Toxic tiles

When Brittany Goldwyn Merth ripped up the carpets in her Maryland home in March 2019 and laid down vinyl tile, she meticulously documented the process. Merth is a do-it-yourself influencer, part of a growing group of well-coiffed women who track their home improvement projects online through sleek videos and posts studded with affiliate links. To her 46,000 Pinterest followers, she details tips for Ikea hacks, plant care, and what she calls “approachable woodworking.” After researching flooring that was affordable and easy to install, Merth settled on Home Depot’s Lifeproof line: vinyl planks made to look like wood that lock together without glue. Simplicity was part of the sell. “Buy it today, install it today,” the blond woman in the Home Depot ad promised.

Merth was pleased with the result, and she wrote a follow-up post a year later, as the coronavirus pandemic was spreading throughout the world and professionals with spare cash were overhauling their homes. Middle-class Americans were entering an era of immense choice in the workplace; at many companies, it was possible for the first time ever to work from practically anywhere. They just had to figure out where to put the home office.

In two blog posts on her flooring project, Merth linked to Home Depot’s Lifeproof page over a dozen times. But she didn’t realize at the time that the simplicity promised by Home Depot comes at an immense environmental and human cost. Vinyl flooring is seeing a surge of growth, boosted in part by pandemic-era renovations. The industry calls it “luxury vinyl tile.” In reality, it is layer upon layer of thin plastic, a heavily polluting concoction made with fossil fuels. Very often, a new report shows, that plastic is produced using forced labor.

The story of vinyl flooring begins 6,600 miles away in the Xinjiang region of northwestern China, where it is intertwined with the persecution of the predominantly Muslim Uyghurs. The same month that Merth wrote her 2020 blog post, in a village in southern Xinjiang, 30-year-old Abdurahman Matturdi was herded onto a bus emblazoned with the words “Zhongtai Chemical.” That’s short for Xinjiang Zhongtai Chemical Company, a Chinese government-owned petrochemical firm that is one of the world’s largest manufacturers of polyvinyl chloride, or PVC, a type of plastic that is a critical ingredient in vinyl flooring. The World Health Organization had just declared Covid-19 a pandemic, and factories across China were shutting down to protect workers and prevent the coronavirus’s spread, but Zhongtai’s PVC plants were humming. Matturdi, whose story is detailed in a post on the company’s WeChat account, left behind his wife, newborn baby, and ailing mother. Hours later, he arrived in the regional capital of Ürümqi, where people in his group were assigned dormitory beds and given military fatigues to wear. Instead of watching his baby learn to walk or caring for his mother, he would spend his days laboring in Zhongtai’s facilities, exposed to both toxic chemicals and a frightening new virus.

Zhongtai did not respond to a detailed list of questions from The Intercept.

Merth and Matturdi are connected by a troubling supply chain. At one end is Zhongtai, a mammoth state-owned enterprise with close ties to the Chinese Communist Party that is among the top users of forced labor in Xinjiang. By its own account, Zhongtai has brought in more than 5,500 Uyghurs like Matturdi to work at its factories under a government program that human rights advocates say amounts to a grave injustice. To make the plastic resins that go into the flooring under Americans’ feet, Zhongtai belches greenhouse gases and mercury into the air. Its executives uproot lives, tear families apart, and expose workers to coal dust and vinyl chloride monomer, which has been linked to liver tumors.

At the other end of the chain are many major flooring companies, small contractors, and Home Depot. “The Home Depot prohibits the use of forced or prison labor in its supply chain,” a spokesperson wrote in an email. “This is an issue we take very seriously, and we will work to review the information in the report and to take any additional steps necessary to ensure that the product we sell is free from forced labor and fully compliant with all applicable regulations.”

The new report, by researchers at Sheffield Hallam University’s Helena Kennedy Centre for International Justice in England and at the Maine-based toxic chemical investigative outfit Material Research, details the toll taken by the flooring industry, painting a devastating picture of oppression and pollution in the Uyghur region, all to help consumers in the United States and other wealthy countries cheaply renovate their homes. The report calls on the industry “to identify its risk and extract themselves from complicity in Uyghur forced labor.” It also asks all companies that source from China — including Home Depot — to scrutinize their supply chains.

The report is “very significant,” said Scott Nova, executive director of the Worker Rights Consortium, an independent labor monitoring group that was not involved with the research. “It has major implications for the retailers and marketers of flooring. And there are a lot of people walking around their homes right now on floors that are virtually certain to be made in part with forced labor.”

Fully 10 percent of global PVC comes from the Uyghur region, the majority of it from Zhongtai. From Xinjiang, Zhongtai’s PVC resin is transported to eastern China, India, and Vietnam, where it is turned into flooring before being exported to the U.S. and other parts of the world. PVC is also used to make everyday products like shower curtains and credit cards; the Sheffield Hallam and Material Research team says it is likely that Zhongtai plastics are used to make PVC piping for global buyers.

The researchers focus in part on a flooring factory in Vietnam called Jufeng New Materials that supplies Lifeproof tiles to Home Depot, via a Georgia-based company called Home Legend. Over one-third of Jufeng’s imports of PVC resins come from Zhongtai, shipping records show. Another half come from Jufeng’s parent company in eastern China, which itself sources heavily from Zhongtai. All of this leads the researchers to conclude that the Lifeproof line is at “high risk of being made with Xinjiang Zhongtai PVC.”

The Home Depot spokesperson sent The Intercept a letter from Home Legend, dated June 10, claiming that Jufeng’s parent company had assured it that Xinjiang PVC was not used to produce flooring for the big box retailer. The spokesperson also directed The Intercept to a Home Depot report stating that it audits suppliers to ensure compliance with “human rights, safety and environmentally sound practices,” including a ban on forced labor. Home Depot did not answer questions about when it last audited Home Legend or its downstream factories. Home Legend did not respond to requests to comment.

Researchers, customs officials, and journalists have previously documented a disturbing array of products linked to Uyghur forced labor, including surgical masks, laptops, cotton, solar panels, and wigs. But PVC flooring adds another dimension: severe health and environmental effects. The report details how workers involved in its production breathe in several toxic substances, including carcinogens, and how massive amounts of climate pollutants are released in the process of creating plastic resin for flooring.

Tainted Supply Chain

PVC production occurs in countries around the world, including the U.S., and creates pollution wherever it happens. But in Xinjiang, the process uses mercury, which has been phased out of PVC production in the U.S., and generates more waste than in many other parts of the world, the report notes. Uyghur workers living in dormitories near the plants bear the costs. “In those conditions, at that scale, where the state is in control of production and there’s no accounting for the impacts, it’s almost unimaginable what’s happening,” said Jim Vallette of Material Research, one of the report’s authors. “There’s nothing like it on Earth in the combination of climate and toxic pollution. And workers are living there 24/7.”

Lifeproof is Home Depot’s in-house flooring line. But the problem extends far beyond Home Depot. The researchers trace PVC from Zhongtai to over two dozen other flooring brands. They also highlight Zhongtai’s long list of investors in the U.S. and Europe, among them the Norwegian Government Pension Fund, Dimensional Fund Advisors, and Vanguard. None of the funds responded to questions from The Intercept about their investments in Zhongtai; in an email to the researchers, Vanguard confirmed an investment of $7 million in Zhongtai.

“There’s nothing like it on Earth in the combination of climate and toxic pollution.”

Consumers in the U.S. are shielded from vinyl flooring’s dark backstory. Flooring companies promote vinyl flooring as ideal for families and environmentally friendly because it doesn’t rely on lumber and, manufacturers claim, lasts longer than wood flooring. Some brands even portray their products as liberating for women because they are easy to install and clean — and enlist female influencers to promote their floors. (Merth said Home Depot did not compensate her for her posts in any way and that she hasn’t made significant money from the affiliate links in them.)

Merth said she carefully researched vinyl flooring before settling on the Lifeproof brand. She said she ran across people online who warned against the general use of plastics in the home, but she wasn’t sure whether to trust them. Otherwise, she said, she did not find any information that concerned her.

Home Depot uses multiple manufacturers for Lifeproof floors, and the particular Lifeproof style that Merth installed does not appear to have a direct tie to Xinjiang. But several other Lifeproof styles that she recommended to her followers are sourced from Jufeng, the Vietnamese factory that imports large amounts of PVC from Zhongtai. The researchers identified these tiles by comparing the product codes and flooring thickness listed on Home Depot’s site with those in shipping records. The products have whimsical names, like Sundance Canyon Hickory and Maligne Valley Oak, making it sound as if the tiles originated in a serene forest.

“It’s certainly shocking to hear that,” said Merth of Lifeproof’s supply chain, adding that she would consider appending a note to her posts. She said that the findings raise questions about Home Depot. “It’s something that I would be very concerned about, if they knew and still were selling it.”

