As millions of solar panels age out, recyclers hope to cash in

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Saturday, March 18, 2023

In Odessa, Texas, workers at a startup called SolarCycle unload trucks carrying end-of-life photovoltaic panels freshly picked from commercial solar farms across the United States. They separate the panels from the aluminum frames and electrical boxes, then feed them into machines that detach their glass from the laminated materials that have helped generate electricity from sunlight for about a quarter of a century. Next, the panels are ground, shredded, and subjected to a patented process that extracts the valuable materials — mostly silver, copper, and crystalline silicon. Those components will be sold, as will the lower-value aluminum and glass, which may even end up in the next generation of solar panels. This process offers a glimpse of what could happen to an expected surge of retired solar panels that will stream from an industry that represents the fastest-growing source of energy in the U.S. Today, roughly 90 percent of panels in the U.S. that have lost their efficiency due to age, or that are defective, end up in landfills because that option costs a fraction of recycling them. But recycling advocates in the U.S. say increased reuse of valuable materials, like silver and copper, would help boost the circular economy, in which waste and pollution are reduced by constantly reusing materials. According to a 2021 report by the National Renewable Energy Laboratory (NREL), recycling PV panels could also cut the risk of landfills leaking toxins into the environment; increase the stability of a supply chain that is largely dependent on imports from Southeast Asia; lower the cost of raw materials to solar and other types of manufacturers; and expand market opportunities for U.S. recyclers. Of course, reusing degraded but still-functional panels is an even better option. Millions of these panels now end up in developing nations, while others are reused closer to home. For example, SolarCycle is building a power plant for its Texas factory that will use refurbished modules. The prospect of a future glut of expired panels is prompting efforts by a handful of solar recyclers to address a mismatch between the current buildup of renewable energy capacity by utilities, cities, and private companies — millions of panels are installed globally every year — and a shortage of facilities that can handle this material safely when it reaches the end of its useful life, in about 25 to 30 years. Solar capacity across all segments in the U.S. is expected to rise by an average of 21 percent a year from 2023 to 2027, according to the latest quarterly report from the Solar Energy Industries Association and the consulting firm Wood Mackenzie. The expected increase will be helped by the landmark Inflation Reduction Act of 2022 which, among other supports for renewable energy, will provide a 30 percent tax credit for residential solar installations. Laminate removed from a solar panel is examined at SolarCycle’s facility in Odessa, Texas. The laminate contains silicon, copper, and silver. SolarCycle The area covered by solar panels that were installed in the U.S. as of 2021 and are due to retire by 2030 would cover about 3,000 American football fields, according to an NREL estimate. “It’s a good bit of waste,” said Taylor Curtis, a legal and regulatory analyst at the lab. But the industry’s recycling rate, at less than 10 percent, lags far behind the upbeat forecasts for the industry’s growth. Jesse Simons, a co-founder of SolarCycle, which employs about 30 people and began operations last December, said solid waste landfills typically charge $1 to $2 to accept a solar panel, rising to around $5 if the material is deemed hazardous waste. By contrast, his company charges $18 per panel. Clients are willing to pay that rate because they may be unable to find a landfill licensed to accept hazardous waste and assume legal liability for it, and because they want to minimize the environmental impact of their old panels, said Simons, a former Sierra Club executive. SolarCycle provides its clients with an environmental analysis that shows the benefits of panel recycling. For example, recycling aluminum uses 95 percent less energy than making virgin aluminum, which bears the costs of mining the raw material, bauxite, and then transporting and refining it. The company estimates that recycling each panel avoids the emissions of 97 pounds of CO2; the figure rises to more than 1.5 tons of CO2 if a panel is reused. Under a proposed Securities and Exchange Commission rule, publicly held companies will be required to disclose climate-related risks that are likely to have a material impact on their business, including their greenhouse gas emissions. Stripped from solar panels at the SolarCycle plant, aluminum is sold at a nearby metal yard. Glass is currently sold for just a few cents per panel for reuse in basic products like bottles, but Simons hopes he will eventually have enough of it to sell for a higher price to a manufacturer of new solar panel sheets. Crystalline silicon, used as a base material in solar cells, is also worth recovering, he said. Although it must be refined for use in future panels, its use avoids the environmental impacts of mining and processing new silicon. SolarCycle is one of only five companies in the U.S. listed by the SEIA as capable of providing recycling services. The industry remains in its infancy and is still figuring out how to make money from recovering and then selling panel components, according to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. “Elements of this recycling process can be found in the United States, but it is not yet happening on a large scale,“ the EPA said in an overview of the industry. In 2016, the International Renewable Energy Agency (IRENA) forecast that by the early 2030s, the global quantity of decommissioned PV panels will equal some 4 percent of the number of installed panels. By the 2050s, the volume of solar panel waste will rise to at least 5 million metric tons a year, the agency said. China, the world’s biggest producer of solar energy, is expected to have retired a cumulative total of at least 13.5 million metric tons of panels by 2050, by far the largest quantity among major solar-producing nations and nearly twice the volume the U.S. will retire by that time, according to the IRENA report. The raw materials technically recoverable from PV panels globally could cumulatively be worth $450 million (in 2016 terms) by 2030, the report found, about equal to the cost of raw materials needed to produce some 60 million new panels, or 18 gigawatts of power-generation capacity. By 2050, the report said, recoverable value could cumulatively exceed $15 billion. For now, though, solar recyclers face significant economic, technological, and regulatory challenges. Part of the problem, says NREL’s Curtis, is a lack of data on panel recycling rates, which hinders potential policy responses that might provide more incentives for solar-farm operators to recycle end-of-life panels rather than dump them. Another problem is that the Toxicity Characteristic Leaching Procedure — an EPA-approved method used to determine whether a product or material contains hazardous elements that could leach into the environment — is known to be faulty. Consequently, some solar farm owners end up “over-managing” their panels as hazardous without making a formal hazardous-waste determination, Curtis said. They end up paying more to dispose of them in landfills permitted to handle hazardous waste or to recycle them. The International Energy Agency assessed whether solar panels that contain lead, cadmium, and selenium would impact human health if dumped in either hazardous-waste or municipal landfills and determined the risk was low. Still, the agency said in a 2020 report, its findings did not constitute an endorsement of landfilling: Recycling, it stated, would “further mitigate” environmental concerns. NREL is currently studying an alternative process for determining whether or not panels are hazardous. “We need to figure that out because it is definitely impacting the liability and the cost to make recycling more competitive,” Curtis said. Despite these uncertainties, four states recently enacted laws addressing PV module recycling. California, which has the most solar installations, allows panels to be dumped in landfills, but only after they have been verified as non-hazardous by a designated laboratory, which can cost upwards of $1,500. As of July 2022, California had only one recycling plant that accepted solar panels. In Washington State, a law designed to provide an environmentally sound way to recycle PV panels is due to be implemented in July of 2025; New Jersey officials expect to issue a report on managing PV waste this spring; and North Carolina has directed state environmental officials to study the decommissioning of utility scale solar projects. (North Carolina currently requires solar panels to be disposed of as hazardous waste if they contain heavy metals like silver or — in the case of older panels — hexavalent chromium, lead, cadmium, and arsenic.) In the European Union, end-of-life photovoltaic panels have, since 2012, been treated as electronic waste under the EU’s waste electrical and electronic equipment directive, known as WEEE. The directive requires all member states to comply with minimum standards, but the actual rate of e-waste recycling varies from nation to nation, said Marius Mordal Bakke, senior analyst for solar supplier research at Rystad Energy, a research firm headquartered in Oslo, Norway. Despite this law, the EU’s PV recycling rate is no better than the U.S. rate — around 10 percent — largely because of the difficulty of extracting valuable materials from panels, Bakke said. But he predicted that recycling will become more prevalent when the number of end-of-life panels rises to the point where it presents a business opportunity, providing recyclers with valuable materials they can sell. Governments can help speed that transition, he added, by banning the disposal of PV panels in landfills and providing incentives such as tax breaks to anyone who uses solar panels. “At some point in the future, you are going to see enough panels being decommissioned that you kind of have to start recycling,” Bakke said. “It will become profitable by itself regardless of commodity prices.” This story was originally published by Grist with the headline As millions of solar panels age out, recyclers hope to cash in on Mar 18, 2023.

