How to compost—and why it’s good for the environment

About a third of the food produced around the world goes to waste, and much of it ends up in landfills—where it becomes a source of methane, a greenhouse gas 25 times more potent than carbon dioxide. Eliminating waste is the ultimate solution, but some will always remain. For that there is a solution that nearly anyone can do: composting.

Composting turns rotting garbage into a valuable soil enhancer that helps plants thrive. Farmers call it “black gold.” 

And whether you compost in your backyard or at a community facility, experts say it will reduce your trash and in a small way help fight climate change.

“Don’t be afraid of it. It’s relatively easy. It’s not without its missteps but those are easily learned and corrected,” says Bob Rynk, lead author of The Composting Handbook and a professor emeritus at SUNY Cobleskill. 

What happens in a compost pile?

Food turns into compost through the hard work of small microorganisms like bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. 

“When you have a compost pile, you become a microbe farmer. You’re managing microbes,” says Rhonda Sherman, a composting expert at North Carolina State University. “And what do microbes need? They need the same things we do. Which is air, water, food, shelter.”

On a small scale, in your backyard or neighborhood, a compost pile should consist of three things: food scraps, water, and dry, woody material like yard trimmings or raked leaves.

Yard trimmings are frequently referred to as “browns” and are high in carbon. Food scraps are called “greens” and are high in nitrogen. A compost pile should typically have twice as many browns as it does greens. 

Aside from preventing a pile from turning into a sloshy mess, browns are bulkier and create space for oxygen to move throughout the pile. That oxygen helps tiny microbes decompose food waste through a process called aerobic digestion. 

In landfills, deep piles of trash prevent oxygen from reaching decomposing food, and it’s instead broken down by microbes that can survive without air. The anaerobic digestion practiced by those microbes produces methane. 

In contrast, as aerobic microbes break down waste—”first, easier sugary compounds, and then proteins and fats, and then finally fiber,” says Rynk—they emit carbon dioxide, which is also a greenhouse gas, but less potent than methane.

The microbes also give off heat, and in a large, well-managed pile, that heat can reach over 130 degrees Fahrenheit, enough to kill pathogens. 

The fresh compost left after several months is in a slower state of decomposition; it’s rich with microorganisms and nutrients such as nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. 

How to make a successful pile

At home, you should stir or mix the pile periodically and keep it damp. Both those steps will speed up the decomposition process. The stirring allows oxygen to reach all the nooks and crannies, and the dampness assures survival of the microorganisms, which need moisture to live.

In fact, the most common reason backyard compost piles are unsuccessful is because they are too dry. But don’t drown the pile—adding more greens, which contain moisture, may be enough. If not, spraying water gently over the pile should do the trick.

Wring out a wet sponge and observe its only slightly damp texture: “That’s what your compost pile should look like and feel like,” Sherman says. “You can see that it’s moist, but it’s not dripping all over.” 

Sherman says she urges people to maintain compost bins that are about three feet high so they can accumulate enough heat—but to keep them in the shade, where they won’t dry out.

“People think they have to put it in the sun so it will heat up. That’s a myth! The action of the microorganisms heats up the materials in the bin,” she says.

Not all food scraps are recommended for a backyard compost pile. The remains of fruits and vegetables are typically safe to toss in the pile, but uneaten meat or dairy are more likely to smell and attract pests. They also contain higher levels of fat, which take longer to break down. While it’s not uncommon to see rodents in a compost bin, turning the pile regularly prevents them from creating nests, and compost can effectively be made in enclosed bins. 

The Environmental Protection Agency has a more detailed list of items that shouldn’t be tossed in a compost pile. It includes items like yard trimmings treated with pesticides that might kill microorganisms. 

Some communities are now offering food scrap bins alongside those for trash and recycling. Food scraps collected at the city level typically go to a large industrial composter where items are often shredded or chopped at arrival and processed at high temperatures. Composting at this level might be done in large piles or in silos. Because they send food waste to industrial compost facilities, municipalities tend to accept a wider variety of scraps than what you can throw in your backyard, and regulations vary by city. 

If you don’t have a backyard, access to a city-run food scrap service, or simply don’t want to mess with a compost pile, many urban gardens and farmers markets accept compost.

And if you’re concerned about odor from keeping compost on your countertop or in your kitchen before moving it to a larger compost pile, Sherman says putting food scraps in the freezer is a “game changer.” By freezing your scraps, you hit pause on the decomposition process and prevent odors from forming. 

How do you compost with worms?  

Composting with worms, or vermicomposting, produces an even more valuable soil enhancer. Worms digest scraps and excrete castings that are rich in plant nutrients. Researchers are also finding that the living microorganisms found especially in vermicompost can help protect crops from common diseases and reduce the need for herbicides and pesticides. 

Yet even though earthworms are sometimes found naturally at the bottom of a compost pile, they should not be added to a large, hot backyard compost bin. 

Earthworms don’t have lungs and instead breathe through their skin, which needs to remain moist to prevent them from drying out and dying. While a compost bin should be damp, it’s typically not moist enough for earthworms to survive. 

Instead, says Sherman, worms should be contained in smaller bins less than two feet high. Because they thrive in smaller spaces, earthworms can easily be contained in an enclosed bin under a kitchen sink or on an apartment balcony, making vermicomposting a potential option for people without backyards. The Natural Resources Defense Council has a tutorial here showing how to build a worm bin at home. 

What do you do with biodegradable/compostable food packaging?

Products labeled “compostable” or “biodegradable,” such as packaging material or utensils, are becoming more popular, but are meant to be processed at an industrial composting facility. 

Ian Jacobson, the president of Eco-Products, a compostable product maker, says his company sold 200 products in 2010, but now offers more than 450. Compostable-labeled containers can be anything from paper and sugarcane-based bagasse to bioplastic, which is plastic made from plants like corn. Some, but not all are certified by the Biodegradable Products Institute (BPI), the largest certifier of compostables, which tests compostable products to ensure they can be processed at commercial facilities. 

Takeout food containers are often made of compostable paper. But if “you just toss the container in your compost bin, it’s just going to sit there,” says Sherman. Shredding the container into small pieces, no bigger than two inches, will give microbes a better chance at breaking it down. 

Even then, it may not break down easily. While a well-managed backyard compost pile can achieve high temperatures, the hotter temperatures at an industrial facility will break down material more effectively. Sherman also points out that compostable paper products like newspaper or paper towels can get “mushy” and compacted in a compost pile, preventing aeration.

Food packaging made from bioplastics are not compostable in a home bin because they often have strong polymer bonds that can only be broken down in an industrial facility. However, not all bioplastics can be processed by commercial composters because some bioplastics contain toxic chemical additives to waterproof them or give them strength. 

(Learn more about bioplastics here.)

How does composting help the environment? 

In 2018, the U.S. produced nearly 300 million tons of trash, about 4.9 pounds per person. After paper products, food was the second highest category of waste, comprising about 21 percent of what we throw away and increasing the size of landfills, the source of 34 percent of methane emissions.

When done at a large scale, composting can make a dent in emissions. San Francisco, which established mandatory city-wide composting in 2009, has been able to divert 80 percent of its waste from landfills every year, more than 2.5 million tons overall.

One estimate from the Natural Resources Defense Council finds that San Francisco’s composting laws reduced the equivalent of 90,000 metric tons of carbon dioxide every year, the same number of emissions as about 20,000 passenger vehicles.