Next week, U.S. customs officials will start enforcing a key provision of a new law, the Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act, which requires companies to vet their supply chains for any use of labor in Xinjiang. President Joe Biden signed the act into law last December following a campaign by workers’ rights and Uyghur activist groups; it allows Customs and Border Protection to assume that all goods from Xinjiang are made with forced labor, putting the onus on the importer to prove otherwise. But because PVC products often pass through multiple countries before arriving in the U.S., many vinyl floors wouldn’t automatically face scrutiny. The Sheffield Hallam and Material Research investigators hope to change that. “A lot of businesses have resisted looking beyond the veil that they put up in their supply chains,” said lead author Laura Murphy, who studies forced labor at Sheffield Hallam. “From my desk and from the desks of my research team, we figure this out every day.” Increasingly, she said, there is no excuse for such myopia.

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Illustration: Isip Xin for The Intercept

A Coal-Blackened Wasteland

Around a decade ago, factories in eastern China introduced the tiles that had so entranced Merth, the DIY influencer. Water-resistant, cheap, and lightweight, the innovation revolutionized the flooring industry. Laying down a floor became as simple as building with Legos; suddenly anyone could do it, no contractor required. American companies soon brought the Chinese-made flooring planks to market as luxury vinyl tile, calling the new assembly method “click and lock.” HGTV gushed that the new tiles were “Not Your Father’s Vinyl Floor.” Guests plugged them on the “Today” show and on “This Old House.” Between 2010 and 2020, according to shipping figures compiled by Material Research, U.S. imports of vinyl floors from China quintupled.

The combination of cheap fossil fuels and forced labor in the production of Chinese PVC proved impossible for American flooring companies to match.

American flooring factories couldn’t compete. Vallette, who has tracked the environmental effects of plastic flooring for years, has counted 18 factories that closed as manufacturing shifted overseas. The combination of cheap fossil fuels and forced labor in the production of Chinese PVC proved impossible for American flooring companies to match. More than 2,500 American workers lost their jobs. The U.S. brands remained, but only because they reinvented themselves as distributors in a complex global supply chain.

Into this upturned market came Zhongtai. Like many state-owned enterprises in China, Zhongtai has a web of subsidiaries. It produces chemicals used in polyester, spandex, and polyurethane, and it grows tomatoes, grapes, peppers, and cotton. But its main business is plastics. Zhongtai’s four factories in Xinjiang churn out more than two million tons of PVC resin per year.

One of Zhongtai's four PVC factories, where Uyghurs work with mercury, coal dust, and the chemical PFAS.

One of Zhongtai’s four PVC factories, where Uyghurs are exposed to toxic substances, including mercury and carcinogens.

Screenshot: Google Earth

Making PVC requires both abundant energy and toxic inputs. In the U.S., companies pipe in natural gas from hydrofracking sites and use asbestos imported from Russia and South America to make chlorine, a critical ingredient; they also use industrial chemicals known as PFAS. (The Environmental Protection Agency recently proposed banning the use of asbestos for this purpose.) In Xinjiang, PVC producers use an even more polluting process involving coal and a mercury-based catalyst. To get easy access to energy, Zhongtai sets up its PVC factories next to coal mines and coal-fired power plants in which it owns a stake. Satellite photos show industrial facilities surrounded by a ghastly, coal-blackened wasteland.

In 2017, Zhongtai began bringing in Uyghurs to work at its factories. Many of these laborers were, like Matturdi, from poor villages in southern Xinjiang. Their journeys start when Zhongtai representatives show up at their door. “Companies like Zhongtai recruit workers through state-sponsored programs, and people are not allowed to refuse,” said Murphy, the forced labor scholar. In one instance reported by Chinese state news agency Xinhua, Zhongtai representatives repeatedly visited the home of a young woman named Maynur on the edge of Xinjiang’s Taklamakan Desert. Her parents balked at the thought of her leaving, but their protests were ultimately ignored. Before long, Maynur was operating packaging machines at a Zhongtai PVC factory.

The Chinese government euphemistically calls this a “labor transfer” program and claims that it is aimed at alleviating poverty in the region. But it has been rolled out against a backdrop of escalating repression. Since 2016, the Chinese government has interned more than 1 million Uyghurs and other ethnic minorities in inhumane camps. The government has separated Uyghur children from their parents, carting them away to boarding schools reminiscent of institutions in the U.S. and Canada to which Native American kids were taken beginning in the mid-19th century. It has locked up Uyghurs for imagined transgressions and seized their land. One of the report’s authors, Nyrola Elimä, has a cousin in prison and parents under house arrest. “They don’t like us,” she said of the Chinese government. “In their eyes, we don’t look like them. We’re different, so we’re the enemy.” Human Rights Watch says that the Chinese government’s persecution of Uyghurs amounts to crimes against humanity, making it a violation of international law.

Zhongtai’s executives are active participants in broader government repression in the Uyghur region, according to the report. In 2017, the company held an event devoted to “social stability” in which representatives encouraged Uyghurs to bring their thinking in line with that of the Communist Party. Zhongtai’s employees have helped the Chinese government surveil Uyghur villagers by collecting their personal details and entering them into a widely criticized policing app, according to a WeChat post by a local propaganda department. And Zhongtai executives often publicize their participation in the labor transfer program, allowing state news reporters to film Uyghurs as they arrive by bus or join in military drills. Such workers have reason to fear anyone affiliated with the company, which, as a state-owned enterprise, implicitly represents the Chinese government. When Uyghurs arrive at Zhongtai’s facilities, the company’s corporate communications show, Communist Party officials are often there to receive them.

After undergoing training at Zhongtai, Uyghurs are put to work feeding furnaces, mixing and crushing materials for PVC production, and handling caustic soda, a byproduct of the production process. They face respiratory hazards from coal and PVC dust in the air, neurological effects from mercury, and carcinogens from coal reacting with chlorine.

Forced study is another part of the program, both at Zhongtai and at other plants in the region that use Uyghur labor. Elimä collected state press news clips about Zhongtai that show Uyghurs in military garb, studying Chinese. Some talk woodenly about how happy they are, as if reading from a script. “Thanks to the Party and Zhongtai for giving us this good opportunity!” says one.

“Zhongtai sees it as a corporate success because they’ve managed to turn Uyghurs away from being farmers, away from their homogenous culture, away from their Islamic piety and toward a culture that is more industrialized, urbanized, and ideologically appropriate in the government’s view,” said Murphy.

“First-person testimony tells us that people are typically not paid or are even in debt to the companies they work for.”

State media reports claim that the workers are paid enough that they can send money home to their families. According to Xinhua, Maynur earned 4,000 yuan a month, equivalent to around $580 at the time of the article. But the Xinjiang Victims Database, an independent project that compiles accounts from victims of persecution in the region, has collected many stories from former Uyghur laborers and their relatives who paint a very different picture of working conditions in the region. “First-person testimony tells us that people are typically not paid or are even in debt to the companies they work for,” said Murphy. Companies often deduct money for food and housing — or they promise to pay salaries and don’t deliver. The article featuring Matturdi’s case says that each worker in his group had 1,000 yuan ($145 at the time) of their first monthly paycheck applied toward meals.

The workers suffered anew as a novel coronavirus spread through the world in 2020. Over a two-week period in March, as factories in other parts of China remained closed, Zhongtai boasted that it had brought in over 1,000 Uyghurs from poor villages to work on its assembly lines. Some, like Matturdi, were bused in. Others arrived by train, flooding into halls where it was impossible to maintain social distance, wearing only surgical masks for protection from the virus.

Zhongtai profited by keeping its factories open. As home decorating supply sales surged in the U.S., the company was poised to rake in further gains.

The Intercept mapped the path of PVC made by Uyghur forced labor in Xinjiang, showing how it taints the supply chains of popular U.S. flooring brands. This map relies on data provided by Sheffield Hallam University and Material Research. Map: Akil Harris, Fei Liu, Mara Hvistendahl/The Intercept

From Vietnam to America

In America, meanwhile, middle-class workers had more flexibility than ever before. Even after companies started reopening their offices, many chose to continue to work from home. The change ushered in a renovation boom. Basement dens became offices. Bathrooms got an overhaul. Bedrooms were split in two. As labor costs rose, people often made these alterations themselves, rather than shell out money for a contractor. In 2020 and 2021, Home Depot broke records, adding $40 billion to its overall sales.

Merth, the DIY influencer, was not alone in turning to vinyl flooring for her Covid home reboot. Pandemic-related concerns about hygiene drove a shift toward hard-surface flooring, particularly vinyl. A recent report from the nonprofit Center for Environmental Health found that in 2020 alone, the vinyl flooring that was shipped from China to the U.S. would cover over 1 million miles if laid out end to end. That’s long enough to stretch from Earth to the moon four times over.

And that’s not even the full picture. Other flooring very likely made with Chinese raw materials — including some of Home Depot’s Lifeproof floors — was arriving in the U.S. via Vietnam. Much of it came from a single factory: Jufeng New Materials.