Solar panels have a lifespan of 25 to 30 years, and companies are emerging that seek to recycle the valuable, reusable materials and keep the panels out of landfills.

In Odessa, Texas, workers at a startup called SolarCycle unload trucks carrying end-of-life photovoltaic panels freshly picked from commercial solar farms across the United States. They separate the panels from the aluminum frames and electrical boxes, then feed them into machines that detach their glass from the laminated materials that have helped generate electricity from sunlight for about a quarter of a century.

Next, the panels are ground, shredded, and subjected to a patented process that extracts the valuable materials — mostly silver, copper, and crystalline silicon. Those components will be sold, as will the lower-value aluminum and glass, which may even end up in the next generation of solar panels.

This process offers a glimpse of what could happen to an expected surge of retired solar panels that will stream from an industry that represents the fastest-growing source of energy in the U.S. Today, roughly 90 percent of panels in the U.S. that have lost their efficiency due to age, or that are defective, end up in landfills because that option costs a fraction of recycling them.

But recycling advocates in the U.S. say increased reuse of valuable materials, like silver and copper, would help boost the circular economy, in which waste and pollution are reduced by constantly reusing materials. According to a 2021 report by the National Renewable Energy Laboratory (NREL), recycling PV panels could also cut the risk of landfills leaking toxins into the environment; increase the stability of a supply chain that is largely dependent on imports from Southeast Asia; lower the cost of raw materials to solar and other types of manufacturers; and expand market opportunities for U.S. recyclers.

Of course, reusing degraded but still-functional panels is an even better option. Millions of these panels now end up in developing nations, while others are reused closer to home. For example, SolarCycle is building a power plant for its Texas factory that will use refurbished modules.

The prospect of a future glut of expired panels is prompting efforts by a handful of solar recyclers to address a mismatch between the current buildup of renewable energy capacity by utilities, cities, and private companies — millions of panels are installed globally every year — and a shortage of facilities that can handle this material safely when it reaches the end of its useful life, in about 25 to 30 years.

Solar capacity across all segments in the U.S. is expected to rise by an average of 21 percent a year from 2023 to 2027, according to the latest quarterly report from the Solar Energy Industries Association and the consulting firm Wood Mackenzie. The expected increase will be helped by the landmark Inflation Reduction Act of 2022 which, among other supports for renewable energy, will provide a 30 percent tax credit for residential solar installations.

Laminate removed from a solar panel is examined at SolarCycle’s facility in Odessa, Texas. The laminate contains silicon, copper, and silver. SolarCycle

The area covered by solar panels that were installed in the U.S. as of 2021 and are due to retire by 2030 would cover about 3,000 American football fields, according to an NREL estimate. “It’s a good bit of waste,” said Taylor Curtis, a legal and regulatory analyst at the lab. But the industry’s recycling rate, at less than 10 percent, lags far behind the upbeat forecasts for the industry’s growth.

Jesse Simons, a co-founder of SolarCycle, which employs about 30 people and began operations last December, said solid waste landfills typically charge $1 to $2 to accept a solar panel, rising to around $5 if the material is deemed hazardous waste. By contrast, his company charges $18 per panel. Clients are willing to pay that rate because they may be unable to find a landfill licensed to accept hazardous waste and assume legal liability for it, and because they want to minimize the environmental impact of their old panels, said Simons, a former Sierra Club executive.

SolarCycle provides its clients with an environmental analysis that shows the benefits of panel recycling. For example, recycling aluminum uses 95 percent less energy than making virgin aluminum, which bears the costs of mining the raw material, bauxite, and then transporting and refining it.

The company estimates that recycling each panel avoids the emissions of 97 pounds of CO2; the figure rises to more than 1.5 tons of CO2 if a panel is reused. Under a proposed Securities and Exchange Commission rule, publicly held companies will be required to disclose climate-related risks that are likely to have a material impact on their business, including their greenhouse gas emissions.

Stripped from solar panels at the SolarCycle plant, aluminum is sold at a nearby metal yard. Glass is currently sold for just a few cents per panel for reuse in basic products like bottles, but Simons hopes he will eventually have enough of it to sell for a higher price to a manufacturer of new solar panel sheets.

Crystalline silicon, used as a base material in solar cells, is also worth recovering, he said. Although it must be refined for use in future panels, its use avoids the environmental impacts of mining and processing new silicon.

SolarCycle is one of only five companies in the U.S. listed by the SEIA as capable of providing recycling services. The industry remains in its infancy and is still figuring out how to make money from recovering and then selling panel components, according to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. “Elements of this recycling process can be found in the United States, but it is not yet happening on a large scale,“ the EPA said in an overview of the industry.

In 2016, the International Renewable Energy Agency (IRENA) forecast that by the early 2030s, the global quantity of decommissioned PV panels will equal some 4 percent of the number of installed panels. By the 2050s, the volume of solar panel waste will rise to at least 5 million metric tons a year, the agency said. China, the world’s biggest producer of solar energy, is expected to have retired a cumulative total of at least 13.5 million metric tons of panels by 2050, by far the largest quantity among major solar-producing nations and nearly twice the volume the U.S. will retire by that time, according to the IRENA report.