In addition to reducing landfill emissions, compost makes soil healthier. When layered on top of soil in a garden or on a farm, the organic matter found in compost improves unhealthy soils. It also helps bind soil particles together and holds more water. Better soil helps support plant growth, which can help sequester carbon from the atmosphere. Stronger, nutrient-rich soil also reduces the need for fertilizer and pesticides, which are pollutants themselves and are often produced with destructive mining practices and a high carbon footprint. 

In fact, the only downside to composting may be the “ick factor.” On that point, Sherman says not to worry. 

“It’s not stinky, it’s not gross. And once a week I go to my backyard compost bin. It takes me three minutes to compost. I just really try to encourage people. I try to tell people it’s so easy to do.”

How to compost—and why it’s good for the environment

About a third of the food produced around the world goes to waste, and much of it ends up in landfills—where it becomes a source of methane, a greenhouse gas 25 times more potent than carbon dioxide. Eliminating waste is the ultimate solution, but some will always remain. For that there is a solution that nearly anyone can do: composting.

Composting turns rotting garbage into a valuable soil enhancer that helps plants thrive. Farmers call it “black gold.” 

And whether you compost in your backyard or at a community facility, experts say it will reduce your trash and in a small way help fight climate change.

“Don’t be afraid of it. It’s relatively easy. It’s not without its missteps but those are easily learned and corrected,” says Bob Rynk, lead author of The Composting Handbook and a professor emeritus at SUNY Cobleskill. 

What happens in a compost pile?

Food turns into compost through the hard work of small microorganisms like bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. 

“When you have a compost pile, you become a microbe farmer. You’re managing microbes,” says Rhonda Sherman, a composting expert at North Carolina State University. “And what do microbes need? They need the same things we do. Which is air, water, food, shelter.”

On a small scale, in your backyard or neighborhood, a compost pile should consist of three things: food scraps, water, and dry, woody material like yard trimmings or raked leaves.

Yard trimmings are frequently referred to as “browns” and are high in carbon. Food scraps are called “greens” and are high in nitrogen. A compost pile should typically have twice as many browns as it does greens. 

Aside from preventing a pile from turning into a sloshy mess, browns are bulkier and create space for oxygen to move throughout the pile. That oxygen helps tiny microbes decompose food waste through a process called aerobic digestion. 

In landfills, deep piles of trash prevent oxygen from reaching decomposing food, and it’s instead broken down by microbes that can survive without air. The anaerobic digestion practiced by those microbes produces methane. 

In contrast, as aerobic microbes break down waste—”first, easier sugary compounds, and then proteins and fats, and then finally fiber,” says Rynk—they emit carbon dioxide, which is also a greenhouse gas, but less potent than methane.

The microbes also give off heat, and in a large, well-managed pile, that heat can reach over 130 degrees Fahrenheit, enough to kill pathogens. 

The fresh compost left after several months is in a slower state of decomposition; it’s rich with microorganisms and nutrients such as nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. 

How to make a successful pile

At home, you should stir or mix the pile periodically and keep it damp. Both those steps will speed up the decomposition process. The stirring allows oxygen to reach all the nooks and crannies, and the dampness assures survival of the microorganisms, which need moisture to live.

In fact, the most common reason backyard compost piles are unsuccessful is because they are too dry. But don’t drown the pile—adding more greens, which contain moisture, may be enough. If not, spraying water gently over the pile should do the trick.

Wring out a wet sponge and observe its only slightly damp texture: “That’s what your compost pile should look like and feel like,” Sherman says. “You can see that it’s moist, but it’s not dripping all over.” 

Sherman says she urges people to maintain compost bins that are about three feet high so they can accumulate enough heat—but to keep them in the shade, where they won’t dry out.

“People think they have to put it in the sun so it will heat up. That’s a myth! The action of the microorganisms heats up the materials in the bin,” she says.

Not all food scraps are recommended for a backyard compost pile. The remains of fruits and vegetables are typically safe to toss in the pile, but uneaten meat or dairy are more likely to smell and attract pests. They also contain higher levels of fat, which take longer to break down. While it’s not uncommon to see rodents in a compost bin, turning the pile regularly prevents them from creating nests, and compost can effectively be made in enclosed bins. 

The Environmental Protection Agency has a more detailed list of items that shouldn’t be tossed in a compost pile. It includes items like yard trimmings treated with pesticides that might kill microorganisms. 

Some communities are now offering food scrap bins alongside those for trash and recycling. Food scraps collected at the city level typically go to a large industrial composter where items are often shredded or chopped at arrival and processed at high temperatures. Composting at this level might be done in large piles or in silos. Because they send food waste to industrial compost facilities, municipalities tend to accept a wider variety of scraps than what you can throw in your backyard, and regulations vary by city. 

If you don’t have a backyard, access to a city-run food scrap service, or simply don’t want to mess with a compost pile, many urban gardens and farmers markets accept compost.

And if you’re concerned about odor from keeping compost on your countertop or in your kitchen before moving it to a larger compost pile, Sherman says putting food scraps in the freezer is a “game changer.” By freezing your scraps, you hit pause on the decomposition process and prevent odors from forming. 

How do you compost with worms?  

Composting with worms, or vermicomposting, produces an even more valuable soil enhancer. Worms digest scraps and excrete castings that are rich in plant nutrients. Researchers are also finding that the living microorganisms found especially in vermicompost can help protect crops from common diseases and reduce the need for herbicides and pesticides. 

Yet even though earthworms are sometimes found naturally at the bottom of a compost pile, they should not be added to a large, hot backyard compost bin. 

Earthworms don’t have lungs and instead breathe through their skin, which needs to remain moist to prevent them from drying out and dying. While a compost bin should be damp, it’s typically not moist enough for earthworms to survive. 

Instead, says Sherman, worms should be contained in smaller bins less than two feet high. Because they thrive in smaller spaces, earthworms can easily be contained in an enclosed bin under a kitchen sink or on an apartment balcony, making vermicomposting a potential option for people without backyards. The Natural Resources Defense Council has a tutorial here showing how to build a worm bin at home. 

What do you do with biodegradable/compostable food packaging?

Products labeled “compostable” or “biodegradable,” such as packaging material or utensils, are becoming more popular, but are meant to be processed at an industrial composting facility. 

Ian Jacobson, the president of Eco-Products, a compostable product maker, says his company sold 200 products in 2010, but now offers more than 450. Compostable-labeled containers can be anything from paper and sugarcane-based bagasse to bioplastic, which is plastic made from plants like corn. Some, but not all are certified by the Biodegradable Products Institute (BPI), the largest certifier of compostables, which tests compostable products to ensure they can be processed at commercial facilities. 

Takeout food containers are often made of compostable paper. But if “you just toss the container in your compost bin, it’s just going to sit there,” says Sherman. Shredding the container into small pieces, no bigger than two inches, will give microbes a better chance at breaking it down. 

Even then, it may not break down easily. While a well-managed backyard compost pile can achieve high temperatures, the hotter temperatures at an industrial facility will break down material more effectively. Sherman also points out that compostable paper products like newspaper or paper towels can get “mushy” and compacted in a compost pile, preventing aeration.

Food packaging made from bioplastics are not compostable in a home bin because they often have strong polymer bonds that can only be broken down in an industrial facility. However, not all bioplastics can be processed by commercial composters because some bioplastics contain toxic chemical additives to waterproof them or give them strength. 