The industry’s solution was to ship PVC from China to a third country and manufacture the flooring there before exporting it to the U.S.

In 2018, as part of his trade war with China, President Donald Trump slapped tariffs on Chinese-made floors, making it costly for U.S. flooring companies to import directly from China. The industry’s solution was to ship PVC from China to a third country and manufacture the flooring there before exporting it to the U.S. In 2020, an executive at Zhongtai told Chinese state media that the company was turning to Southeast Asia because “conditions there are more stable.” That same year, Zhongtai began working with a company in eastern China called Zhejiang Tianzhen, according to a prospectus that Zhejiang Tianzhen recently released in a bid to go public on the Shenzhen stock exchange.

Zhejiang Tianzhen had just set up Jufeng as a subsidiary, building a series of warehouses in an industrial park north of a bend in the Cau river. The sprawling complex resembled a series of airplane hangars with blue roofs. A sign outside featured Chinese characters, and three flags flew overhead: Vietnamese, American, and Chinese. Jufeng held regular job fairs, eventually employing around 1,000 workers, according to Vietnamese media.

Jufeng became a critical destination for Zhongtai’s plastics. From March 2020 to February 2022, the Vietnamese factory received enough PVC resins from Zhongtai to make over 16.3 million square meters of vinyl flooring, according to Vallette of Material Research.

In an email, Zhejiang Tianzhen said it bans the use of forced labor by its suppliers and places “great emphasis on supply chain compliance,” requiring suppliers to adhere to a code of conduct on labor rights. “We haven’t found any forced labor in our suppliers during regular visits,” the manufacturer wrote. “Our company will continue to keep an eye on the situation. If any evidence of forced labor is found, we will take quick action.”

From Vietnam, Jufeng exports finished floors all over the world, including to Home Legend, the Georgia-based company. Home Legend markets its flooring as “earth minded” and claims on its website to manage forests in China and to source wood and bamboo from sustainable sources. It outlines a commitment to social responsibility and to protecting people at every stage of the floor’s life cycle. The website says nothing about the pollutants released during the creation of its vinyl floors or about how the workers who make components of those floors are treated.

Home Legend, in turn, supplies Home Depot with flooring for its Lifeproof line. It was Home Depot that sent The Intercept a letter from a vice president at the Georgia floormaker stating Zhejiang Tianzhen had assured the company that “no PVC from the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region (XUAR) has been used in any Home Legend products sold to the Home Depot.”

The letter further claimed that on January 24, Jufeng’s parent company had instructed all of its PVC sourcing agents to stop buying PVC from Xinjiang.

The researchers say that’s a weak defense. Vallette noted that shipping records show that Jufeng received at least 12 shipments of PVC from Zhongtai after January 24, most recently on February 21. “The easiest way to protect consumers and these companies’ reputations would be to get all floors that are potentially containing resins produced by forced labor out of the country and return them to sender,” he said.

A Zhejiang Tianzhen representative declined to answer questions about why Jufeng had continued to import PVC from Xinjiang. “We apologize for not being able to answer your inquiry because it involves business secrets and confidentiality agreements between the company and the customer,” the representative wrote.

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Illustration: Isip Xin for The Intercept

Staggering Toxicity

The fire that broke out in November spread quickly. Black smoke billowed into the night sky. Loud booms echoed through the air. Hundreds of soldiers and firefighters rushed to the scene. Within minutes, flames had consumed a Jufeng warehouse in Vietnam that stored PVC resins. Videos captured by witnesses show the structure burning to the ground.

The next day, the site was still smoldering. Exhausted firefighters stood by, wearing gas masks, weakly spraying the remains.

There is no evidence that workers were harmed in the fire, but the blaze released cancer-causing dioxins into the air and put firefighters and bystanders at risk. It could also have long-term effects. After a 1995 fire at a plastics warehouse in Binghamton, New York, dioxin levels in the soil were over 100 times higher than at other locations in the same community. In general, the disaster shows just how dangerous working with PVC can be. The chemicals involved are highly flammable. In this case, according to the Zhejiang Tianzhen prospectus, the fire was caused by an electrical problem. A Vietnamese government report subsequently found that Jufeng had not taken proper precautions, like conducting fire drills.

Workers and the people who live in surrounding neighborhoods are at risk even when factories aren’t burning. “All plastics carry significant toxic risks of one kind or another,” said Carroll Muffett, president of the Center for International Environmental Law, who is not affiliated with the organizations that produced the report. “But PVC is remarkable in the staggering toxicity that occurs at every stage of its lifecycle. We see massive quantities of hazardous air pollutants being released into surrounding communities, which are disproportionately poor and marginalized.”

The fire at Jufeng’s Vietnamese plant slashed $11.5 million off Zhejiang Tianzhen’s profits, according to the IPO prospectus. But satellite images show that Jufeng’s other warehouses remained untouched. Zhejiang Tianzhen claimed that its Vietnamese plants were humming again the next day. In the months following the fire, the company’s shipments to the U.S. actually increased.

In the first quarter of 2022, the Sheffield Hallam and Material Research report says, Jufeng sent 5,200 shipments of PVC flooring to the U.S., worth a total of $80 million. Nearly one quarter of that flooring — $17.2 million worth — went to Home Legend and bore product codes matching those sold by Home Depot.

Once the Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act comes into full effect next week, the researchers worry that manufacturers will find other workarounds. Last month, four members of Congress asked the House and Senate appropriations committees for expanded funding to enforce the law.

But on Home Depot’s responsibility, Murphy is resolute. Consumers, she said, have a right to know. “We need to know that the things we’re buying aren’t cheap simply because someone else is being forced to work.”

Zhongtai, for its part, recently announced plans to build a fifth, even bigger plant in Xinjiang. When the new facility is complete and running at full capacity, Zhongtai’s PVC factories will spew an estimated 49 million tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere each year. More difficult to measure is the human toll: the children separated from their parents, the workers who contract cancer decades later, the Uyghurs who lose the most productive years of their lives, all so that Americans can cheaply redo their home offices.

Additional reporting by Myf Ma

Sea turtles along Pakistan coast face host of threats


KARACHI:

Sea turtles along the coast are facing a welter of anthropogenic threats, including habitat degradation, plastic pollution, and entanglement in fishing gears, according to the World Wildlife Fund (WWF).

As a result of the construction of huts along beaches in Karachi and Balochistan, major nesting grounds of sea turtles are adversely affected, the study said on the eve of World Sea Turtle Day.

Since 2000, World Sea Turtle Day is observed every year on June 16 to raise awareness about the dwindling population of sea turtles and their diminishing habitat.

According to Muhammad Moazzam Khan, the technical adviser to WWF-Pakistan, plastic waste, collapsing huts, and rubble pose a serious threat to nesting females and juveniles along Pakistan’s coastal areas.

In Pakistan, sea turtles are known to nest on a number of beaches, including Sandspit, Hawke’s Bay, and Cape Monz along the Sindh coast, as well as Taq (Ormara), Astola Island, Gwadar Headland, and Daran along the Balochistan coast.

Thousands of female turtles visit these beaches to nest and lay eggs.

Also read: WATCH: Wildlife team cradles green turtles babies from beach to sea in Karachi

To collect data on the entanglement of turtles, the WWF-Pakistan initiated a study in 2012, which revealed that 30,000 sea turtles were annually caught in tuna gillnet fisheries of the country.

This included roughly 25,500 Olive Ridley and 4,500 Green turtles in the offshore waters of Pakistan.

Entanglement in fishing nets is the most serious threat to marine turtles.

It was estimated that about 3 per cent of entangled turtles were dying due to drowning or mishandling onboard fishing vessels.

Protecting endangered species

To protect the endangered species, the organisation has trained some 100 “skippers and crew members” to safely release the entangled sea turtles and developed a modification in the operation of the gillnets.

This, the study said, has reduced the entanglement of sea turtles by 85 per cent.

Pollution is also another major threat to the sea turtle population in Pakistani waters. Popular beaches are littered with garbage, dominated by single-use and micro-plastics.

The study has also reported on the impact of diesel and petrol on the population of turtles, stating that exposure to these fuels results in deformation in hatchlings and so, poses a serious threat to their survival.

Government agencies have taken several steps in recent years for the protection of sea turtles along the coasts.

“Through the efforts of WWF-Pakistan, fisheries-related legislations of both maritime provinces have been amended and sea turtles, as well as freshwater turtles, are declared protected,” the study added.

According to Khan, the declaration of Astola Island as a marine protected area, actions taken by the wildlife departments of Sindh and Balochistan, as well as awareness programs initiated by non-governmental wildlife organisations, have collectively increased the turtle population along the coastal regions.

Also read: Turtle species face extinction threat due to illegal fuel trade

However, he added that there is a need to declare all turtle beaches along the coast of Sindh and Balochistan marine protected areas.

Rab Nawaz, the senior director of WWF-Pakistan’s Conservation Biodiversity, for his part, called for “better protection and conservation” of sea turtles in the country.