The raw materials technically recoverable from PV panels globally could cumulatively be worth $450 million (in 2016 terms) by 2030, the report found, about equal to the cost of raw materials needed to produce some 60 million new panels, or 18 gigawatts of power-generation capacity. By 2050, the report said, recoverable value could cumulatively exceed $15 billion.

For now, though, solar recyclers face significant economic, technological, and regulatory challenges. Part of the problem, says NREL’s Curtis, is a lack of data on panel recycling rates, which hinders potential policy responses that might provide more incentives for solar-farm operators to recycle end-of-life panels rather than dump them.

Another problem is that the Toxicity Characteristic Leaching Procedure — an EPA-approved method used to determine whether a product or material contains hazardous elements that could leach into the environment — is known to be faulty. Consequently, some solar farm owners end up “over-managing” their panels as hazardous without making a formal hazardous-waste determination, Curtis said. They end up paying more to dispose of them in landfills permitted to handle hazardous waste or to recycle them.

The International Energy Agency assessed whether solar panels that contain lead, cadmium, and selenium would impact human health if dumped in either hazardous-waste or municipal landfills and determined the risk was low. Still, the agency said in a 2020 report, its findings did not constitute an endorsement of landfilling: Recycling, it stated, would “further mitigate” environmental concerns.

A pie chart of the different values of the raw materials in a solar panel, the largest of which is silver.

NREL is currently studying an alternative process for determining whether or not panels are hazardous. “We need to figure that out because it is definitely impacting the liability and the cost to make recycling more competitive,” Curtis said.

Despite these uncertainties, four states recently enacted laws addressing PV module recycling. California, which has the most solar installations, allows panels to be dumped in landfills, but only after they have been verified as non-hazardous by a designated laboratory, which can cost upwards of $1,500. As of July 2022, California had only one recycling plant that accepted solar panels.

In Washington State, a law designed to provide an environmentally sound way to recycle PV panels is due to be implemented in July of 2025; New Jersey officials expect to issue a report on managing PV waste this spring; and North Carolina has directed state environmental officials to study the decommissioning of utility scale solar projects. (North Carolina currently requires solar panels to be disposed of as hazardous waste if they contain heavy metals like silver or — in the case of older panels — hexavalent chromium, lead, cadmium, and arsenic.)

In the European Union, end-of-life photovoltaic panels have, since 2012, been treated as electronic waste under the EU’s waste electrical and electronic equipment directive, known as WEEE. The directive requires all member states to comply with minimum standards, but the actual rate of e-waste recycling varies from nation to nation, said Marius Mordal Bakke, senior analyst for solar supplier research at Rystad Energy, a research firm headquartered in Oslo, Norway. Despite this law, the EU’s PV recycling rate is no better than the U.S. rate — around 10 percent — largely because of the difficulty of extracting valuable materials from panels, Bakke said.

But he predicted that recycling will become more prevalent when the number of end-of-life panels rises to the point where it presents a business opportunity, providing recyclers with valuable materials they can sell. Governments can help speed that transition, he added, by banning the disposal of PV panels in landfills and providing incentives such as tax breaks to anyone who uses solar panels.

“At some point in the future, you are going to see enough panels being decommissioned that you kind of have to start recycling,” Bakke said. “It will become profitable by itself regardless of commodity prices.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline As millions of solar panels age out, recyclers hope to cash in on Mar 18, 2023.

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​​Should winter events reject fossil fuel funds? With Rideau Canal skating on thin ice, Ottawa locals weigh in

By Lindsay Campbell Photography by Adrienne Row-SmithAfter the first season in 50 years without skating on the canal, locals consider doctors’ call for Winterlude to drop Enbridge Gas