(Learn more about bioplastics here.)

How does composting help the environment? 

In 2018, the U.S. produced nearly 300 million tons of trash, about 4.9 pounds per person. After paper products, food was the second highest category of waste, comprising about 21 percent of what we throw away and increasing the size of landfills, the source of 34 percent of methane emissions.

When done at a large scale, composting can make a dent in emissions. San Francisco, which established mandatory city-wide composting in 2009, has been able to divert 80 percent of its waste from landfills every year, more than 2.5 million tons overall.

One estimate from the Natural Resources Defense Council finds that San Francisco’s composting laws reduced the equivalent of 90,000 metric tons of carbon dioxide every year, the same number of emissions as about 20,000 passenger vehicles.

In addition to reducing landfill emissions, compost makes soil healthier. When layered on top of soil in a garden or on a farm, the organic matter found in compost improves unhealthy soils. It also helps bind soil particles together and holds more water. Better soil helps support plant growth, which can help sequester carbon from the atmosphere. Stronger, nutrient-rich soil also reduces the need for fertilizer and pesticides, which are pollutants themselves and are often produced with destructive mining practices and a high carbon footprint. 

In fact, the only downside to composting may be the “ick factor.” On that point, Sherman says not to worry. 

“It’s not stinky, it’s not gross. And once a week I go to my backyard compost bin. It takes me three minutes to compost. I just really try to encourage people. I try to tell people it’s so easy to do.”

Reading up on plastics and climate change

It’s become widely accepted that plastic waste is a gigantic global problem. But is it a climate-change problem, too? Answers to this trickier question are becoming clearer, as these articles demonstrate.

“How the fossil fuel industry is pushing plastics on the world,” Katie Brigham, CNBC. An excellent place to start. The 15-minute video is a little more informative than the text, but either will grab your attention and arm you with lots of useful, though troubling, information.

“How bad are plastics, really? They’re harmful to health, environment, and human rights – and now poised to dominate this century as an unchecked cause of climate change,” Rebecca Altman, The Atlantic. This long, thorough, and intriguing article tells the history of plastics and elucidates the many different problems they cause. (Access to a few Atlantic stories each month is available without a subscription.)

“Fossil fuel industry sees the future in hard-to-recycle plastic,” Deirdre McKay, The Conversation. A short, informative call to see plastic and climate as “two inseparable parts of the same problem.”

“Trash and burn: big brands stoke cement kilns with plastic waste as recycling falters,” Joe Brock, Yuddy Cahya Budiman, John Geddie, Valerie Volcovici, Reuters Special Report. Burning plastic to make cement? What could possibly go wrong? Dealing with one problem, in this case, creates others, adding both carbon dioxide and toxins to the air.

To learn more, take a look at any of several recent reports about links between plastics and climate change – or articles about them. All are reasonably accessible to non-specialists.

This series is curated and written by retired Colorado State University English professor and close climate change watcher SueEllen Campbell of Colorado. To flag works you think warrant attention, send an e-mail to her any time. Let us hear from you.

How dystopias can save the world

A new exhibition ‘mingles the jolt of the dystopian with the lure of beauty’, writes Diane Cole.

A strangely appealing sculpture – of a giant tree-like monument composed of swirling coils of black plastic, planted in a bed of bright green moss that creeps its way up to the structure’s tip, and peppered throughout with purplish-pink orchid blooms – has been luring passersby to stop in their tracks and peer through the store-front windows of the Weinberg/Newton Gallery in Chicago, Illinois. Many find themselves so engaged with the incongruous mix of the natural and the synthetic that, rather than walking on, they walk into the gallery itself to find out more, according to gallery director Nabiha Khan-Giordano. And when they do, they also recognise the familiar scent of fresh rain diffused into the air.

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Human/Nature is an interactive, sensory-immersive exhibition currently on display at the non-profit gallery, and presented in partnership with the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, an organisation that identifies the impact of man-made threats on our world. It’s a show designed to connect, educate, and engage viewers with the urgent issues of climate change. Throughout, the show mingles the jolt of the dystopian with the lure of beauty – a primal reminder of what’s at stake that urges us forward to preserve what we have and, more than that, support and pursue actions that can help sustain us into the future. From that perspective, its purpose is not to shock us into action so much as to instil urgency and motivate us, asking: if we don’t act now, when will we?

Yet that question itself leads to another one: can art exhibits and projects stir action to help mitigate climate change? “Art can do what the scientists can’t do,” says Rachel Bronson, president and CEO of the Bulletin: make accessible, relatable, and understandable the abstract-sounding science of climate change. Rather than push us away from acting to mitigate the menacing future the studies warn we’re trending to, art can invite us to come closer, and help us envision a different future that we can also help shape.

Monument by Regan Rosberg combines black plastic with moss and orchids to startling effect (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery, Chicago, IL. Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Monument by Regan Rosberg combines black plastic with moss and orchids to startling effect (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery, Chicago, IL. Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Monument, the show’s centrepiece, created by Denver-based artist Regan Rosberg, is only one example of how artists can translate abstract-seeming scientific research into striking works that connect us viscerally with the climate changes we’re grappling with. “You walk in and see the beautiful sod and the orchids, and you smell the aroma of the forest, and then you realise those swirling pieces are plastic, so ugly and so beautiful at the same time,” says Bronson.

This quizzical kind of beauty is, in fact, part of Rosberg’s artistic strategy. “I try to hook people with beauty, first because it’s needed and second, it’s a way to engage people and keep them interested.” She additionally engages people with the rain scent she has created to diffuse through the gallery. “Scent is directly tied to memory,” she points out, and this particular scent is one that humans are particularly attuned to as part of our evolutionary make-up.

This scent that conjures both nature and memory helps evoke a sense of empathy, connection and wonder, she says. With their attention and their emotions thus captured, viewers then feel more comfortable delving deeper into the meanings behind the contradictions embedded in the piece. Rosberg explains that moss is a highly adaptive species that is 350 million years old. Orchids, too, are highly adaptive, its origins also dating back millions of years. They represent the many species that have evolved and survived over eons. “These are living things that can teach us to adapt and be resilient,” Rosberg says. But they are co-existing alongside this giant mass of plastic. “Often we use plastic for two seconds, but it can last for 1,000 years.”

Dual purpose

Enmeshing and entangling those materials together dramatises where we are now, she says: living in a world where dystopian fears can overwhelm our sense of hope, and paralyse our ability to act. Holding both the dystopian and hope at the same time can be scary, she acknowledges. What good art can do, though, is provide the perspective that allows us to recognise that resilience is possible and that we can act, and there are many ways to do so.

That is in fact one of the show’s main points, says its curator Cyndi Conn. “So much of the conversation now has the message that we’re beyond the point of saving. That’s the headline. But it’s not hopeless. We’re at a crossroads. The exhibit is very candid about how grave the situation is. But we also show the beauty and the resilience of the planet.”