He said these unique and iconic animals have been in existence for more than 100 million years but are under “serious” threat.

Human activities such as the destruction of nesting sites and unplanned development, as well as climate change, are pushing turtles closer to extinction, which calls for immediate steps for their conservation, he stressed.

Major species

Experts believe that the country has lost 25-30 per cent of the nesting ground for Green turtles over the past decade.

Female turtles lay their eggs on beaches between October and February, and the eggs hatch in about 60 days.

Five species of marine turtles are reported from Pakistan, with Green turtles (Chelonia mydas) the most dominant one, while another important sea turtle is the Olive Ridley (Lepidochelys olivacea) which used to nest along the coast.

However, no nest of this turtle species has been reported since 2001, the study said.

The other three species, including loggerhead turtle (Caretta caretta), hawksbill turtle (Eretmochelys imbricata), and leatherback turtle (Dermochelys coriacea) are reported from Pakistan and only a few authentic records are made by WWF-Pakistan.

Although turtles are not commercially harvested for food, however, poaching of turtle eggs has been reported.

Turtle hatchlings are also illegally removed from their nests and sold in aquarium shops.

“Although the government takes action against poachers, this illegal trade still continues and needs to be curbed,” it concluded.

Saving a Texan bayou, ‘16 bottles’ at a time

Bayou Dave, a modern-day Sisyphus, has spent the last dozen years ridding a trash-choked Houston waterway of plastic and Styrofoam.

No matter how much Bayou Dave hunts, his quarry never goes away. He finds it each time he sets out on Buffalo Bayou, a slow moving river that wends through the country’s fourth largest city and out to its port. And so it was one recent sweltering morning when he and his longtime deckhand, Trey Dennis, headed on a small barge to a floating boom they’d set out on the water the day before.

“Ah, isn’t that sweet,” said Bayou Dave, whose real name is David Rivers, as the boom swung into view.

Cradled in the boom’s massive embrace was what they were looking for, and knew they’d find: a vast whorling jumble of trash.

There was a toy airplane, a yellow football, a foam egg carton and a nail salon pink flip-flop. There were takeout containers, disposable dental picks and foam cups from 7-11 and Chick-fil-A. More than anything else, there was plastic — bottles that once held water, Coca-Cola, Gatorade, Sprite, Armor All multipurpose car cleaner and Fireball cinnamon whiskey.

Mr. Rivers maneuvered the barge over to the island of garbage — as big as a tennis court, it represented a fraction of the trash that flows through the bayou each day — and he and Mr. Dennis got to work.

More than 200 square miles of Houston’s sprawling urban streets drain into Buffalo Bayou and one of its tributaries, White Oak Bayou, with the runoff from every storm and rainfall carrying all manner of tossed and lost debris to the waters.

Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis are among the handful of people who regularly intercept the garbage before it finds its way to the Gulf of Mexico.

Using a jury-rigged suction device crafted with the help of duct tape, they haul the equivalent of about 250 full garbage bags out of the Bayou and its nearby waterways each week.

Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times
Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times

Maia Corbitt, president of Texans for Clean Water, described the pair as “our last line of defense” before the trash flows through two ecologically sensitive estuaries and into Galveston Bay. Robby Robinson, the field operations manager for Buffalo Bayou Partnership, the pair’s employer, described their work as “endless, thankless, no reward.”

“You just gotta be a special person,” Mr. Robinson said.

For Mr. Rivers, working on the Bayou is a calling. He’s been cleaning up its waterways pretty much every weekday for the past dozen years. Few people are more attuned to its inhabitants and its health.

Earlier this year Mr. Rivers spotted, to his delight and relief, the first snakes he’s seen on the bayou since Hurricane Harvey wiped out much of its wildlife in 2017. He revels in the riotous colors that crowd the bayou’s banks each spring and fall, waxes rapturous about its assorted birds, rescues baby turtles from rafts of trash, and mourns the fish killed by periodic algal blooms.

“It’s the whole ecosystem I’m concerned about,” said Mr. Rivers, 51. “The animals aren’t responsible for the pollution. But they’re directly affected by it.”

Growing up in South Acres, a hard bitten Houston neighborhood, Mr. Rivers was a devotee of the nature show “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom” and, later, “The Crocodile Hunter.”

He worked a series of jobs — stocking shelves at Target, mending railroad tracks, working as a security guard, landscaper and cleaning up toxic spills after Hurricane Katrina — before getting hired to work on the bayou in 2010.

A rotating cast served as deckhands on Bayou Dave’s barge until 2015, when Mr. Dennis came aboard. A former high school football player who grew up in Mississippi, Mr. Dennis adored the physicality of the job. “I’m saving the world one bottle, OK, by 16 bottles, at a time,” said Mr. Dennis, 30, who Mr. Rivers nicknamed Country Slim. “This is the best way for our children in the long run to stay healthy too.”

Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times
Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times

Buffalo Bayou is about 18,000 years old, and was saved from being artificially rerouted more than half a century ago, when environmentalists enlisted the help of George H.W. Bush, then a new congressman. In the 1980s, the nonprofit Buffalo Bayou Partnership was formed to maintain and create green spaces and hiking and biking trails along 10 miles of the roughly 52-mile bayou. About two decades later, a board member, Mike Garver, introduced a barge that suctioned up floating garbage, which Mr. Rivers later helped redesign after he became its captain.

Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis have bayou trash retrieval down to an art.

Their bayou-saving chariot is a 30-foot barge mottled with rust. A hardtop bimini shades its helm, a lone concession to human comfort, for the barge has no seats. A foot-wide vacuum hose rests on its bow, fastened with duct tape to another massive hose that feeds a containment area below deck.

Early one Thursday not long ago, Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis, both in long-sleeve shirts, pants, and work boots despite the heat, slipped into life vests. Mr. Rivers is wider in girth;Mr. Dennis is lithe and muscled.

Looking every bit the sea captain, Mr. Rivers steered the barge to the edge of the boom, the thick mantle of garbage undulating on his approach. A switch was flipped, a roar filled the air, and, and, guided by Mr. Dennis, the hose began sucking up plastic and Styrofoam like a giant, ravenous Slinky. Mr. Dennis grabbed a rake and hopped down to guide the trash toward the hose’s maw. Dots of sweat appeared on his brow, and dampened the back of his blue button-down.

Every now and then they paused to salvage intact toys — the toy airplane, the football — to give later to neighborhood kids.

Beyond the vacuum’s reach, half a dozen blackbirds picked through the flotsam, while outside the boom, plastic bottles bobbed downstream. Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis position the booms based on currents, but can’t come close to catching all the trash. Though they work eight hours a day, it might take months to patrol the entire 14 miles they’re tasked with cleaning.

The wind shifted, and an odor of rot enveloped the barge.

“Right now, that smell, that’s called bayou potpourri,” Mr. Rivers hollered over the din. Not long after that, a seam where the hose met the barge split open, splattering the deck, with sludgy brown Bayou juice. “She’s feeling nauseous, Trey,” Mr. Rivers called out, and turned off the vacuum.

Mr. Dennis hopped up on deck, and swiftly mended the crack with several layers of duct tape. An hour or so later, a hatch in the deck began spitting out bits of brown matter flecked with torn up Styrofoam pellets: the containment area was full and needed offloading.

Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times

Buffalo Bayou Partnership pulled 2,000 cubic yards of trash — the equivalent of 167 commercial dump truck loads — out of the waterways last year. Along with the efforts of Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis, a second team, usually consisting of people sentenced to community service, uses nets and pickers to clean harder to reach nooks and the bayou’s banks. Mr. Rivers keeps a list of the weirdest things he found: a basketball stand and hoop, multiple couches, bags of shredded money. He used to joke that he’d seen everything but the kitchen sink, until a few years ago when they found one of those, too.

During the earlier days of the pandemic, Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis saw the amount of garbage plummet, because people weren’t out littering, but the volume has since ticked back up. Everything they pull out is sent to a landfill. Over the years, several recyclers have offered to haul off some of the Bayou’s trash but Mr. Robinson said they balk when they see it firsthand. “It’s mixed with organic matter and water and silt and it’s not really recyclable,” he said.

An obvious fix would be to stop litter from reaching the bayou in the first place. Mr. Rivers and Mr. Robinson are rooting for a state bottle bill, which would incentivize people to return containers for money. According to data compiled by the Container Recycling Institute, in seven of the 10 states that have bottle bills, beverage container litter has been slashed by as much as 84 percent. “When it has no value, no one cares, and it goes into the ocean,” Mr. Robinson said.

In the meantime, Buffalo Bayou has Mr. Rivers as its champion. He’s posted videos of the trash-choked Bayou online, and appeared in local media along with the Kelly Clarkson Show, where he was interviewed by guest host Jay Leno. He fills the ears of people who take boat tours with the hows and whys of where all the garbage comes from.

On that recent morning, Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis took brief stock of their handiwork. Inside the boom, the bayou’s water flowed easily, rid of most of the plastic and Styrofoam, at least for now.