By Lindsay Campbell Photography by Adrienne Row-Smith It’s been an atypical winter in the nation’s capital, where lingering balminess has replaced sub-zero temperatures and signature cold snaps. And it’s a winter Ottawans will remember: the first year they were robbed of skating on the Rideau Canal since the tradition began five decades ago.  In late February, the National Capital Commission, the Crown corporation charged with managing the ice, deemed it too thin and porous for skating due to higher than average temperatures, as well as snow and rain. Having launched Winterlude, the capital’s annual flagship winter festival, by redirecting crowds to other outdoor excursions, the Department of Canadian Heritage was forced to tell revelers that its usual focal point would stay behind locked gates.  “The latest ice tests show that the ice surface remains unsafe,” the commission tweeted. “Any further efforts are unlikely to yield a different result.”  We’re investigating Ontario’s environmental cuts The Narwhal’s Ontario bureau is telling stories you won’t find anywhere else. Keep up with the latest scoops by signing up for a weekly dose of our independent journalism. We’re investigating Ontario’s environmental cuts The Narwhal’s Ontario bureau is telling stories you won’t find anywhere else. Keep up with the latest scoops by signing up for a weekly dose of our independent journalism. Last week, National Capital Commission CEO Tobi Nussbaum wrote in the Ottawa Citizen that the commission has partnered with Carleton University to figure out how to adapt the Rideau Canal skateway to “warmer and shorter winters.” This year’s closure followed cautionary statistics in the commission’s past reports: a 2005 study found climate change would likely decrease the average skating season from roughly 61 days in 2005 to somewhere between 43 and 52 days by 2020. A more recent analysis in 2021 found the average season length is now around 46 days, and by 2080, the most drastic global warming scenario projects that, on average, Ottawans will only have one week of skating.  Environmental groups have called the skateway’s closure a sure sign that climate change has come to Ottawa. And last week, the Canadian Association of Physicians for the Environment began highlighting what it considers inappropriate sponsorship of Winterlude — the group is circulating a petition asking the federal Heritage department to drop longtime sponsor Enbridge Gas and refuse all fossil fuel funding.  Skate huts sat unused on the Rideau Canal for the first winter in five decades. The Canadian Association of Physicians for the Environment is circulating a petition asking the Department of Canadian Heritage, which manages Winterlude, to drop Enbridge Gas as a sponsor. “It’s wrong for companies that are driving climate change to be promoting winter recreation because what they’re doing is making it more difficult for us to enjoy the outdoors in the wintertime,” Dr. Melissa Lem, president of the physicians’ association, told The Narwhal. “There’s overwhelming evidence that burning fossil fuels is driving climate change and harming our health through air pollution. This is greenwashing.”  As the canal’s skateless winter came to a close, The Narwhal headed out to ask passersby whether they had missed the ice this year, and how they felt about a fossil fuel company sponsoring an ever-shrinking seasonal event.  Global attention focused on carbon heavy companies sponsoring winter activities On this mild Sunday in March, Ian Hunter didn’t hear the chatter or methodical scraping of blades from canal crowds as he ran along its paved perimeter. Instead, he saw the channel’s semi-frozen surface hosting nothing more than closed skate huts and food trucks.   “I guess it was only a matter of time that we saw this happen with the winters getting more compact,” the retired public servant said. “It’s very sad. There’s a special feeling of freedom that comes with gliding through the city, taking in the sights and being able to share that with people of all ages, all walks of life.” The Rideau Canal is a landmark that grounds Ottawa in its regional and cultural identity year round. It’s a UNESCO heritage site, and the homes that overlook it are prized for their scenic view. For residents and tourists alike, it has long been a touch point for outdoor recreation — whether that be walking, running, biking, skating or kayaking into the heart of the city.  Ian Hunter said he missed skating on Rideau Canal, which gives him “a special feeling of freedom.” Spencer Cuddington has also skated on the canal for years, and believes the lack of safe ice is “100 per cent” connected to climate change. “It’s jarring,” Spencer Cuddington said, as he took a walk during the unseasonably warm weekend weather. “One hundred per cent, I see the connection to climate change,” Cuddington said.  He has skated on the canal since childhood, making pit stops with his family for hot chocolate and Beavertails: the pastry is synonymous with Ottawa winters, but its proprietor told CBC he closed all but one of his canal kiosks by mid-February this year.  Enbridge produces natural gas, which is largely made up of methane — about 95 per cent, according to the company’s figures — the second biggest contributor to global warming. Much of it goes to heat buildings, which is the third highest source of emissions in Ontario, where Enbridge has 1.5 million customers. Impacts from natural gas extraction and processing carry significant environmental concerns, including methane leaks, and the controversial process of fracking. Last fall, The Narwhal reported that 32 Ontario municipalities have called for a natural gas phase-out. The Rideau Canal is integral to Ottawa’s sense of identity. The Echo Canal project is advertising rental units with “a year-round opportunity to remain active and connected to the outdoors.” In email correspondence with The Narwhal, Enbridge Gas said its sponsorship of Winterlude is part of a strategy to invest in the safety, sustainability and vibrancy of its communities. The company said that in 2020, it committed to reach net-zero emissions by 2050.  Enbridge said that natural gas ”provides residents and businesses with almost two times more energy than electricity” in Ontario, while Canada-wide, about 32 per cent of energy comes from natural gas, while 50.1 per cent is from crude oil and just 8.5 per cent from “primary electricity.” According to the federal Energy Regulator, gas is the main source of home heating energy in western Canada and Ontario. “A diversified energy pathway that leverages the existing pipeline infrastructure is the most cost-effective and resilient way to achieve net zero. Many North American jurisdictions have come to the same conclusion,” Enbridge continued.  Enbridge also said it has created programs to assist customers with energy reduction and is trying to advance clean technologies for transportation, building heat and industrial processes. These include “renewable natural gas” — also known as biogas, it’s captured from sources like compost and manure, then purified — as well as hydrogen (which is sometimes derived from methane), hybrid heating, geothermal and carbon capture. “Enbridge has committed more than $8 billion in capital to renewable energy and power transmission projects currently in operation or under construction, and is one of the largest renewable energy companies in Canada,” it said.  Carol Paleczny worried that the cost of Winterlude would fall to taxpayers if fossil fuel companies were rejected. Ottawa being a government town, the spectrum of responses from locals about Winterlude sponsorship indicated a nuanced perspective about funding, climate change and responsibility.  Travel agency owner Carol Paleczny worried about Winterlude becoming a financial burden on taxpayers. “If the sponsors don’t pay for it then who’s going to?” she asked. “If there are companies that are willing to, then I’m grateful for them.”  But the fact that events like Winterlude cost so much money is precisely “the regrettable,” aspect of the situation, said Ranjana Ghosh, another retired public servant, who has lived in Ottawa since 1989.  “These big energy companies have big pockets and can afford to dish out sponsorship money, but what are they actually doing for the environment?” she said. “I guess as consumers we have to wake up. We enjoy the benefits of the canal and Winterlude, but I think we should be willing to forgo that if we can bring to light that we shouldn’t have companies that promote fossil fuels sponsor these environmental-related things.”  Ranjana Ghosh, seen here in red with Gwilym Evans and dog Bentley, said people should be “willing to forgo” sponsorship of Winterlude if it brought attention to the connections between fossil fuels and climate change. In response to The Narwhal’s questions about how Canadian Heritage chooses sponsors and the campaign by the Canadian Association of Physicians for the Environment, department spokesperson Caroline Czajkowski said sponsorship agreements are reviewed regularly. “Our goal at the Department of Canadian Heritage is to maintain or improve the quality of the offering provided to visitors at Winterlude,” Czajkowski wrote in an email. “We work with many partners to offer a positive, enriching and relevant experience to all, and the success of programs and activities such as this one depends on the support and contributions of sponsors.” Pedestrian Denise Paquette, a resident of Ottawa since 2010, saw some justification for sponsorship from Enbridge or other fossil fuel companies. “It’s not all bad and I think it’s maybe their way of giving back,” she says. “I know we can’t change the environment overnight, so we have to deal with it.”  But Lem said that such perceptions are what fossil fuel corporations are banking on, to distract from their emissions.    Underneath the Laurier Bridge underpass, the Rideau Canal was empty of skaters on a mild Sunday in mid-March. The concept of carbon heavy companies using winter sports to prop up their reputations is getting global attention. The European think tank New Weather Institute recently put out “The Snow Thieves,” a study documenting 107 instances of fossil fuel companies, carmakers or airlines sponsoring winter sporting events, organizations or athletes.  The report states that the world’s biggest cross-country ski race, the Vasaloppet in Sweden, is sponsored by energy company Preem and Volvo Cars, two companies that “combined are estimated to be responsible for the loss of 1,260 million tonnes of glacier ice each year, or 210 square kilometres of snow cover … this amounts to melting the equivalent of 233 Vasaloppet ski races.” The paper notes the largest governing body in winter sports, the International Ski and Snowboard Federation, is sponsored by Audi — and that 90 per cent of the auto company’s vehicles produced in 2021 were petrol or diesel driven.  Students at the University of Ottawa, Jasmine Wong, left, and Haaruni Babu hoped a balance could be found between climate action, economics and entertainment. Marc Mez wondered how badly Winterlude needs Enbridge’s sponsorship. University of Ottawa students Haaruni Babu and Jasmine Wong were looking forward to canal skating during their last winter as undergrads. However, they had mixed feelings about the thin ice: while both believe the skateway’s closure is related to climate change, they said that from a business standpoint, taking action towards sustainability is not as easy as people might think.  “I’m not arguing for the status quo,” human resources student Babu said. “I think a lot of people using their voice to speak out against sponsorship like this are doing great because it’s putting more pressure on corporations and holding them accountable.” “I just think we need to make sure we find the right balance between giving entertainment to the citizens here versus actually making sure that what they’re providing to us is appropriate for the environment,” finance student Wong added. Others like Marc Mez weren’t aware of the company’s sponsorship — he said that the question of how badly Enbridge’s funds are needed is relevant. “There are so many other companies you could ask for sponsorship, so I don’t know if there would be a shortage if you didn’t have someone like Petro Can or Enbridge Gas,” he said. With one skateless season behind them, locals agreed on one thing: whatever happens in the months and years ahead, they are desperate for the chance to revive the tradition of canal skating. All felt it was unfathomable that a longstanding piece of the city’s winter culture could be lost forever. 