Karen Reimer uses textiles to create data visualisations showing the effects of climate change (Credit: Monique Meloche Gallery/Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography: Evan Jenkins)

Karen Reimer uses textiles to create data visualisations showing the effects of climate change (Credit: Monique Meloche Gallery/Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography: Evan Jenkins)

Strolling from one gallery room to the next, visitors encounter one artwork after another posing this duality, each in its own way. There are colourful, comfy-looking textured quilts by Chicago-based artist Karen Reimer that incorporate into their designs small-scale maps and graphs charting the extending reach of climate change. Reimer calls these “data visualisations” that both map – and make it easier to grasp – the impact of climate change. “We can’t look at a list of numbers giving daily temperatures for 100 years and understand it without a lot of mental process effort,” she said at an artists’ panel sponsored by the gallery (and available online), “but we can look at a line graph and see that continual rise in temperature much more quickly and easily.” Embedding the information within shimmering textiles allows visitors to approach and begin to digest the reality that scientific research can make dauntingly abstract. 

Next up: delicate still-life watercolours by San Diego-based Laura Ball that depict entangled plants and animals engaged in – is it play, or is it an intricate dance of mutual destruction? Or perhaps their fight is based on adaptation as they evolve into an unknown future. “Most of the animals she incorporates are facing extinction. This is a reminder of the preciousness of biodiversity,” Conn says.

Laura Bell's watercolours show endangered animals in the form of a 'mandala', or sacred symbol (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Laura Bell’s watercolours show endangered animals in the form of a ‘mandala’, or sacred symbol (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

A continuous slide show presents powerful images taken by Donovan Quintero, a photojournalist for the Navajo Times (Diné bi Naaltsoos), documenting the dystopian-looking realities caused by drought, over-mining, wildfires and toxic waste dumps throughout the distressed lands of the Navajo Nation. The images seem surreal: the fire erupting like a distant volcano in the background of one photograph; then the mist of dust that enshrouds a riverbed; followed by a landscape of once-green land that is now a dried yellow-brown patchwork of cracks and creases. But the images depict reality, compelling us to confront how bias leads to a neglectful disregard that in turn amplifies the devastation of climate change on minority communities. Yet resilience resides in the images of the people who endure despite water shortages and lost grazing lands, and continue working to seek solutions.

Donovan Quintero's photos reveal the impacts of climate change on Navajo communities (Credit: Donovan Quintero/Weinberg/Newton Gallery)

Donovan Quintero’s photos reveal the impacts of climate change on Navajo communities (Credit: Donovan Quintero/Weinberg/Newton Gallery)

The show also includes an inventive array of reimaginings of the Doomsday Clock: the iconic symbol created by the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists to alert humanity to our unceasing countdown to catastrophe, as gauged by the concurrent threats posed by nuclear weapons, climate change, disruptive technologies and Covid-19. Its current setting in its countdown to oblivion: 100 seconds from midnight.

As re-envisioned by the French collective Obvious working with the Russian photographer Stas Barnikas, the clock now tracks climate change. Super-imposed on the clock is a continuously changing video montage. It is an amalgam of Barnikas’s photographs documenting the changes already wrought on the remote landscapes of the Arctic, further transformed through an artificial intelligence algorithm devised by Obvious, to provide a glimpse of the future that is at once eerily beautiful and devastatingly empty.

French art collective Obvious and Russian photographer Stas Barnikas have reimagined the Doomsday Clock (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

French art collective Obvious and Russian photographer Stas Barnikas have reimagined the Doomsday Clock (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

New York-based artist Matthew Ritchie has created a three-part piece collectively called “This world, this garden, this time, or never again (Proposal for a world garden, a living clock)”. It begins with an eye-catching blue-yellow-green-brown watercolour map of the globe viewed as if from space, with 12 anchor-like arrows pointing around its clock-like shape at each hour of the clock to a ballooned caption that has scribbled within a possible action that could turn a potential “doomsday clock” into the “life clock” of the title. (An example: One o’clock is “Increase carbon-neutral power generation to meet current needs of wind and solar.”)

Matthew Ritchie's version of the clock suggests collective actions that could be taken to tackle climate change (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Matthew Ritchie’s version of the clock suggests collective actions that could be taken to tackle climate change (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

The second piece is a sober black-and-white vinyl version containing the same information, this time clearly and boldly printed and impossible to mix. The caption reads: “Unlike the doomsday clock, the goal of the ‘life clock’ is to build out collective action from the centre, moving simultaneously in all directions, with each proposal presented in response to a planetary boundary collapse.” Finally, the third piece is a blank clock that invites viewers to add post-it notes suggesting their own ideas and suggestions for fighting climate change; it is now almost entirely covered with messages in response.

Rosberg's Dear Future video features a range of 'letters to the future' (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Rosberg’s Dear Future video features a range of ‘letters to the future’ (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Rosberg similarly invites viewers to engage and respond to her video Dear Future, also included in the show. It is a narrated selection of the more than 150 letters from artists, activists, scientists, biologists, children and teachers, among others, that she has gathered, with each letter addressing the way climate change has affected their views of the future. Readings from the letters, that range from the hopeful to the poignant to the tragic, are interspersed with photos Rosberg took documenting the environmental changes she saw during her artist’s residency in the Arctic. At the show’s conclusion, viewers are invited to sit at a nearby desk and write, by hand, their own letters to the future. Those who write a letter receive a small vial containing the scent Rosberg created for Monument. So many people have contributed their thoughts, Rosberg has been asked to provide more scent as the show continues.

Before visitors leave the exhibition, they are given the chance to write to their elected representatives. They can also pause and learn from ongoing videos featuring a range of scientists and others presenting, on a more personal level, what they are doing. By all measures, the show is getting its message across. Attendance numbers rose so high that the exhibition was extended by a month, and the responses to individual artworks keep growing. And the show is sparking conversation among those who visit. “I’ve been present when people start talking about how climate change is personally affecting them,” Khan-Giordano says.

But the realities facing us remain. “If we do nothing, we are in danger,” Bronson says. At the same time, she continues, “What we’re seeing on climate does give me optimism: you can see political parties globally responding… Even in the United States business community, you see a greater sense of urgency from 20 years ago… But we need to move faster.”

Can artists provide the inspiration for that push? “Art can be a punch in the gut,” says Conn. “But it does not have to be horrifying. It can also be inspiring. There is also a place for optimism. Because if we don’t have optimism, we won’t take action.”

Human/Nature is at the Weinberg/Newton Gallery in Chicago until 16 April.

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How dystopias can save the world

A new exhibition ‘mingles the jolt of the dystopian with the lure of beauty’, writes Diane Cole.

A strangely appealing sculpture – of a giant tree-like monument composed of swirling coils of black plastic, planted in a bed of bright green moss that creeps its way up to the structure’s tip, and peppered throughout with purplish-pink orchid blooms – has been luring passersby to stop in their tracks and peer through the store-front windows of the Weinberg/Newton Gallery in Chicago, Illinois. Many find themselves so engaged with the incongruous mix of the natural and the synthetic that, rather than walking on, they walk into the gallery itself to find out more, according to gallery director Nabiha Khan-Giordano. And when they do, they also recognise the familiar scent of fresh rain diffused into the air.

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Human/Nature is an interactive, sensory-immersive exhibition currently on display at the non-profit gallery, and presented in partnership with the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, an organisation that identifies the impact of man-made threats on our world. It’s a show designed to connect, educate, and engage viewers with the urgent issues of climate change. Throughout, the show mingles the jolt of the dystopian with the lure of beauty – a primal reminder of what’s at stake that urges us forward to preserve what we have and, more than that, support and pursue actions that can help sustain us into the future. From that perspective, its purpose is not to shock us into action so much as to instil urgency and motivate us, asking: if we don’t act now, when will we?