“But don’t worry,” Mr. Rivers said, as he guided the barge upriver, in search of more trash. “There’s more coming.”

Saving a Texan bayou, ‘16 bottles’ at a time

Bayou Dave, a modern-day Sisyphus, has spent the last dozen years ridding a trash-choked Houston waterway of plastic and Styrofoam.

No matter how much Bayou Dave hunts, his quarry never goes away. He finds it each time he sets out on Buffalo Bayou, a slow moving river that wends through the country’s fourth largest city and out to its port. And so it was one recent sweltering morning when he and his longtime deckhand, Trey Dennis, headed on a small barge to a floating boom they’d set out on the water the day before.

“Ah, isn’t that sweet,” said Bayou Dave, whose real name is David Rivers, as the boom swung into view.

Cradled in the boom’s massive embrace was what they were looking for, and knew they’d find: a vast whorling jumble of trash.

There was a toy airplane, a yellow football, a foam egg carton and a nail salon pink flip-flop. There were takeout containers, disposable dental picks and foam cups from 7-11 and Chick-fil-A. More than anything else, there was plastic — bottles that once held water, Coca-Cola, Gatorade, Sprite, Armor All multipurpose car cleaner and Fireball cinnamon whiskey.

Mr. Rivers maneuvered the barge over to the island of garbage — as big as a tennis court, it represented a fraction of the trash that flows through the bayou each day — and he and Mr. Dennis got to work.

More than 200 square miles of Houston’s sprawling urban streets drain into Buffalo Bayou and one of its tributaries, White Oak Bayou, with the runoff from every storm and rainfall carrying all manner of tossed and lost debris to the waters.

Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis are among the handful of people who regularly intercept the garbage before it finds its way to the Gulf of Mexico.

Using a jury-rigged suction device crafted with the help of duct tape, they haul the equivalent of about 250 full garbage bags out of the Bayou and its nearby waterways each week.

Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times
Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times

Maia Corbitt, president of Texans for Clean Water, described the pair as “our last line of defense” before the trash flows through two ecologically sensitive estuaries and into Galveston Bay. Robby Robinson, the field operations manager for Buffalo Bayou Partnership, the pair’s employer, described their work as “endless, thankless, no reward.”

“You just gotta be a special person,” Mr. Robinson said.

For Mr. Rivers, working on the Bayou is a calling. He’s been cleaning up its waterways pretty much every weekday for the past dozen years. Few people are more attuned to its inhabitants and its health.

Earlier this year Mr. Rivers spotted, to his delight and relief, the first snakes he’s seen on the bayou since Hurricane Harvey wiped out much of its wildlife in 2017. He revels in the riotous colors that crowd the bayou’s banks each spring and fall, waxes rapturous about its assorted birds, rescues baby turtles from rafts of trash, and mourns the fish killed by periodic algal blooms.

“It’s the whole ecosystem I’m concerned about,” said Mr. Rivers, 51. “The animals aren’t responsible for the pollution. But they’re directly affected by it.”

Growing up in South Acres, a hard bitten Houston neighborhood, Mr. Rivers was a devotee of the nature show “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom” and, later, “The Crocodile Hunter.”

He worked a series of jobs — stocking shelves at Target, mending railroad tracks, working as a security guard, landscaper and cleaning up toxic spills after Hurricane Katrina — before getting hired to work on the bayou in 2010.

A rotating cast served as deckhands on Bayou Dave’s barge until 2015, when Mr. Dennis came aboard. A former high school football player who grew up in Mississippi, Mr. Dennis adored the physicality of the job. “I’m saving the world one bottle, OK, by 16 bottles, at a time,” said Mr. Dennis, 30, who Mr. Rivers nicknamed Country Slim. “This is the best way for our children in the long run to stay healthy too.”

Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times
Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times

Buffalo Bayou is about 18,000 years old, and was saved from being artificially rerouted more than half a century ago, when environmentalists enlisted the help of George H.W. Bush, then a new congressman. In the 1980s, the nonprofit Buffalo Bayou Partnership was formed to maintain and create green spaces and hiking and biking trails along 10 miles of the roughly 52-mile bayou. About two decades later, a board member, Mike Garver, introduced a barge that suctioned up floating garbage, which Mr. Rivers later helped redesign after he became its captain.

Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis have bayou trash retrieval down to an art.

Their bayou-saving chariot is a 30-foot barge mottled with rust. A hardtop bimini shades its helm, a lone concession to human comfort, for the barge has no seats. A foot-wide vacuum hose rests on its bow, fastened with duct tape to another massive hose that feeds a containment area below deck.

Early one Thursday not long ago, Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis, both in long-sleeve shirts, pants, and work boots despite the heat, slipped into life vests. Mr. Rivers is wider in girth;Mr. Dennis is lithe and muscled.

Looking every bit the sea captain, Mr. Rivers steered the barge to the edge of the boom, the thick mantle of garbage undulating on his approach. A switch was flipped, a roar filled the air, and, and, guided by Mr. Dennis, the hose began sucking up plastic and Styrofoam like a giant, ravenous Slinky. Mr. Dennis grabbed a rake and hopped down to guide the trash toward the hose’s maw. Dots of sweat appeared on his brow, and dampened the back of his blue button-down.

Every now and then they paused to salvage intact toys — the toy airplane, the football — to give later to neighborhood kids.

Beyond the vacuum’s reach, half a dozen blackbirds picked through the flotsam, while outside the boom, plastic bottles bobbed downstream. Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis position the booms based on currents, but can’t come close to catching all the trash. Though they work eight hours a day, it might take months to patrol the entire 14 miles they’re tasked with cleaning.

The wind shifted, and an odor of rot enveloped the barge.

“Right now, that smell, that’s called bayou potpourri,” Mr. Rivers hollered over the din. Not long after that, a seam where the hose met the barge split open, splattering the deck, with sludgy brown Bayou juice. “She’s feeling nauseous, Trey,” Mr. Rivers called out, and turned off the vacuum.

Mr. Dennis hopped up on deck, and swiftly mended the crack with several layers of duct tape. An hour or so later, a hatch in the deck began spitting out bits of brown matter flecked with torn up Styrofoam pellets: the containment area was full and needed offloading.

Michael Starghill Jr. for The New York Times

Buffalo Bayou Partnership pulled 2,000 cubic yards of trash — the equivalent of 167 commercial dump truck loads — out of the waterways last year. Along with the efforts of Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis, a second team, usually consisting of people sentenced to community service, uses nets and pickers to clean harder to reach nooks and the bayou’s banks. Mr. Rivers keeps a list of the weirdest things he found: a basketball stand and hoop, multiple couches, bags of shredded money. He used to joke that he’d seen everything but the kitchen sink, until a few years ago when they found one of those, too.

During the earlier days of the pandemic, Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis saw the amount of garbage plummet, because people weren’t out littering, but the volume has since ticked back up. Everything they pull out is sent to a landfill. Over the years, several recyclers have offered to haul off some of the Bayou’s trash but Mr. Robinson said they balk when they see it firsthand. “It’s mixed with organic matter and water and silt and it’s not really recyclable,” he said.

An obvious fix would be to stop litter from reaching the bayou in the first place. Mr. Rivers and Mr. Robinson are rooting for a state bottle bill, which would incentivize people to return containers for money. According to data compiled by the Container Recycling Institute, in seven of the 10 states that have bottle bills, beverage container litter has been slashed by as much as 84 percent. “When it has no value, no one cares, and it goes into the ocean,” Mr. Robinson said.

In the meantime, Buffalo Bayou has Mr. Rivers as its champion. He’s posted videos of the trash-choked Bayou online, and appeared in local media along with the Kelly Clarkson Show, where he was interviewed by guest host Jay Leno. He fills the ears of people who take boat tours with the hows and whys of where all the garbage comes from.

On that recent morning, Mr. Rivers and Mr. Dennis took brief stock of their handiwork. Inside the boom, the bayou’s water flowed easily, rid of most of the plastic and Styrofoam, at least for now.

“But don’t worry,” Mr. Rivers said, as he guided the barge upriver, in search of more trash. “There’s more coming.”

Whitehorse one of the only cities in the world to measure airborne microplastics

Microplastic pollution is usually associated with the ocean where it’s been widely studied, but new research shows those tiny particles can be found in the air as well, even in the Yukon. 

A team of researchers at Yukon University have been monitoring the amount of microplastics being deposited from the atmosphere into the air around Whitehorse over the past two years.

To do this, they built metal containers, similar to fly traps, and filled them with ultra-purified water. When tiny particles fall out of the atmosphere and into the container, they get trapped in the water. 

The microplastic collectors, which conform to international standards of dust fallout collection, were placed in four locations around Whitehorse and swapped out monthly to get continuous data. 