How an algae bloom could put Florida's spring break at risk

Before spring break season is over, beaches across the Gulf Coast will begin to stink. By mid-April, as businesses in South Florida and across the Gulf Coast juggle an influx of vacationers, the region's beaches will likely face another unwelcome visitor: enormous mats of rotting sargassum seaweed. The leading edge of several thousand mile long...

Before spring break season is over, beaches across the Gulf Coast will begin to stink. By mid-April, as businesses in South Florida and across the Gulf Coast juggle an influx of vacationers, the region's beaches will likely face another unwelcome visitor: enormous mats of rotting sargassum seaweed.  The leading edge of several thousand mile long train of floating sargassum is already beginning to pile up on the beaches of resorts in Mexico's Yucatan peninsula, along Caribbean islands and in Key West, Fla. But with an estimated 13 million tons of seaweed out there, those early arrivals are just "the tip of the iceberg," said marine biologist Brian LaPointe. LaPointe runs one of the nation's leading seaweed labs, at Florida American University. He said the bloom wasn't isn’t a cause for "panic" — but added that for a bloom to be "that big, that early, just doesn't bode well." But much about the blob, from its origins to its ultimate destination, remains under active scientific debate. Here is a list of things we know about the threats posed by the seaweed bloom — and what we still don't. What is washing ashore? Clumps of seaweed that have broken loose from a far larger belt of floating sargassum that has established itself in the mid-Atlantic over the last decade. Unlike kelp or eelgrass, which are types of seaweed fixed by their roots firmly to the seafloor, sargassum is a form of free-floating seaweed that is most highly concentrated in the Sargasso Sea. The Sargasso Sea is the world’s only sea not bounded by any land. Instead, it is a region of the Atlantic surrounded by swirling ocean currents that have long trapped ships, ocean detritus and huge populations of sargassum. Those swirling currents had long kept sargassum in — until about a decade ago, when the current sargasso crisis began, and cities like Miami and Fort Lauderdale began having to spend tens of millions per year on dealing with it. What caused the seaweed crisis? The acute cause seems to be two years of “unprecedented” wind events — in 2009 and 2010 — which blew record quantities of sargassum out of its home waters. While clumps of sargassum had always escaped to wash up on Atlantic and Caribbean beaches, there had never been enough before to establish a stable population, said Rick Lumpkin, who runs the physical oceanography division at the NOAA observation lab in Miami. Other factors helped the new sargassum colony to establish itself in its new home after 2011, Lumpkin said. Like any plant, sargassum benefits from heat and fertilizer. The heat came from rising ocean temperatures caused by climate change. And the fertilizer came from, well, fertilizer.  Many scientists link the sargassum blooms to the overuse of fertilizers in the watersheds of the great rivers that pour into the Atlantic: the Mississippi, Orinoco, Congo and Amazon. Those fertilizers — which those rivers' powerful outflow push far out to sea — are used in industrial agriculture to make up for soil depleted by tropical deforestation or season after season of growing the same crops. But particularly in the case of agriculture in the Amazon and Orinoco, that nutrient runoff also ended up boosting the population of floating algae in the mid-Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico. Other factors likely contributed, Lumpkin said. Churning winds off the west coast of Africa pulling nutrient rich waters to the surface and the colossal Sahara Desert dust storms also seem to have helped played a role. These led to huge sargassum blooms across the Atlantic in 2018 and 2019 — blooms that may even have been bigger than this year’s. But what’s unusual this year, however, is how “how much sargassum has entered the western Caribbean,” Lumpkin said. Where did sargassum seaweed come from? We don’t really know. Scientists only detected the incoming sargassum belt once it had already congealed into a mass big enough to be visible from satellites. But in the broadest sense, the sargassum beginning to wash up on Caribbean beaches came from what scientists call the Great Sargasso Belt — that new colony that established itself in 2011 outside the Sargasso Sea. The western extremity of that belt, sheared off by currents, is now on its long collision course with the Caribbean. Is the seaweed dangerous?  Not directly — at least not to people.  It can even make the ocean marginally safer, said Stephen Leatherman, an oceanographer at Florida International University specializing in beach health. The thick drifting mats of sargassum are so thick that they block the action of riptides that could otherwise pull people out to sea, Leatherman said. But few would want to swim among a sargassum bloom anyhow. As it decays on beaches and among mangroves, it releases noxious-smelling chemicals like hydrogen sulfide — a malodorous chemical reminiscent of rotten eggs that will deter beachgoers. Leatherman described it as “a floating forest,” with its own unique ecosystem of hundreds of other plants and animals. One particularly dangerous resident of that forest is the highly venomous Portuguese Man of War man o’ war. But as the seaweed is pulled ashore, all that stuff goes along with it, creating a host of new problems. Fish, crabs and jellyfish that move among the sargassum get washed ashore and rot on the beach.  NOAA’s Lumpkin recounted pulling a little crab out of the mat of sargasso that had washed ashore near Miami. He recalled thinking, "That guy had gone on a really long ride." Could a sargassum colony — or the species that ride along with it — eventually establish the kind of permanent presence in the Caribbean that it has in the wider Atlantic? “That’s a fascinating question,” Lumpkin said. “We don’t know the answer.” Is it killing off coral? The overwhelming danger posed by the massive seaweed blooms is ecological. As the floating sargasso plants pile atop each other, they form layered mats several feet deep and sometimes stretching for miles — so large, Leatherman said, that sea turtles sometimes get stuck underneath them and drown. The drifting mats also can block all light from reaching underwater plants beneath, posing a deadly threat to coral reefs. The rise of sargassum blooms has happened alongside a wider loss of stony corals in the Florida Keys, LaPointe said, although he stressed that the cause still hadn’t been proven. And as the floating seaweed breaks down among the mangroves that ring the Gulf, hydrogen sulfide and other by-products suck oxygen out of the water column, creating dead zones that suffocate fish and “everything underwater that can't swim away,” LaPointe said. To make things even worse, those rotting bodies add to the stink. Where is the seaweed headed and when will it get there? Likely the beaches of the Gulf Coast and islands of the Caribbean Sea, but it is hard to say much beyond that, experts told The HIll. That belt is “not one single mass — it’s lots and lots of clumps and passages that get sheared off,” said Lumpkin of NOAA.  Some of those clumps have gotten sheared off from the larger floating forest, and are washing ashore in Cuba, the Yucatan and South Florida — and in particular the three east-facing counties of Miami-Dade, Broward and Palm Beach.  “But the mass of it is still heading into the Gulf, and we’re going to see a steady increase in the amount passing along,” Lumpkin said. In its current trajectory, a long train of seaweed is following the Caribbean current west, where it is catching the loop current around the Yucatan Peninsula, and threading the 90-mile strait between Cuba and Florida, after which the Gulf Stream will carry it back into the Atlantic. But while “that’s the pathway, wind can blow it off course,” Lumpkin said — a north wind could blow it against Cuba, a south wind against the Florida Keys. LaPointe of Florida American returned to the metaphor of a hurricane far from land: the trajectory is too uncertain to warn any specific resort or beach community in time to avoid a wave of disappointed guests. That could change starting this July. LaPointe’s lab has gotten a grant from the Environmental Protection Agency to begin work with the Florida National Marine Sanctuary to begin trying to track specific sargassum clumps with enough detail “to tell hotels what’s coming for you.” What will places do about it? In the past, Miami plowed it under the beaches, but it has become such a problem now that the beach sand can no longer contain it, Leatherman said. On some of the rockier Caribbean islands, where pocket beaches lie inside a protective bottleneck of peninsulas, the solution to sargassum is simple: stretch a boom (of the sort that might be used to stop an oil spill) across a narrow bottleneck. And in Mexico’s Yucatan, an entrepreneur calling himself Mr. Sargasso has begun selling bricks made from clay compacted with the seaweed pulled from beaches — which he calls “sargablocks.” But Florida’s long, flat beaches can’t be protected by booms, and the state has no brick industry. Fort Lauderdale has disposed of sargassum for years by dragging it out to giant parking lots, laying it in sheets, letting the rain wash off the salt, and then composting it into mulch, which it gives out for free. It’s a solution that, in essence, repurposes uses the nutrients running off the denuded Amazon to nourish Florida lawns and crops. But with the seaweed bloom arriving in such quantities so early in the season — months before Florida’s summer rains begin — composting may not be an option, Leatherman said. That will likely give the region’s cities little choice but to drag it to the landfills at a cost of $35 million to $45 million per county.