Yet that question itself leads to another one: can art exhibits and projects stir action to help mitigate climate change? “Art can do what the scientists can’t do,” says Rachel Bronson, president and CEO of the Bulletin: make accessible, relatable, and understandable the abstract-sounding science of climate change. Rather than push us away from acting to mitigate the menacing future the studies warn we’re trending to, art can invite us to come closer, and help us envision a different future that we can also help shape.

Monument by Regan Rosberg combines black plastic with moss and orchids to startling effect (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery, Chicago, IL. Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Monument by Regan Rosberg combines black plastic with moss and orchids to startling effect (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery, Chicago, IL. Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Monument, the show’s centrepiece, created by Denver-based artist Regan Rosberg, is only one example of how artists can translate abstract-seeming scientific research into striking works that connect us viscerally with the climate changes we’re grappling with. “You walk in and see the beautiful sod and the orchids, and you smell the aroma of the forest, and then you realise those swirling pieces are plastic, so ugly and so beautiful at the same time,” says Bronson.

This quizzical kind of beauty is, in fact, part of Rosberg’s artistic strategy. “I try to hook people with beauty, first because it’s needed and second, it’s a way to engage people and keep them interested.” She additionally engages people with the rain scent she has created to diffuse through the gallery. “Scent is directly tied to memory,” she points out, and this particular scent is one that humans are particularly attuned to as part of our evolutionary make-up.

This scent that conjures both nature and memory helps evoke a sense of empathy, connection and wonder, she says. With their attention and their emotions thus captured, viewers then feel more comfortable delving deeper into the meanings behind the contradictions embedded in the piece. Rosberg explains that moss is a highly adaptive species that is 350 million years old. Orchids, too, are highly adaptive, its origins also dating back millions of years. They represent the many species that have evolved and survived over eons. “These are living things that can teach us to adapt and be resilient,” Rosberg says. But they are co-existing alongside this giant mass of plastic. “Often we use plastic for two seconds, but it can last for 1,000 years.”

Dual purpose

Enmeshing and entangling those materials together dramatises where we are now, she says: living in a world where dystopian fears can overwhelm our sense of hope, and paralyse our ability to act. Holding both the dystopian and hope at the same time can be scary, she acknowledges. What good art can do, though, is provide the perspective that allows us to recognise that resilience is possible and that we can act, and there are many ways to do so.

That is in fact one of the show’s main points, says its curator Cyndi Conn. “So much of the conversation now has the message that we’re beyond the point of saving. That’s the headline. But it’s not hopeless. We’re at a crossroads. The exhibit is very candid about how grave the situation is. But we also show the beauty and the resilience of the planet.”

Karen Reimer uses textiles to create data visualisations showing the effects of climate change (Credit: Monique Meloche Gallery/Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography: Evan Jenkins)

Karen Reimer uses textiles to create data visualisations showing the effects of climate change (Credit: Monique Meloche Gallery/Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography: Evan Jenkins)

Strolling from one gallery room to the next, visitors encounter one artwork after another posing this duality, each in its own way. There are colourful, comfy-looking textured quilts by Chicago-based artist Karen Reimer that incorporate into their designs small-scale maps and graphs charting the extending reach of climate change. Reimer calls these “data visualisations” that both map – and make it easier to grasp – the impact of climate change. “We can’t look at a list of numbers giving daily temperatures for 100 years and understand it without a lot of mental process effort,” she said at an artists’ panel sponsored by the gallery (and available online), “but we can look at a line graph and see that continual rise in temperature much more quickly and easily.” Embedding the information within shimmering textiles allows visitors to approach and begin to digest the reality that scientific research can make dauntingly abstract. 

Next up: delicate still-life watercolours by San Diego-based Laura Ball that depict entangled plants and animals engaged in – is it play, or is it an intricate dance of mutual destruction? Or perhaps their fight is based on adaptation as they evolve into an unknown future. “Most of the animals she incorporates are facing extinction. This is a reminder of the preciousness of biodiversity,” Conn says.

Laura Bell's watercolours show endangered animals in the form of a 'mandala', or sacred symbol (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Laura Bell’s watercolours show endangered animals in the form of a ‘mandala’, or sacred symbol (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

A continuous slide show presents powerful images taken by Donovan Quintero, a photojournalist for the Navajo Times (Diné bi Naaltsoos), documenting the dystopian-looking realities caused by drought, over-mining, wildfires and toxic waste dumps throughout the distressed lands of the Navajo Nation. The images seem surreal: the fire erupting like a distant volcano in the background of one photograph; then the mist of dust that enshrouds a riverbed; followed by a landscape of once-green land that is now a dried yellow-brown patchwork of cracks and creases. But the images depict reality, compelling us to confront how bias leads to a neglectful disregard that in turn amplifies the devastation of climate change on minority communities. Yet resilience resides in the images of the people who endure despite water shortages and lost grazing lands, and continue working to seek solutions.

Donovan Quintero's photos reveal the impacts of climate change on Navajo communities (Credit: Donovan Quintero/Weinberg/Newton Gallery)

Donovan Quintero’s photos reveal the impacts of climate change on Navajo communities (Credit: Donovan Quintero/Weinberg/Newton Gallery)

The show also includes an inventive array of reimaginings of the Doomsday Clock: the iconic symbol created by the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists to alert humanity to our unceasing countdown to catastrophe, as gauged by the concurrent threats posed by nuclear weapons, climate change, disruptive technologies and Covid-19. Its current setting in its countdown to oblivion: 100 seconds from midnight.

As re-envisioned by the French collective Obvious working with the Russian photographer Stas Barnikas, the clock now tracks climate change. Super-imposed on the clock is a continuously changing video montage. It is an amalgam of Barnikas’s photographs documenting the changes already wrought on the remote landscapes of the Arctic, further transformed through an artificial intelligence algorithm devised by Obvious, to provide a glimpse of the future that is at once eerily beautiful and devastatingly empty.

French art collective Obvious and Russian photographer Stas Barnikas have reimagined the Doomsday Clock (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

French art collective Obvious and Russian photographer Stas Barnikas have reimagined the Doomsday Clock (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

New York-based artist Matthew Ritchie has created a three-part piece collectively called “This world, this garden, this time, or never again (Proposal for a world garden, a living clock)”. It begins with an eye-catching blue-yellow-green-brown watercolour map of the globe viewed as if from space, with 12 anchor-like arrows pointing around its clock-like shape at each hour of the clock to a ballooned caption that has scribbled within a possible action that could turn a potential “doomsday clock” into the “life clock” of the title. (An example: One o’clock is “Increase carbon-neutral power generation to meet current needs of wind and solar.”)

Matthew Ritchie's version of the clock suggests collective actions that could be taken to tackle climate change (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Matthew Ritchie’s version of the clock suggests collective actions that could be taken to tackle climate change (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

The second piece is a sober black-and-white vinyl version containing the same information, this time clearly and boldly printed and impossible to mix. The caption reads: “Unlike the doomsday clock, the goal of the ‘life clock’ is to build out collective action from the centre, moving simultaneously in all directions, with each proposal presented in response to a planetary boundary collapse.” Finally, the third piece is a blank clock that invites viewers to add post-it notes suggesting their own ideas and suggestions for fighting climate change; it is now almost entirely covered with messages in response.