Metal microplastic collectors containing ultra-purified water were placed in 4 locations around Whitehorse over the past couple of years and swapped out monthly to get continuous data.  (Jon Postma)

Researchers then filtered the water using a micrometer fiberglass filter. After counting the microplastics visually under a microscope, they were able to estimate the quantity of microplastics being deposited in different areas of the city.

This study makes Whitehorse one of the only cities in the world to measure microplastic deposition. The study is currently undergoing the peer review process.

Microplastics ‘in everything, basically’

John Postma, lead author of the study and instructor of Math, Physics and Statistics in the Student Success Division at Yukon University, said he decided to work on this study because very little research has been done on atmospheric microplastic pollution. 

“There was a lot of media coverage and scientific publications on microplastic pollution in the oceans and in the water supplies,” said Postma.

“But everywhere humans have looked, we have found microplastics. Tops of mountains, bottoms of the ocean, in our rivers, in our guts, in our cells, in everything, basically.”

Airborne microplastic takes many forms and comes from many different sources, according to Postma, but a key contributor is discarded plastic waste. Since plastic biodegrades very slowly, it just fragments into smaller pieces that can be carried by air currents. 

A plastic cup is pictured on the beach in Plymouth, England. Degraded plastic waste contributes to microplastic pollution in oceans, waterways and the atmosphere. (Matt Cardy/Getty Images)

Once in the atmosphere, microplastics can travel long distances. Microplastic fibres have been found in the most remote environments in the world.

Postma suspects about a quarter to half of the microplastics his team captured are produced by the city of Whitehorse.

Janice Brahney, a Canadian microplastics researcher not involved with the study, said that cities do produce a lot of microplastics, but those plastic particles doesn’t necessarily reach the atmosphere as buildings can block wind currents.

LISTEN | Researchers find plastic pollution all over the Arctic:

Quirks and Quarks8:06Plastic pollution is all over the arctic

Plastic waste, particularly in the form of tiny particles called microplastic, has become ubiquitous in the Earth’s environment, and even in the remote Arctic. A new study by an international team, including Jennifer Provencher, a research scientist with Environment and Climate Change Canada, has looked at what we know about its prevalence in the north, where it’s coming from, and what we can do about it. Their study was published in Nature Reviews Earth & Environment.

Brahney also said the method Postma and his team used shouldn’t be seen as a way to measure the amount of microplastics present in the air. Rather, his method measures the deposition of these particles from the air.

“Whether or not a particle that’s in the air actually gets deposited, has a lot of variables associated with it – the particle size, the density, the wind conditions and things like that,” Brahney said.

She said deposition data is still very useful to study the movement of different atmospheric components into the terrestrial environment.

How microplastics make their way to the atmosphere

Brahney, an associate professor of watershed sciences at Utah State University, was behind another study that investigated the sources of airborne plastic and how the plastic entered the atmosphere. 

Brahney used available information on sources and amounts of microplastics, as well as samples the team collected from 11 remote wilderness locations, to understand how microplastic is entering the atmosphere.

She and her team found three main ways this was happening.

A biologist looks at microplastics found in sea species at the Hellenic Centre for Marine Research near Athens, in 2019. (Louisa Gouliamaki/AFP/Getty Images)

“In the terrestrial environment, we found that highways were the most important mechanisms,” she said.

“The friction of car tires on the road surface produces the energy to move dust high up into the atmosphere. There’s a lot of dust and debris on the surface of a highway, including lots of tiny pieces of microplastics.”

Another way microplastic ends up in the atmosphere is from the movement of ocean waves. Microplastics floating on the surface of ocean water can end up in the atmosphere as the waves churn and bubble.

The third way microplastic particles ended up in the atmosphere was due to agriculture. Agricultural soils tend to contain a lot of microplastics as more farmers use plastic mulch and water that contains plastics from wastewater treatment plants.

Brahney said she’s “really glad” to see this study measure microplastic deposition in Whitehorse.

“We just need, as a research community, so much more information.”

Postma and Brahney said the long-term health effects of breathing-in microplastics are unknown. 

Postma hopes to expand microplastic deposition measurement to other Yukon communities.

“It’s a low cost, low maintenance, microplastic collection system that can be used in remote areas,” he said.

Whitehorse one of the only cities in the world to measure airborne microplastics

Microplastic pollution is usually associated with the ocean where it’s been widely studied, but new research shows those tiny particles can be found in the air as well, even in the Yukon. 

A team of researchers at Yukon University have been monitoring the amount of microplastics being deposited from the atmosphere into the air around Whitehorse over the past two years.

To do this, they built metal containers, similar to fly traps, and filled them with ultra-purified water. When tiny particles fall out of the atmosphere and into the container, they get trapped in the water. 

The microplastic collectors, which conform to international standards of dust fallout collection, were placed in four locations around Whitehorse and swapped out monthly to get continuous data. 

Metal microplastic collectors containing ultra-purified water were placed in 4 locations around Whitehorse over the past couple of years and swapped out monthly to get continuous data.  (Jon Postma)

Researchers then filtered the water using a micrometer fiberglass filter. After counting the microplastics visually under a microscope, they were able to estimate the quantity of microplastics being deposited in different areas of the city.

This study makes Whitehorse one of the only cities in the world to measure microplastic deposition. The study is currently undergoing the peer review process.

Microplastics ‘in everything, basically’

John Postma, lead author of the study and instructor of Math, Physics and Statistics in the Student Success Division at Yukon University, said he decided to work on this study because very little research has been done on atmospheric microplastic pollution. 

“There was a lot of media coverage and scientific publications on microplastic pollution in the oceans and in the water supplies,” said Postma.

“But everywhere humans have looked, we have found microplastics. Tops of mountains, bottoms of the ocean, in our rivers, in our guts, in our cells, in everything, basically.”

Airborne microplastic takes many forms and comes from many different sources, according to Postma, but a key contributor is discarded plastic waste. Since plastic biodegrades very slowly, it just fragments into smaller pieces that can be carried by air currents. 

A plastic cup is pictured on the beach in Plymouth, England. Degraded plastic waste contributes to microplastic pollution in oceans, waterways and the atmosphere. (Matt Cardy/Getty Images)

Once in the atmosphere, microplastics can travel long distances. Microplastic fibres have been found in the most remote environments in the world.

Postma suspects about a quarter to half of the microplastics his team captured are produced by the city of Whitehorse.

Janice Brahney, a Canadian microplastics researcher not involved with the study, said that cities do produce a lot of microplastics, but those plastic particles doesn’t necessarily reach the atmosphere as buildings can block wind currents.

LISTEN | Researchers find plastic pollution all over the Arctic:

Quirks and Quarks8:06Plastic pollution is all over the arctic

Plastic waste, particularly in the form of tiny particles called microplastic, has become ubiquitous in the Earth’s environment, and even in the remote Arctic. A new study by an international team, including Jennifer Provencher, a research scientist with Environment and Climate Change Canada, has looked at what we know about its prevalence in the north, where it’s coming from, and what we can do about it. Their study was published in Nature Reviews Earth & Environment.

Brahney also said the method Postma and his team used shouldn’t be seen as a way to measure the amount of microplastics present in the air. Rather, his method measures the deposition of these particles from the air.

“Whether or not a particle that’s in the air actually gets deposited, has a lot of variables associated with it – the particle size, the density, the wind conditions and things like that,” Brahney said.

She said deposition data is still very useful to study the movement of different atmospheric components into the terrestrial environment.

How microplastics make their way to the atmosphere

Brahney, an associate professor of watershed sciences at Utah State University, was behind another study that investigated the sources of airborne plastic and how the plastic entered the atmosphere. 

Brahney used available information on sources and amounts of microplastics, as well as samples the team collected from 11 remote wilderness locations, to understand how microplastic is entering the atmosphere.

She and her team found three main ways this was happening.

A biologist looks at microplastics found in sea species at the Hellenic Centre for Marine Research near Athens, in 2019. (Louisa Gouliamaki/AFP/Getty Images)

“In the terrestrial environment, we found that highways were the most important mechanisms,” she said.

“The friction of car tires on the road surface produces the energy to move dust high up into the atmosphere. There’s a lot of dust and debris on the surface of a highway, including lots of tiny pieces of microplastics.”

Another way microplastic ends up in the atmosphere is from the movement of ocean waves. Microplastics floating on the surface of ocean water can end up in the atmosphere as the waves churn and bubble.

The third way microplastic particles ended up in the atmosphere was due to agriculture. Agricultural soils tend to contain a lot of microplastics as more farmers use plastic mulch and water that contains plastics from wastewater treatment plants.

Brahney said she’s “really glad” to see this study measure microplastic deposition in Whitehorse.

“We just need, as a research community, so much more information.”

Postma and Brahney said the long-term health effects of breathing-in microplastics are unknown. 

Postma hopes to expand microplastic deposition measurement to other Yukon communities.

“It’s a low cost, low maintenance, microplastic collection system that can be used in remote areas,” he said.