‘Legacy of bold resistance’: how the Tla-o-qui-aht are protecting 100% of their territory

By Steph Kwetásel'wet Wood Fighting American colonizers in the 1800s. Setting the foundation for Canada’s first major anti-logging action. Trailblazing tribal parks and sustainable logging practices. How the Tla-o-qui-aht continue to take stewardship of their territory back into their own hands

By Steph Kwetásel'wet Wood Saya Masso stands in front of a culturally modified tree, looking up into the canopy which disappears into the sky above us. It has two massive crevices down its trunk, leaving a large smooth block in the middle of otherwise bumpy bark. This smooth block was left after Tla-o-qui-aht (ƛaʔuukʷiʔatḥ) people cut planks from the tree for a long house hundreds of years ago — a way of harvesting the wood they needed while preserving a living tree for centuries to come, he explains. “I really wanted to show you this tree as an example of the traditional laws that led to our system of abundance and vibrancy,” says Masso, a husband, father of three, and the lands and resource director for the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation. Tla-o-qui-aht ḥaḥuułi (territory) is on the most southwestern corner of Vancouver Island, facing the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The area, with its ancient forests and sweeping beaches, draws thousands of tourists every year, many flocking to the tourism hub of Tofino. Tla-o-qui-aht people have lived there for about 10,000 years. But it’s not just tourism this area is known for. Logging has shaped — and decimated — much of the landscape.  Investigating problems. Exploring solutions The Narwhal’s reporters are telling environment stories you won’t read about anywhere else. Stay in the loop by signing up for a weekly dose of independent journalism. Investigating problems. Exploring solutions The Narwhal’s reporters are telling environment stories you won’t read about anywhere else. Stay in the loop by signing up for a weekly dose of independent journalism. In the 1600s, the century before Europeans arrived on this coast, Masso says everyone relied on cedar for clothing, tools, boats and homes. “The mountains would still look lush,” he adds. “You wouldn’t tell we were harvesting trees to build villages for 10,000 people.” “It was a system of management and respect, and a relationship of reciprocity.” Logging companies didn’t approach forestry management in the same way. After building the first road into the Tofino area in the 1950s, companies harvested vast swaths of the temperate rainforest, threatening the livelihoods of the Tla-o-qui-aht and other Nuu-chah-nulth people. As the trees vanished, so did their ability to access food, engage in spiritual practices and maintain connections with cedar, salmon and other relations. So they fought back. In 1984, Nuu-chah-nulth people famously turned away B.C.-based logging company MacMillan Bloedel, which planned to clear cut old-growth forests — including trees that were estimated to be more than 1,000 years old on Wah-nah-jus – Hilth-hoo-is (Meares Island). It was the first major logging blockade in Canadian history, and the beginning of a series of blockades in Clayoquot Sound known as the War in the Woods.  Nearly thirty years after the War in the Woods, Saya Masso is among those featured in an episode of CBC’s The Nature of Things focused on efforts to protect old-growth forests. Narrated by Steph Kwetásel’wet Wood, the film — which was produced by Makwa Creative and Antica Productions — is now live on CBC Gem. Photo: Melissa Renwick / The Narwhal While media attention dissipated after the conflict ended in the 1990s, the story continued. Since that initial blockade, the Tla-o-qui-aht have been grappling with how to approach logging and push for conservation amid provincial governmental restrictions. They are advocating for logging strategies that preserve old-growth and avoid clear cutting, while still providing wealth and abundance. Pushing towards a ‘conservation economy,’ instead of an extractive one The Meares Island blockade led to the Tla-o-qui-aht establishing the Wah-nuh-jus–Hilthoois Tribal Park (Meares Island) in 1984. Each Indigenous government may define tribal parks differently, but to the Tla-o-qui-aht, they refer to lands and waters stewarded and cared for by tribal park Guardians that “are protected by ƛaʔuukʷiʔatḥ laws, rights and title.” The War in the Woods was sparked by logging on Tla-o-qui-aht, Ahouhsaht, and Hesquiaht territories. In response to the conflict, the province handed over all the tree farm licences in Clayoquot Sound to the five central Nuu-chah-nulth nations, which also included the Ucluelet and Toquaht First Nations.  The five nations created a jointly owned forestry corporation, Ma-Mook Natural Resources. But the First Nations still faced economic pressure to log, as otherwise they would be losing money on the tree farm licences. It was a difficult situation, but Masso says Ma-Mook Natural Resources worked with environmental organizations to improve forestry practices. They were also an early leader in ecosystem-based forest management, the practice of harvesting trees while trying to maintain the integrity of ecosystems. “What I remember is just feeling extremely proud of being Nuu-chah-nulth.” By 2014, Tla-o-qui-aht declared all of its territory protected within four tribal parks, and Masso helped to create a robust Guardians program so their people could be out on the land stewarding their homelands.  Terry Dorward was 12 years old in 1984, when the Ahousaht and Tla-o-qui-aht First Nations stood up against MacMillan Bloedel. He remembers marching in protest of the logging company in Victoria, B.C., with his late uncle Ee-wah-nulth, or Ray Seitcher Sr., as a formative experience for his political growth. They marched in 1984, only shortly after the Christie Student Residence, formerly the Christie Residential School, closed in 1983. “We were really defying Canadian law. I think that really, really instilled an awareness, consciousness of you know, I have a role to do in life,” Dorward says. Throughout the War in the Woods demonstrators gathered at the parliament buildings in Victoria, B.C. Photos: Aldo de Moor / Wikimedia commons “What I remember is just feeling extremely proud of being Nuu-chah-nulth,” he says. “I saw our leadership being strong, our Elders being strong and not compromising.” In July, 2022, when The Narwhal travelled to Tla-o-qui-aht territory, Dorward was the Tla-o-qui-aht’s tribal parks project coordinator. The tribal park Guardians are out on the territory almost every day. Their work is grounded in the Nuu-chah-nulth principle of hishukish ts’awalk: everything is one. The Guardians program was originally funded through fees collected from visitors to the Big Tree Trail, a boardwalk the guardians are building that showcases the forest they fought to protect almost 40 years ago. They painstakingly nail down reclaimed wood from old paths and disused docks around the territory to make the cool, quiet old-growth forest floor accessible for anyone who wants to visit while protecting it from trampling boots. As of last summer, the path had just reached the culturally modified tree Masso spoke of, known as the Standing Harvest Tree.  “[The trail] is very dear to my heart,” Masso says.  The funding for their work now comes from Tla-o-qui-aht’s Tribal Park Allies program. Businesses that join the program agree to be good stewards, and ask for a one per cent fee from their clients that goes to Tribal Park Regional Services, known as an ecosystem service fee. The fee benefits everyone by allowing the guardians to maintain a functioning ecosystem, Masso says, which also supports a robust local economy.  