Rosberg's Dear Future video features a range of 'letters to the future' (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Rosberg’s Dear Future video features a range of ‘letters to the future’ (Credit: Weinberg/Newton Gallery/ Photography by Evan Jenkins)

Rosberg similarly invites viewers to engage and respond to her video Dear Future, also included in the show. It is a narrated selection of the more than 150 letters from artists, activists, scientists, biologists, children and teachers, among others, that she has gathered, with each letter addressing the way climate change has affected their views of the future. Readings from the letters, that range from the hopeful to the poignant to the tragic, are interspersed with photos Rosberg took documenting the environmental changes she saw during her artist’s residency in the Arctic. At the show’s conclusion, viewers are invited to sit at a nearby desk and write, by hand, their own letters to the future. Those who write a letter receive a small vial containing the scent Rosberg created for Monument. So many people have contributed their thoughts, Rosberg has been asked to provide more scent as the show continues.

Before visitors leave the exhibition, they are given the chance to write to their elected representatives. They can also pause and learn from ongoing videos featuring a range of scientists and others presenting, on a more personal level, what they are doing. By all measures, the show is getting its message across. Attendance numbers rose so high that the exhibition was extended by a month, and the responses to individual artworks keep growing. And the show is sparking conversation among those who visit. “I’ve been present when people start talking about how climate change is personally affecting them,” Khan-Giordano says.

But the realities facing us remain. “If we do nothing, we are in danger,” Bronson says. At the same time, she continues, “What we’re seeing on climate does give me optimism: you can see political parties globally responding… Even in the United States business community, you see a greater sense of urgency from 20 years ago… But we need to move faster.”

Can artists provide the inspiration for that push? “Art can be a punch in the gut,” says Conn. “But it does not have to be horrifying. It can also be inspiring. There is also a place for optimism. Because if we don’t have optimism, we won’t take action.”

Human/Nature is at the Weinberg/Newton Gallery in Chicago until 16 April.

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Blueview sneakers are fully biodegradable, including the soles

The shoes from Blueview, a startup helmed by a molecular biology professor, use an algae-based polyurethane foam that can biodegrade in compost, soil, and even the ocean.

These new sneakers are fully compostable, including the soles
[Photo: courtesy Blueview]
By Adele Peters4 minute Read

The soles on a new pair of sneakers from a startup called Blueview look like they’re made from ordinary polyurethane foam. But the material, which took more than six years to develop, is partly algae-based, unlike the typical foam made from fossil fuels. The shoe’s upper uses what the company says is the first 3D-knit sneaker material made only from plants. And when the sneakers wear out, they’ve been proven to fully biodegrade in a backyard compost bin, or even in the ocean.

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Blueview CEO Stephen Mayfield, a molecular biology professor at the University of California San Diego, originally researched turning algae into fuel, but later changed course. “It just occurred to me we were never going to make biofuels out of algae because it’s the lowest value for the product,” he says. “Fuel is always the cheapest commodity. And I’m just like, why are we spending all of this time making these wonderful oils from algae and then burning them in a car?”

[Photo: courtesy Blueview]

In the same way that oil from algae can be used to replace petroleum in fuel, it can also replace fossil fuels used to make synthetic materials. That has multiple advantages, beginning with the fact that fossil fuel production is a major source of climate emissions, while algae sucks up carbon dioxide from the atmosphere as it grows. Mayfield, a surfer, started by demonstrating that it was possible to make a surfboard from algae-based foam. Then he connected with Tom Cooke, a footwear executive, and they decided to partner to launch a new shoe brand that would use the material in soles.

The industry was already moving toward sustainability, “but I didn’t think it was accelerating as quickly as it needed to,” Cooke says. “And there was still a lot of focus on shareholders as opposed to the planet.” As a fellow surfer, he was motivated by the problem he saw every time he went in the water: an ocean full of plastic. While shoes don’t end up in the ocean as often as, say, plastic bottles, they’re another part of the global waste problem; and making them is also part of the fashion industry’s outsize environmental footprint.

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[Photo: courtesy Blueview]

Some other shoe brands use rubber, a natural material, for soles. But rubber is processed in a way that means it can’t easily degrade. “Tires made out of rubber that were made in 1903 for the Model A are still here today,” Mayfield says. “They haven’t gone anywhere, and they’ll still be here in another 300 years.”

To make the new soles, Mayfield and a team of researchers started by engineering a combination of bio-based and petroleum materials into a form that could be easily broken down by microorganisms at the molecular level. (The sole is 52% bio-based.) He points out that standard synthetic foam could have also been designed to break down more easily, but when it was first developed, “people were thinking, let’s make materials that last forever,” he says. Now, designers are beginning to realize that materials should last only as long as the products they’re in—if a shoe lasts for a few years, the sole shouldn’t last for hundreds.

[Photo: courtesy Blueview]

After they had a material that was proven to biodegrade, the scientists began working on the complicated process of making a foam that would meet commercial specs for shoes. One of the biggest challenges was a compression test that checks to see how the foam bounces back after it’s stepped on 100,000 times. “Formulating to get that bounce and spring to where they always come back to the same size was actually the single most painful part of the process,” Mayfield says. The material also had to strike the right balance of being fully durable for use in a shoe and capable of breaking down easily at the end of the shoe’s life. Getting that foam right took years.

advertisement
[Photo: courtesy Blueview]

The upper was also a challenge. The founders wanted to knit the shoe to reduce the waste that comes from cutting out material. But other companies with 3D-knit shoes use synthetic yarn; when the team starting experimenting with plant-based yarn that could biodegrade, they struggled to get it to work in knitting machines without snapping or breaking. They finally landed on a combination of materials—hemp and eucalyptus yarn—and equipment that worked.

It would have been easier to mix in a small percentage of synthetic material, but they chose to keep fighting for 100% plant-based yarn. (As founders, they say, they were able to keep going when another company might have decided to compromise.) The designers also had to experiment with multiple patterns for the knit, since the natural materials don’t have the same stretch as some synthetic yarns. A typical shoe development process might have 3 pattern changes; Blueview went through 10 changes for its first sneakers.

Each element of the shoe has been proven to fully biodegrade. For a peer-reviewed paper that will be released soon, the team bolted a shoe to the end of a pier on the San Diego coast, and documented what happened as fungus and bacteria broke the material down. The first shoes, a casual slip-on sneaker, have now been manufactured and are ready for preorder. The process of getting them right took years longer than expected, but the startup didn’t want to stop until the shoes met their expectations for sustainability. “We’re a purpose and a mission with a company, not a company with a purpose,” says Cooke.

advertisement
advertisement
advertisement
advertisement

Blueview sneakers are fully biodegradable, including the soles

The shoes from Blueview, a startup helmed by a molecular biology professor, use an algae-based polyurethane foam that can biodegrade in compost, soil, and even the ocean.

These new sneakers are fully compostable, including the soles
[Photo: courtesy Blueview]
By Adele Peters4 minute Read

The soles on a new pair of sneakers from a startup called Blueview look like they’re made from ordinary polyurethane foam. But the material, which took more than six years to develop, is partly algae-based, unlike the typical foam made from fossil fuels. The shoe’s upper uses what the company says is the first 3D-knit sneaker material made only from plants. And when the sneakers wear out, they’ve been proven to fully biodegrade in a backyard compost bin, or even in the ocean.

advertisement
advertisement

Blueview CEO Stephen Mayfield, a molecular biology professor at the University of California San Diego, originally researched turning algae into fuel, but later changed course. “It just occurred to me we were never going to make biofuels out of algae because it’s the lowest value for the product,” he says. “Fuel is always the cheapest commodity. And I’m just like, why are we spending all of this time making these wonderful oils from algae and then burning them in a car?”