New type of toxic pollution called 'plastitar' found on Canary Islands

Photographs of plastitar at Playa Grande Beach, Tenerife in December 2021. Science of The Total Environment

Plastic pollution in the oceans. Microplastics. Oil spills. Each of these items is already a distinct crisis. But researchers in the Canary Islands have coined a term for a new type of pollution they are finding in their studies: plastitar. According to the scientists, plastitar is washing up around shores of islands and consists of tar balls, often found after oil spills, and microplastics.

“No longer is the presence of plastic in the environment limited to microplastics or a bottle in the sea,” Javier Hernández-Borges, associate professor of analytical chemistry at the University of La Laguna in Tenerife, told The Guardian. Hernández-Borges coined the term plastitar. “Now it’s giving rise to new formations; in this case, one that combines two contaminants.”

Scientists first noticed the tar balls coated in plastic fragments two years ago and have now shared this worrisome finding in the journal Science of the Total Environment. The discovery joins other new formations of plastic pollutions taking over the marine environment, including pyroplastics (melted plastic pieces that resemble rocks) and plastiglomerates (the accumulation of melted plastic, basalt lava pieces and coastal sediments).

As for the newly defined plastitar, it consists of tar balls, or pieces of sticky, hardening tar from oil spills, that collects plastic fragments in the water. 

“It acts like Play-Doh,” Hernández-Borges explained. “And when waves carrying microplastics or any other kind of marine debris crash on to the rocks, this debris sticks to the tar.”

The tar eventually hardens, creating a new formation of remnants from oil spills and tiny pieces of plastic from various sources.

Researchers found the plastitar at several islands within the Canary Islands and suspect these formations can be found in other parts of the world as well. The plastic fragments studied were overwhelmingly polyethylene, the most common type of plastic globally. Polyethylene is used for everything from cling wrap and plastic bags to detergent bottles and milk jugs. It’s also found in housewares, toys, and other ubiquitous objects.

The makeup of the plastitar has researchers concerned about potential toxic leaching into marine environments.

“Polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons (PAHs) present in tar, which are persistent organic pollutants that can bioaccumulate, have moderate to high acute toxicity to aquatic organisms. They can also act as endocrine disruptors and be carcinogenic, among others,” the study warned. “Its combination with plastic materials clearly supposes a double threat to the marine ecosystem with unknown environmental consequences, since plastics can be ingested by marine organisms causing intestinal blockage, internal injuries, oxidative stress and damage, inflammatory responses, among other important issues.”

The study authors stress that more research is needed on the environmental threats this newly defined type of pollution could pose to marine life.

New type of toxic pollution called 'plastitar' found on Canary Islands

Photographs of plastitar at Playa Grande Beach, Tenerife in December 2021. Science of The Total Environment

Plastic pollution in the oceans. Microplastics. Oil spills. Each of these items is already a distinct crisis. But researchers in the Canary Islands have coined a term for a new type of pollution they are finding in their studies: plastitar. According to the scientists, plastitar is washing up around shores of islands and consists of tar balls, often found after oil spills, and microplastics.

“No longer is the presence of plastic in the environment limited to microplastics or a bottle in the sea,” Javier Hernández-Borges, associate professor of analytical chemistry at the University of La Laguna in Tenerife, told The Guardian. Hernández-Borges coined the term plastitar. “Now it’s giving rise to new formations; in this case, one that combines two contaminants.”

Scientists first noticed the tar balls coated in plastic fragments two years ago and have now shared this worrisome finding in the journal Science of the Total Environment. The discovery joins other new formations of plastic pollutions taking over the marine environment, including pyroplastics (melted plastic pieces that resemble rocks) and plastiglomerates (the accumulation of melted plastic, basalt lava pieces and coastal sediments).

As for the newly defined plastitar, it consists of tar balls, or pieces of sticky, hardening tar from oil spills, that collects plastic fragments in the water. 

“It acts like Play-Doh,” Hernández-Borges explained. “And when waves carrying microplastics or any other kind of marine debris crash on to the rocks, this debris sticks to the tar.”

The tar eventually hardens, creating a new formation of remnants from oil spills and tiny pieces of plastic from various sources.

Researchers found the plastitar at several islands within the Canary Islands and suspect these formations can be found in other parts of the world as well. The plastic fragments studied were overwhelmingly polyethylene, the most common type of plastic globally. Polyethylene is used for everything from cling wrap and plastic bags to detergent bottles and milk jugs. It’s also found in housewares, toys, and other ubiquitous objects.

The makeup of the plastitar has researchers concerned about potential toxic leaching into marine environments.

“Polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons (PAHs) present in tar, which are persistent organic pollutants that can bioaccumulate, have moderate to high acute toxicity to aquatic organisms. They can also act as endocrine disruptors and be carcinogenic, among others,” the study warned. “Its combination with plastic materials clearly supposes a double threat to the marine ecosystem with unknown environmental consequences, since plastics can be ingested by marine organisms causing intestinal blockage, internal injuries, oxidative stress and damage, inflammatory responses, among other important issues.”

The study authors stress that more research is needed on the environmental threats this newly defined type of pollution could pose to marine life.

Plastitar: mix of tar and microplastics is new form of pollution, say scientists

Plastitar: mix of tar and microplastics is new form of pollution, say scientists

Researchers in Canary Islands coin term for new type of marine pollution they say could be leaking toxic chemicals into oceans

A thick black coating of tar on a beach with bits of bright blue nylon rope embedded in it

The discovery came as a team of researchers were combing the shores of the Spanish island of Tenerife in the Canaries. Time and again, set against the sparkling waters that lapped the Playa Grande, they spotted clumps of hardened tar, dotted with tiny, colourful fragments of plastic.

They swiftly realised that this combination of tar and microplastics – or “plastitar” as they named it – was unlike any other plastic pollution they had seen.

“No longer is the presence of plastic in the environment limited to microplastics or a bottle in the sea,” said Javier Hernández Borges, an associate professor of analytical chemistry at the University of La Laguna in Tenerife, who coined the term plastitar. “Now it’s giving rise to new formations; in this case, one that combines two contaminants.”

A close-up of tar containing tiny pieces of plastic as well as a strand of nylon ope

More than two years after researchers stumbled across it, the find has been captured in new research that describes it as an “unassessed threat” for coastal environments. It adds to a growing list of marine pollution fashioned out of plastic, from pyroplastics – melted plastic that takes on the appearance of small rocks – to plastiglomerates, formed from a combination of melted plastic, beach sediment and basalt lava fragments.

When it comes to plastitar, its formation is simple: as residue from oil spills in the ocean evaporates and weathers, it washes ashore as tar balls that cling to the rocky shores of the Canary Islands. “It acts like Play-Doh,” Hernández Borges said. “And when waves carrying microplastics or any other kind of marine debris crash on to the rocks, this debris sticks to the tar.”

As time goes on, the formation hardens, with everything from bits of discarded fishing gear to plastic pellets and remnants of polyester and nylon becoming fused to the tar.

The researchers found plastitar along the shorelines of several islands in the Canaries, including El Hierro and Lanzarote. It was widespread, in one case stretching across more than half of the area they were examining. The team linked its presence to the archipelago’s location along a key shipping route for oil tankers but they have little doubt that plastitar exists around the world.

“We’re convinced that this is probably found wherever you see this combination of tar – which unfortunately remains common on beaches – and microplastics,” Hernández Borges said.

While more research needs to be done to confirm plastitar’s impact on the environment, researchers believe that its combination of hydrocarbons and microplastics means it will potentially leak toxic chemicals, causing conditions that could prove deadly for organisms such as algae.

“In some way, it may be blocking and inhibiting the development of the ecosystem,” Hernández Borges said.

The discovery feeds into the emerging picture of a global plastic cycle, with plastic moving through the atmosphere, oceans and land in a way that echoes natural processes such as the carbon cycle.

“There are researchers who are talking about the fact that plastic is so pervasive that it could be affecting our environment in other ways,” Hernández Borges said. “So if plastic is giving rise to other formations, this is extremely important.”

‘Vegan leather’: How fashion giants recast plastic as good for the planet

An influential system overseen by retailers and clothing makers ranks petroleum-based synthetics like “vegan leather” as more environmentally sound than natural fibers.

It’s soft. It’s vegan. It looks just like leather.

It’s also made from fossil fuels.

An explosion in the use of inexpensive, petroleum-based materials has transformed the fashion industry, aided by the successful rebranding of synthetic materials like plastic leather (once less flatteringly referred to as “pleather”) into hip alternatives like “vegan leather,” a marketing masterstroke meant to suggest environmental virtue.

Underlying that effort has been an influential rating system assessing the environmental impact of all sorts of fabrics and materials. Named the Higg Index, the ratings system was introduced in 2011 by some of the world’s largest fashion brands and retailers, led by Walmart and Patagonia, to measure and ultimately help shrink the brands’ environmental footprints by cutting down on the water used to produce the clothes and shoes they sell, for example, or by reining in their use of harmful chemicals.