The Big Tree Trail is a significant part of the Tla-o-qui-aht’s Guardian program history. Now, they have built capacity and the program is year-round. Photos: Steph Kwetásel’wet Wood / The Narwhal Tourism in Tofino is propelled by its cultivated reputation for pristine beaches, forests and wildlife, and the town generates millions in revenues each year. Tla-o-qui-aht has spent years explaining to the public how Tofino profits off Indigenous land, and the tribal parks team has had some success encouraging locals to “pay their share,” Dorward says. About a quarter of Tofino businesses participate in the program, and in 2021 they contributed $277,260 to support the guardians’ stewardship. The nation aims to get 100 per cent of businesses on board to keep the land healthy for everyone. As the Guardians program grows, Dorward hopes it will open up opportunities for young people to work on the land in roles like tree planting, restoration and education. The program funds are also earmarked for language, culture and youth programs, he says. Masso hopes the funds will also go toward building a hospital, a school and a longhouse. “Our people understand that in order to be politically sovereign, with no strings attached with the government, we have to be economically independent,” Dorward says. Tla-o-qui-aht territory home to a new innovation campus for Indigenous protected areas When Tla-o-qui-aht declared Wah-nah-jus – Hilth-hoo-is a tribal park, it was a “beacon of hope,” according to Eli Enns, a Tla-o-qui-aht political scientist and founder of the IISAAK OLAM Foundation, which supports the establishment of Indigenous Protected and Conserved Areas (IPCAs). “They tried to take our connection, but yet still we are here, and we’re in this period of revival” as pull quote? To Enns, Clayoquot Sound is a logical epicentre for Indigenous protected areas because of the legacy of the tribal park declaration in 1984, the first of its kind in this place commonly called Canada.  “We’re building on this legacy of bold resistance.” Enns co-led the establishment of the Pacific IPCA Innovation Centre, which focuses on education and innovation, offering workshops and curriculum to focus on capacity-building for IPCAs. Clayoquot campus, which opened in 2021 in Tla-o-qui-aht territory, is the first location of the Centre. It was established as a “legacy outcome” of the Conservation through Reconciliation Partnership, which is co-led by the IISAAK OLAM Foundation, the Indigenous Leadership Initiative and the University of Guelph. The Centre will eventually grow to encompass a network of similar campuses from Alaska to Costa Rica, Enns says.  Their goal is to enact the recommendations of the 2018 Indigenous Circle of Experts report, which focused on how to achieve Canada’s international conservation commitments through Indigenous protected areas. Canada has promised to protect 25 per cent of land and ocean by 2025, and later extended that promise to protecting 30 per cent of land and ocean by 2030. While working on the 2018 report, Enns says one of the foremost issues that came up in pursuing Indigenous protected areas was capacity building.  “You can have a big hairy goal to create all these new protected areas. You can throw a lot of money, hundreds of millions of dollars, towards achieving that big hairy goal. If you don’t do your due diligence in actually building capacity for that, you’re definitely going to damage relations further or end up with stranded assets, where you lost money and created a paper park, and then it just flops after the photoshoots are over,” he says. The Clayoquot campus was designed to build the necessary capacity to support IPCAs, as more and more Indigenous nations announce or declare protected areas on their territory. The Pacific Innovation Centre will eventually do the same at a bigger scale. “When you know who you are, you believe in yourself, act boldly for future generations, you can accomplish amazing things,” Eli Enns, who co-led the establishment of the Pacific IPCA Innovation Centre, says. The centre’s Clayoquot campus is at is at the Naa’Waya’Sum Coastal Indigenous Gardens, formerly known as the Tofino Botanical Gardens, which was purchased by a philanthropist and transferred to the program. Photo: Steph Kwetásel’wet Wood / The Narwhal “We on the IPCA innovation side are not leading the creation of IPCAs. That’s for the Indigenous governments,” he says. “The innovation side is about gathering and galvanizing all of the supportive elements that may be needed to support Indigenous leadership in the creation of IPCAs, sort of like pre-rehearsal, in a way, getting people together and building their core competencies.” The campus is an extension of the history of the Tla-o-qui-aht protecting their land, Enns says, not only at Wah-nah-jus – Hilth-hoo-is, but for generations before and generations to come. “We’re building on this legacy of bold resistance,” he says. ‘Guardians programs allow us to assert our sovereignty’ Riley Caputo, who is from Gitxaala First Nation on the central coast and has been a guardian for Tla-o-qui-aht for a year, says it is “the best job in the world.” Caputo is soft-spoken, and often has his son Tinucw by his side. He’s deeply committed to sovereignty, and says Indigenous Guardian programs contribute to achieving a true nation-to-nation relationship with Canada in which Indigenous governance is treated equally, not secondary. “Guardians programs allow us to assert our sovereignty and our jurisdiction over the land, and it’s just one stepping stone to go in that direction,” he says. He also emphasized the importance of protecting old-growth forests to ensure culture remains strong. According to Sierra Club BC, Vancouver Island has lost 30 per cent of its original forests over the past 25 years, and less than seven per cent of the island’s most productive and endangered old-growth forests remain. On average, nearly 9,000 hectares of old-growth forests were logged annually from 2011 to 2015.  “Monumental size trees, to use with totem poles and canoes, are part of the culture of potlatching nations, and very few remain. To continue logging old growth is cultural genocide,” he says. Masso says he is still shocked when he sees examples of how the B.C. government “walked away” from damaged rivers and forests in Tla-o-qui-aht territory, but he says the nation turned that void into possibility. “It left an opportunity for us to reinvigorate our roles as stewards in the watersheds.” Terry Dorward is from a chief’s family of the House Hi-you-eah and has been involved with Tla-o-qui-aht tribal parks since the first was established in 1984. “We have such a responsibility to build our people back up.” Photos: Steph Kwetásel’wet Wood / The Narwhal The Guardians program is part of healing from colonization, Masso says. When he looks at the Standing Harvest Tree, he doesn’t only think of how the forest was saved in 1984. He also thinks of how Christie Residential School was built in 1900 and Tla-o-qui-aht children were taken away until 1983.  He thinks of how the potlatch was banned, and how his people potlatched in secret to carry on their teachings, hanging curtains bearing their crests over windows and folding up the curtains if Indian Agents came.  He thinks of how his people chased Americans out of Clayoquot Sound in 1811, halting their ambitions to move northward. This tale of resistance resulted in their village Opitsaht being bombed to the ground, with people still finding bomb fragments in the sand today. It all started when the Americans promised the Tla-o-qui-aht a ship from their fleet, and after that promise was broken, the Tla-o-qui-aht attempted to seize one. The ship was blown up, killing both Tla-o-qui-aht and Americans, and it’s believed an American blew up the ship rather than see it taken. He thinks of how Americans may have laid claim to the coast if it weren’t for the Tla-o-qui-aht’s resistance. He thinks of how Indigenous Peoples were banned from hiring lawyers until 1960, and how the first time Tla-o-qui-aht hired a lawyer was in 1984, to challenge logging in Wah-nah-jus – Hilth-hoo-is alongside the Ahousaht First Nation, and to uphold their title and their laws.And now he thinks about how his community is creating language and culture classes and stewarding their homelands.  “They tried to take our connection, but yet still we are here, and we’re in this period of revival,” he says. War for the Woods premiers March 17 on The Nature of Things. The film will also be screened March 20 at the Hot Docs film festival in Toronto. It’s available now on CBC Gem.