[Photo: courtesy Blueview]

In the same way that oil from algae can be used to replace petroleum in fuel, it can also replace fossil fuels used to make synthetic materials. That has multiple advantages, beginning with the fact that fossil fuel production is a major source of climate emissions, while algae sucks up carbon dioxide from the atmosphere as it grows. Mayfield, a surfer, started by demonstrating that it was possible to make a surfboard from algae-based foam. Then he connected with Tom Cooke, a footwear executive, and they decided to partner to launch a new shoe brand that would use the material in soles.

The industry was already moving toward sustainability, “but I didn’t think it was accelerating as quickly as it needed to,” Cooke says. “And there was still a lot of focus on shareholders as opposed to the planet.” As a fellow surfer, he was motivated by the problem he saw every time he went in the water: an ocean full of plastic. While shoes don’t end up in the ocean as often as, say, plastic bottles, they’re another part of the global waste problem; and making them is also part of the fashion industry’s outsize environmental footprint.

advertisement
[Photo: courtesy Blueview]

Some other shoe brands use rubber, a natural material, for soles. But rubber is processed in a way that means it can’t easily degrade. “Tires made out of rubber that were made in 1903 for the Model A are still here today,” Mayfield says. “They haven’t gone anywhere, and they’ll still be here in another 300 years.”

To make the new soles, Mayfield and a team of researchers started by engineering a combination of bio-based and petroleum materials into a form that could be easily broken down by microorganisms at the molecular level. (The sole is 52% bio-based.) He points out that standard synthetic foam could have also been designed to break down more easily, but when it was first developed, “people were thinking, let’s make materials that last forever,” he says. Now, designers are beginning to realize that materials should last only as long as the products they’re in—if a shoe lasts for a few years, the sole shouldn’t last for hundreds.

[Photo: courtesy Blueview]

After they had a material that was proven to biodegrade, the scientists began working on the complicated process of making a foam that would meet commercial specs for shoes. One of the biggest challenges was a compression test that checks to see how the foam bounces back after it’s stepped on 100,000 times. “Formulating to get that bounce and spring to where they always come back to the same size was actually the single most painful part of the process,” Mayfield says. The material also had to strike the right balance of being fully durable for use in a shoe and capable of breaking down easily at the end of the shoe’s life. Getting that foam right took years.

advertisement
[Photo: courtesy Blueview]

The upper was also a challenge. The founders wanted to knit the shoe to reduce the waste that comes from cutting out material. But other companies with 3D-knit shoes use synthetic yarn; when the team starting experimenting with plant-based yarn that could biodegrade, they struggled to get it to work in knitting machines without snapping or breaking. They finally landed on a combination of materials—hemp and eucalyptus yarn—and equipment that worked.

It would have been easier to mix in a small percentage of synthetic material, but they chose to keep fighting for 100% plant-based yarn. (As founders, they say, they were able to keep going when another company might have decided to compromise.) The designers also had to experiment with multiple patterns for the knit, since the natural materials don’t have the same stretch as some synthetic yarns. A typical shoe development process might have 3 pattern changes; Blueview went through 10 changes for its first sneakers.

Each element of the shoe has been proven to fully biodegrade. For a peer-reviewed paper that will be released soon, the team bolted a shoe to the end of a pier on the San Diego coast, and documented what happened as fungus and bacteria broke the material down. The first shoes, a casual slip-on sneaker, have now been manufactured and are ready for preorder. The process of getting them right took years longer than expected, but the startup didn’t want to stop until the shoes met their expectations for sustainability. “We’re a purpose and a mission with a company, not a company with a purpose,” says Cooke.

advertisement
advertisement
advertisement
advertisement

Pick up the pieces: the battle to clean up Cornwall’s beaches

Pick up the pieces: the battle to clean up Cornwall’s beaches

Marine Girl: Emily Stevenson of Beach Guardian. She wore a dress made of crisp packets when she graduated as a marine biologist.

Plastic pollution blights the Cornish coast, but local people are tackling the problem

When eight-year-old Harriet Orme saw a dead hawksbill turtle in her Cornwall village’s harbour three years ago, the image haunted her. Not because the huge, critically endangered turtle had crossed the seas from the tropics to a defunct fishing harbour on the north coast of Cornwall, but because it had most probably died after ingesting thousands of tiny pieces of plastic.

“Harriet is a womble,” her mother, Sophie Orme, says. “Now, wherever she goes, she automatically picks up litter and hands it to me.” The two are spending their morning, like countless mornings before, litter-picking on their nearest beach. In their home town of Portreath, with a population of around 1,400 permanent residents, environmental custodianship is catching on. “It’s becoming the culture of the whole village. From the village elders right down to the youngest kids. Even the local pub runs nightly beach cleans in the summer,” Orme says. The area’s social values, she believes, are changing, much like when smoking became taboo. “You become a pariah if you litter,” she says.

Across Cornwall, community beach cleans have gathered momentum as a year-round activity appealing to all ages. Unlike surfing, dog-walking or cold-water swimming, beach cleans require little equipment or hardiness – just a common goal to keep treasured outdoor spaces litter-free.

“Litter was always a part of my childhood in north Cornwall,” says 24-year-old Emily Stevenson. “We would build sandcastles out of plastic.” Although she and her father, Rob Stevenson, often carried out impromptu beach cleans, it was not until 2017 that they held their first community clean. But after a serendipitous moment made headlines – when Emily unearthed an empty packet of crisps from 1997, the same year she was born, it led to her wearing a graduation dress made from crisp packets that was widely reported – numbers of volunteers “exploded”. The duo formed the social enterprise Beach Guardian, and have since spent thousands of hours scouring various cliffs and coves in more than 200 beach cleans.

Beach Guardian focuses its efforts on the seven bays between Newquay and Padstow, two of the county’s most well-trodden holiday destinations. This stretch of coastline is Rick Stein territory – the whimsical Cornwall of foraging in hedgerows, steaming mussels and stargazy pie – or at least as television would have you believe. But in the dead of winter, when country lanes are quiet and the long swathes of sand are no longer cluttered by windbreakers, beach towels and body boards, bands of locals come to the beach on the hunt for rubbish.

The new face of pollution: Emily Stevenson found 171 items of PPE in a one-hour litter pick in Cornwall.

On a winter morning around 50 people, armed with litter pickers and recycling sacks, have come out on a Sunday to offer a hand. Stormy weather and high spring tides have made rich pickings for them, as buried plastics, hidden for decades at the bottom of the sea bed, have churned up to the surface. Most volunteers crouch over tangles of seaweed, fishing plastic from burrows, but a small group leaves to remove a plastic pontoon wedged into a cliff before it breaks up into minuscule pieces of polystyrene.

