do is punch that CEO in the mouth. That’d make me feel a little bit better, I guess.”

  Social worker: “There’s breaking points for people. You look at some of these people and you wonder, when is that person going to snap?”

  People snap differently. In Alabama, at least one fisherman, despondent, chooses to make his final exit while sitting aboard his beloved boat.

  And as one takes his life and one gets his life back, BP decides that an American, Bob Dudley, will replace Tony Hayward. Dudley spent much of his childhood in Mississippi.

  Various people in the news media continue to complain about hassles with BP’s private guards and about cops and sheriffs’ departments doing BP’s bidding in clear violation of public rights of freedom of movement on public property. Weeks ago, on June 6, Thad Allen had told ABC News, “I put out a written directive and I can provide it for the record that says the media will have uninhibited access anywhere we’re doing operations, except for two things: if it’s a security or safety problem. That is my policy. I’m the national incident commander.” So there you have it. He’s the decider.

  The memo, signed by Allen on May 31 and sent to various government entities and to BP, says: “In any matter whatsoever, and at any level of the response, the media shall, at all times, be afforded access to response operations and shall only be asked to leave an area when their presence is in violation of an existing law or regulation, clearly violates the written site safety plan for the area or interferes with effective operations.”

  Allen’s memo says, “the media.” I’d have preferred it to also say the public, because people who work for conservation groups, scientists, book writers, freelance or part-time photographers, fishermen who know the area, and folks like that don’t have media IDs. Later down the memo says, “No contractor, civilian employee or other responder involved in the Deepwater Horizon response has the authority to deny media access to operations except as noted in paragraph one.” That’s pretty clear. And the intent is clear.

  Okay, great. Now let’s see the directive in action. On June 22, weeks after Allen’s “uninhibited access” order, Mother Jones magazine’s website posts a v
ideo of a “law officer” hassling a guy from the American Birding Association for filming the exterior of a BP office building from across the street. Andrew Wheelan was not on BP’s property at the time, but the law officer nevertheless carries out BP’s intimidation program:

  Wheelan: “Am I violating any laws or anything like that?”

  Guard: “Um … not particularly. BP doesn’t want people filming.”

  Wheelan: “Well, I’m not on their property so BP doesn’t have anything to say about what I do right now.”

  Guard: “Let me explain: BP doesn’t want any filming. So all I can really do is strongly suggest that you not film anything right now. If that makes any sense.”

  Let’s make the rapid trip from no sense to incensed: Shortly thereafter, Wheelan got into his car and drove away, but he was soon pulled over. It was the same cop, but this time he was with a guy whose badge read “BP Security.” The cop stood by as “BP Security” interrogated Wheelan for twenty minutes, asking him who he worked with, who he answered to, what he was doing, why he was down here in Louisiana. Mr. BP Security phoned someone and, just to be mean, confiscated Wheelan’s bird-helper volunteer badge. Eventually, he “let Wheelan go.” But bear in mind, this is a private security guard, pulling a citizen off a public road.

  It gets better. “Then two unmarked cars followed me,” Wheelan says. “Every time I pulled over, they pulled over.” This went on for twenty miles.

  Bye-bye, God bless America; hello, corporate police state. So easy. And no blood.

  Coda: the “law officer” was an off-duty sheriff’s deputy for Terrebonne Parish. Off duty—and working in the private employ of BP. The deputy failed to include the traffic stop in his incident report. In other words, he abused his authority and then hid the fact. But he had support from higher up: a major in the sheriff’s office tells the magazine’s writer, Mac McClelland, that an off-duty deputy using his official vehicle to pull someone over while working for a private company is “standard and acceptable practice” because—get ready—Wheelan could have been a terrorist.

  Of course he could. It’s not like BP is at the epicenter of a giant oil blowout and someone with a video camera might want to post an image of BP’s headquarters, with its huge logo, on the Web, or anything like that. It’s much more likely that a terrorist would be standing across the street with a video camera and a magazine writer in broad daylight, talking to BP’s guards.

  Ergo, back to Thad Allen: “The media will have uninhibited access anywhere … except … if it’s a security or safety problem.” And it’s always a security or safety problem—because that’s all they ever have to say to do anything they want.

  It could be a cleanup; it could be a cover-up. You can’t tell. You can’t tell because the Big People are undermining our ability to ask. But let’s make it simple, people: Either there’s freedom of speech or there isn’t. Either there’s freedom of assembly or there isn’t. Either there’s freedom of movement or there isn’t. Either there’s freedom. Or not.

  And what there is here and now is: bullying and lying at the speed of sound. Illegal, sure; but when law enforcers agree, it gets very hard to deal with. Why they agree, why they get turned against the public, I’m not sure. Something about the liberal media? Something against outsiders? Boredom and a chance to throw their weight around with impunity? It’s all a little dose of “the banality of evil” (a phrase originally coined in reference to the Nazis). The idea: it doesn’t take terrible people to do bad things in an official capacity. It takes average people. Average people who want to do a good job for their superiors, want to be loyal, who know how to go along to get along, and who like to avoid any risk to themselves. Unfortunately, that’s all it takes. Average people.