But the Higg Index also strongly favors synthetic materials made from fossil fuels over natural ones like cotton, wool or leather. Now, those ratings are coming under fire from independent experts as well as representatives from natural-fiber industries who say the Higg Index is being used to portray the increasing use of synthetics use as environmentally desirable despite questions over synthetics’ environmental toll.

“The index is justifying the choices fashion companies are making by portraying these synthetics as the most sustainable choice,” said Veronica Bates Kassatly, a fashion industry analyst and critic of the industry’s sustainability claims. “They’re saying: You can still shop till you drop, because everything is now so sustainably sourced.”

The Sustainable Apparel Coalition, which runs the index and counts among its members almost 150 brands, including H&M and Nike, as well as retail giants like Amazon and Target, said the index uses data that is scientifically and externally reviewed.

“This is years of work to compile and put together the best available most up-to-date data,” said Jeremy Lardeau, vice president of the Higg Index at the apparel coalition. “We’re not actively pushing for the synthetic numbers to be low. We’re just collecting the data in one place.”

Jessica Kourkounis for The New York Times

Critics counter that some of the data underpinning the index comes from research that was funded by the synthetics industry that hasn’t been fully opened up to independent examination. Other studies incorporated into the Higg Index are sometimes relatively narrow in scope, raising questions about their broad, industrywide applicability.

The index rates polyester as one of the world’s most sustainable fabrics, for example, using data on European polyester production provided by a plastics-industry group, although most of the world’s polyester is made in Asia, usually using a dirtier energy grid and under less stringent environmental rules. The Higg rating for elastane, also known as Lycra or spandex, draws on a study by what was at the time the world’s largest elastane producer, Invista, a subsidiary of the conglomerate Koch Industries. (Invista sold its Lycra business in 2019.)

The Higg Index itself was born a decade or so ago amid a rising emphasis among consumers on sustainability, environmental and animal-welfare concerns. It coincided with advances in synthetic-based fabrics that were not only inexpensive but had new features that buyers craved, such as improved elasticity or improvements in the ability to wick away perspiration.

Many of the garment brands that sit on the board of the group that oversees the index profit from two fashion megatrends that directly benefited from advances in synthetics like these: fast fashion and athleisure. The fast fashion giant H&M, for instance, displays what it calls Higg-based sustainability profiles alongside some of its products.

“Higg’s members, a lot of them are fast fashion brands, and they all use mainly polyester. So it favors them to get polyester a better rating,” said Brett Mathews, chief editor of Apparel Insider, an industry-focused publication based in London. But the data used was “very poor,” he said, and “the net result is that the actual Higg score, which says this fiber is more sustainable than that one, is misleading to consumers.”

The Sustainable Apparel Coalition said company data was accurate and comprehensive, and had been collected in line with industry standards. Any gap between European and Chinese polyester production would be small compared to other differences in producing the textiles, like the knitting or weaving process, it said.

H&M, which sits on the coalition board, said the index was based on “standardized and verified third party information,” and that the tool was being “continuously developed and improved.” Walmart said the Higg was not the only tool it used to improve the sustainability of its apparel, and that it continued to assess the index’s capabilities. Invista did not respond to a request for comment.

The Higg Index is on its way to becoming a de facto global standard. In Europe, policymakers this year are set to lay out rules on how brands must back up their environmental claims, and in New York, a bill seeks to hold fashion brands accountable for their role in climate change. Fashion-industry officials have said the Higg Index could be used as a benchmark in both.

The fashion industry has long been under pressure to address the environmental effects of its products and practices. The industry is responsible for as much as 8 percent of the world’s emissions of planet-warming carbon dioxide, the United Nations estimates, more than all international flights and maritime shipping combined.

Brent Lewin/Bloomberg

Natural materials, like cotton, have their own environmental costs, of course. Cotton and silk cultivation is water-intensive and can involve heavy pesticide use. Leather can come from well-managed ranches, or it can be tied to activities that are extremely damaging to the environment. Last year, a New York Times investigation showed how leather from cattle linked to deforestation in the Amazon was making its way to the United States to be used in automobile seats.

The production of polyester and other materials has tripled since 2000, to nearly 60 million tons a year, according to the Textile Exchange, an industry group. Silk and wool have declined over the same period, and cotton has risen more moderately.

Producers of natural fibers say the Higg Index has portrayed that shift as positive for the environment based on questionable data. Silk’s unfavorable rating in the index, for example, draws on a 2014 study by Oxford-based researchers of 100 silk farmers who rely on irrigation in a single state in India.

That study’s lead researcher, Miguel F. Astudillo, said he hadn’t known until recently that his work had been used by the Higg Index. He said his study of Indian silk, which is mostly used domestically, was not representative of global production. “If they read the article and the results, they’d know it’s a stretch to use it for assessing silk in general,” Dr. Astudillo said.

The International Sericulture Commission, which represents 21 silk-producing countries, last year filed a complaint with the Federal Trade Commission accusing the Higg ratings of “creating considerable damage to the natural fiber industry” and calling on the index to carry out a broader study of global production practices.

“They’re saying silk is 30 times worse than synthetic products. Can anyone really believe that?” said Dileep Kumar of the International Sericulture Commission.

In 2020, leather-industry groups from around the world also called on the Sustainable Apparel Coalition to suspend its poor score for leather, which the industry said was based on “out-of-date, unrepresentative, inaccurate and incomplete data.”

The rise of vegan leather, which is typically made from polyurethane, a type of plastic that has a more favorable Higg rating, has brought unintended consequences, industry officials say. Even as leather is replaced by synthetics, Americans are still eating lots of beef — which means the hides from those slaughtered cattle have nowhere to go. In 2020, a record 5 million hides, or about 15 percent of all available, went to landfills, according to the U.S. Hide, Skin and Leather Association, a Washington-based trade group.

“They’re throwing the hides in the offal barrels out back,” said Ron Meek, a former meat processor who has been helping smaller plants weather the downturn in leather demand.

Neeta Satam for The New York Times

This year, the sole representative of an environment group on the Sustainable Apparel Coalition board of directors resigned, citing the organization’s lack of progress on environmental and climate policies, and hasn’t been replaced.

“Their approach has been shrouded in a lot of secrecy. It’s not a transparent system,” said the former board member, Linda Greer, who now advises China’s Institute for Public and Environmental Affairs. “This industry, maybe more so than any other sector, is very big on talk, very big on the next exciting thing — almost as if it’s a fashion show, the season’s latest.”

In response to the complaints, the apparel coalition has de-emphasized direct comparisons across fabrics and said it is helping companies to make more sustainable choices within fabrics, and to come up with specific product-based scores that take into account factory practices and other variables. It also said it would welcome the submission of additional data from natural fiber industries.

Still, some experts question whether the Higg accurately reflects other factors, like emissions of planet-warming methane from the fossil fuels that plastics are derived from, the amount of non-biodegradable plastic that ends up in landfills or incinerators, or the microplastics shed by fabrics that have now been detected by scientists in the world’s oceans.

The apparel coalition said this was an issue it was seeking to incorporate once better data was available.

In all, experts say, relying on studies with different parameters and assumptions is tricky. A 2019 report by the Research Institutes of Sweden concluded that differences between producers could be far larger than differences between fiber types.

“The devil’s in the details,” said Sangwon Suh, an expert in life-cycle assessments at the Bren School of Environmental Science and Management at the University of California. “It’s difficult to make generalizations. Is the cotton rain-fed, or does it use irrigation or ground water? Are the petroleum-based synthetic materials being produced in countries with strict regulations?”

For consumers, all these variables make it tough to generalize about whether natural or synthetic materials are the more environmentally friendly choice, or to assess claims made by clothing brands. Experts say one of the few sure ways to minimize environmental impact is simply to buy fewer, longer-lasting pieces.

The Sustainable Apparel Coalition makes the Higg scores available to the public, but full access to the underlying data is limited to companies that pay a fee.

Companies can also pay a fee to submit new data to the coalition and obtain company-specific scores.

Last year, for example, the Higg Index said it had updated the rating for leather from JBS, the world’s largest meatpacker and one of the companies that the Times investigation last year found was sourcing cows linked to Amazon deforestation. The new JBS-specific assessment rates leather produced by JBS as among the world’s most sustainable.

JBS said it had submitted a new study to correct the apparel coalition’s “misleading analyses” on leather. “JBS also intends to contribute to elevate the quality of technical information available on leather, benefiting the entire sector,” the company said.

Gregory Norris, who teaches life-cycle assessment at the Harvard School of Public Health and who carried out a review of the Higg Index methodology in 2016, said many of the critics’ concerns were valid. But the index still represented “a very valuable body of work,” he said. “They could have waited, but to their credit, they dug in and they built something with today’s data,” he said.

Still, there were improvements that could be made, he said. For example, industry data could be periodically verified with independent spot checks. “There’s data scarcity problem that really needs to be solved,” he said.