"Entirely avoidable": Ohio AG sues Norfolk Southern over East Palestine train derailment

Ohio is suing Norfolk Southern over last month's East Palestine train derailment, calling it "entirely avoidable," state Attorney General Dave Yost announced Tuesday.The big picture: The 58-count civil lawsuit filed in federal court seeks to hold one of the country's largest freight rail operators financially responsible for the Feb. 3 train derailment that caused the release of over 1 million gallons of hazardous chemicals into the surrounding environment.The controlled release "recklessly" endangered the health of residents and Ohio’s natural resources, Yost alleges in the complaint. Details: The lawsuit claims that dozens of violations of various federal and state environmental laws resulted in hazardous pollutants being released into the air, water and ground — potentially posing long-term threats to human health and the environment.It also alleges damage to the regional economy, local businesses and residents, many of whom have been displaced.The state is seeking reimbursement for damages, incurred emergency response costs, repayment of court costs, as well as the recovery of lost taxes and other economic harm for the state and its residents.The attorney general is also seeking to recover the lost taxes, injunctive relief, civil penalties and court costs.What they're saying: "Ohio shouldn’t have to bear the tremendous financial burden of Norfolk Southern’s glaring negligence," Yost said in a statement. "The fallout from this highly preventable incident may continue for years to come," he added.Meanwhile, Norfolk Southern released a statement Tuesday saying, "We look forward to working toward a final resolution with Attorney General Yost."The company said its goal is to "make it right" for the people of East Palestine and the surrounding communities, as it works to clean the incident site and provide financial assistance to affected residents and businesses.Go deeper: Norfolk Southern CEO in the hot seatNTSB to investigate Norfolk Southern safety practices Norfolk Southern reported rise in railway accident rates

Ohio is suing Norfolk Southern over last month's East Palestine train derailment, calling it "entirely avoidable," state Attorney General Dave Yost announced Tuesday.The big picture: The 58-count civil lawsuit filed in federal court seeks to hold one of the country's largest freight rail operators financially responsible for the Feb. 3 train derailment that caused the release of over 1 million gallons of hazardous chemicals into the surrounding environment.The controlled release "recklessly" endangered the health of residents and Ohio’s natural resources, Yost alleges in the complaint. Details: The lawsuit claims that dozens of violations of various federal and state environmental laws resulted in hazardous pollutants being released into the air, water and ground — potentially posing long-term threats to human health and the environment.It also alleges damage to the regional economy, local businesses and residents, many of whom have been displaced.The state is seeking reimbursement for damages, incurred emergency response costs, repayment of court costs, as well as the recovery of lost taxes and other economic harm for the state and its residents.The attorney general is also seeking to recover the lost taxes, injunctive relief, civil penalties and court costs.What they're saying: "Ohio shouldn’t have to bear the tremendous financial burden of Norfolk Southern’s glaring negligence," Yost said in a statement. "The fallout from this highly preventable incident may continue for years to come," he added.Meanwhile, Norfolk Southern released a statement Tuesday saying, "We look forward to working toward a final resolution with Attorney General Yost."The company said its goal is to "make it right" for the people of East Palestine and the surrounding communities, as it works to clean the incident site and provide financial assistance to affected residents and businesses.Go deeper: Norfolk Southern CEO in the hot seatNTSB to investigate Norfolk Southern safety practices Norfolk Southern reported rise in railway accident rates

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