  Who are the “terrorists”? Who are the ones acting against America’s principles? The people who don’t want you to see the pictures, or those who do? The people who abuse their authority, or the ones they abuse? The people whose reckless rush risked hurting all “the little people,” or the people with little, who stand tall?

  And here’s the main thing: even if the Coast Guard has taken the spirit of Allen’s media-access memo to heart and fully embraced his directive (I said “if”), BP and local law enforcers are ignoring it. They’re doing whatever they want when they feel like pushing people around. And this is America. These companies are multinational. Imagine what they do elsewhere.

  What they do: In Nigeria, an amount of oil roughly equivalent to that lost by the Exxon Valdez spills into the Niger Delta every year. It has destroyed farms and forests, contaminated drinking water, driven people from their homes, and ruined the nets and traps of fishing people. On May 1, 2010, a ruptured ExxonMobil pipeline spilled more than a million gallons into the delta over seven days. Local people protesting say security guards attacked them. Thick tar washed ashore along the coast. Said Bonny Otavie, a member of Parliament, “Oil companies do not value our life; they want us to all die.”

  Nigerians can scarcely believe the efforts to stop the Gulf oil leak and to protect the Gulf shoreline. When major oil spills happen in the Niger Delta, Nigerian writer Ben Ikari observes, “The oil companies just ignore it.” The Nigerian government says there were more than 7,000 spills between 1970 and 2000. Nearly one-tenth of the oil America imports comes from Nigeria.

  Shell says that 98 percent of all its oil spills in Nigeria are caused by vandalism, theft, or sabotage. Local communities and environmental groups insist that the problem is rusting facilities and apathy. Similar stories come from the Amazon, Ecuador, and elsewhere. Nigerian environmentalist Nnimo Bassey says, “In Nigeria, they have been living above the law. They are now clearly a danger to the planet.”

  By the start of the third week of June, one-third of the Gulf’s federal waters, 81,000 square miles, remain closed to fishing.

  And the Economist estimates that BP is on the hook for eventual cleanup costs and damages of $20 billion, plus fines up to $17 billion. But BP’s market-value plummet is two to three times as great. BP stock has melted off nearly $90 billion worth of value. Investors fear that compensation claims are spiraling out of control. I think they’re overreacting. BP, I am willing to say, will probably be fine.

  Big Oil has long enjoyed the milk and honey of tax-fed privileges ranging from massive subsidies to supreme dispensation. Exxon led the small communities of Prince William Sound in a grimly choreographed death dance that ended in 2008. When a huge penalty was levied against Exxon, the oil giant got the U.S. Supreme Court to hear its case nearly two decades after Valdez ran aground. Chief Justice John Roberts began his inquiry by asking, “Isn’t the question here how a company can protect itself from unlimited damages?”

  No, John, that isn’t the question. The question is: how can people be protected from unlimited damage?

  A jury had awarded $5 billion in damages, but the Bush-wacked Supreme Court said, “No, it’ll be more like ten percent of that.” Thanks to the antisocial, pro-corporate ideology of certain “justices” still seated on the Court for life, the oil titan paid just $507 million (10 percent) of the $5 billion damage settlement that a lower, better court had arranged, and just $25 million (17 percent) of its $150 million initial fine. The payments were a tiny, momentary blip on Exxon’s profit spreadsheets—and a second catastrophe for the real lives of real people of actual communities. Nineteen years after the Exxon Valdez ran aground on Bligh Reef, some plaintiffs received their final payment. Others had already died.

  And today the Court remains stacked with Bush appointees as thoughtless, more heartless, and more pro-business than it was then.

  The aftermath of the Exxon Valdez spill—its devastating effect on the region’s wildlife, its long-lasting depression of fish prices, the social and economic strains that followed, Exxon’s antisocial behavior and the way the Supreme Court swam with it into the toilet—set the bar so low, it’s as if someone dug a trench and threw the bar in. One nation under oil. The Exxon Valdez spill was more than a
tragedy, more than a crime. It remains a national stain and a national trauma. The fear that this Gulf blowout will be “as bad as the Exxon Valdez” will remain in hearts, on minds, and on lips throughout.

  Back on May 6, President Obama had declared a three-week moratorium on exploratory oil drilling in the Gulf of Mexico, to give his administration time to review safety regulations and the quality of government oversight. While drilling technology has exploded—poor word choice—improved incredibly in the last thirty years, allowing location and extraction in ever-deeper, harder-to-reach regions, cleanup equipment has gone nowhere. Since the Ixtoc blowout, since the Exxon spill, it’s the same old booms, skimmers, dispersants, and guys with shovels. They make money from oil, so they put money into oil. They don’t make money from cleanup, so they ignore cleanup. Big mistake, because accidents can be costly—but it’s obvious how little they’ve cared.

  Nearly two hundred miles from shore, a $3 billion floating oil platform much larger and more complex than the Deepwater Horizon straddles the deep ocean like a giant steel octopus. Named Perdido (Spanish for “lost”), this colossus pumps oil from dozens of wells in water nearly two miles deep—while simultaneously drilling new ones. The pipelines flowing from wells to rigs like this can be tens of miles long. Compared to this monster, the Deepwater Horizon was a simple little rig with the luxury of focusing on one task in relatively shallow water. Meet the new wave: ultra-deep platforms.