Around 5,000 items of marine plastic pollution exist for each mile of beach in the UK, according to the Marine Conservation Society. And, living in the county with the largest coastline (422 miles), it is no surprise that the Cornish are deeply invested in their surroundings. Fishermen’s kisses, nurdles and biobeads – special names for fragments of fishing nets and small plastic pellets – are part of the vernacular, recognised by locals as devastating to marine life. It can be an uphill battle when you realise the “unquantifiable” amount of microplastics in the ocean, Stevenson acknowledges. This doesn’t deter the most dedicated volunteers, who pass kitchen sieves over the sand, scouting for plastic flecks of colour.

On the beach, a mother holds open a bag for her child, who runs back and forth, gleefully adding “juicy bits of plastic” to a bulging pile. “Once you start seeing it, you can’t not see it again,” Zoe Collis says. “By coming here you see the scale and complexity of the problem. It means when you go home you then start thinking, right, what do I not need? Do I need that plastic bottle of water? Probably not.”

Beach cleans became a vital way for her family to integrate after they relocated from Staffordshire to Cornwall six years ago. “You start seeing the same faces. And you find out other things going on. It’s been a great way of finding a group of buddies and building a community,” she says. During the long days of the pandemic, regular cleans were a lifeline for families like hers. Especially at Christmas, as Omicron torpedoed festive plans, beach cleans provided a welcome escape. “We had hot chocolate and mince pies afterwards. It was something to do to get out of the house that felt safe,” Collis adds.

After spending his childhood summers in north Cornwall and working on a nearby campsite as a student, Mark Pendlebury retired to the county late last year. At his first beach clean, he wants to give back to the beaches he has spent over five decades enjoying.

Christmas presents: activists prevent dune erosion on Cornwall’s beaches by reusing old Christmas trees.

Opening his palm, Pendlebury reveals four pieces of Lego, salvaged from a cargo spill. In 1997 more than 4.8m pieces of Lego bound for New York were lost at sea and are still washing up on Cornish beaches today. Among the pieces Pendlebury finds are a canary-yellow surfboard and a teal, thumb-sized figurine, which vaguely resembles an elephant, or perhaps a hippo. It’s tricky to tell as the bricks are slightly misshapen, their trademark bumps licked by waves until rounded. Such items are considered collectibles by avid beachcombers: the rare bits of junk that find their way to the shores from exotic places or decades past.

“I have folders and folders of stuff that I refuse to give up,” says Emily Stevenson. “Each one tells you a story of a particular beach clean.” Her big thing is crisp packets. “I’ll remember this clean in 10 years’ time by this packet. Memories just seem to cling on to it.”

Of course, front rooms and garden sheds can’t hold everything the cleaners find. Instead, Beach Guardian’s plastic bounty is used for educational purposes – as art activism. A statement from the group says: “Everything from our beach cleans is brought up to our Beach Guardian Lab. Volunteers sort through what we have. The large items like nets and rope are used for large art installations like our whale, giant puppets and our Plastic Age stone circle. The smaller items are used for school resources so that pupils can see first-hand what we are finding on our beach cleans and watch our Tune In Tuesday videos on YouTube.”

Nets, ropes and large plastic items are shredded down and turned into kayaks to help recover more items at remote coves while other plastics are recycled into beach-cleaning stations. As a last resort, all waste in Cornwall is incinerated to generate electricity, so it’s very unlikely that anything will end up back in the ocean, the environment or in landfill.

Beach Guardian is also pushing for policy change, starting with local authorities and businesses, through to politicians and multinational corporations. The team has met decision-makers from parliament and PepsiCo, to present the dangers of plastic in our ecosystem. Stevenson uses an analogy: “If you have a leaky sink in your bathroom, you wouldn’t spend year after year mopping up the floor; you’d fix the tap. Beach cleaning is mopping up the floor, but we’ll do that forever unless we turn off the plastic tap.”

-Buried treasure: one of Emily Stevenson’s lovely crisp packets, the use-by date on this one was 1984.

However, when the tourist season strikes, Cornwall tackles a very different litter crisis. Kevin Wood, who works in maintenance in Watergate Bay, is tasked with cleaning the beach every morning, mopping up the residue of picnics, barbecues and late-night beach parties.

“​​It’s horrendous in the summer. We literally fill up black bags with barbecue rubbish, crisp packets, plastic spades, all sorts. When the bins are full, people just throw rubbish on the floor,” he says. According to Wood, fires cause some of the worst damage. Last year was particularly dire, with wooden chairs and tables stolen from the forecourt of a hotel used as fuel in the name of a good time. “I wish they could see it now when we’re picking mainly old stuff and fishing gear, so they could see the difference in the summer,” he says.

One solution has been the rollout of individual beach-cleaning stations. The concept is amazingly simple – place a board, a litter picker and a bag at the entry point to each beach. In bright blue and yellow, the stations are hard to miss, serving as a constant reminder of environmental responsibility. The scheme, run by Cornish charity The 2 Minute Foundation, piloted in 2014 and now there are over 1,000 stations, one in every continent of the world.

“The stations don’t discriminate. Lots of tourists will come along and take part, especially those who aren’t clued in about the organised beach cleans,” says Martin Dorey, the charity’s founder. He collaborates with tour operators that run summer beach cleans for holidaymakers, as well as artists selling jewellery and trinkets made from marine debris. “It appeals to people’s sense of giving back and feeling like they belong to the community by doing something positive,” Dorey says.

Beach cleaners are encouraged to share photos under the hashtag 2minutebeachclean. After the first station was installed in Bude, Cornwall, Dorey measured a 68% drop in litter left on the beach that year. Fifteen years later, with hashtags registered as far as Antarctica, the scale of the charity’s work is harder to track. “It’s the key that unlocks laziness. Two minutes is nothing; everybody’s got two minutes,” says Dorey. By setting an achievable goal people are inspired to make incremental changes. “We don’t need 100 perfect people – we need everybody to be imperfect, but at least trying,” he adds.

Top pick: Emily Stevenson received a Diana award for her work cleaning up the beaches.

For Dorey, beach cleaning offered respite after a difficult divorce. But he has also heard testimonies from others who have used the ritual to silence anxious or even suicidal thoughts. Now, The 2 Minute Foundation has an employee trained as a mental-health first aider, in the hope of spotting signs of struggle early on.

The benefits of beach cleaning on mental health are still relatively anecdotal, although recognition of nature’s restorative qualities is becoming more mainstream. In lockdown, savouring time spent in open spaces became a crutch for many of us, to such an extent that in July 2020, the Environment Secretary dedicated £4m to “green social prescribing”. GPs and other healthcare practitioners can refer patients with mental health concerns to nature-based activities, such as local walking schemes and community gardening projects.

This opens the door to exploring our relationship to aquatic environments, ponds, lakes, rivers and oceans. At the forefront is BlueHealth, a pan-European research project led by a University of Exeter department based in Truro. In a 2019 study, experts found that people living less than 1km from the UK coast had “significantly lower” odds of being at a high risk of “common mental disorders”, such as anxiety or depression, compared to those living further than 50km away. The link was stronger within socioeconomically deprived communities, indicating that access to blue spaces could reduce health inequalities.

“The doctors of yesteryear had the right idea when they would prescribe the coastline as a type of medicine,” says Jolyon Sharpe, a countryside officer at Cornwall Council. “Beach cleaning can be done beautifully in isolation; it can be very therapeutic, almost meditative,” says Sharpe. The melange of sounds – crashing waves, blustering wind and seagulls crooning – is pivotal. “Everything you hear is a sensory overload, and that’s incredibly good for your mental wellbeing.” And, when you add an altruistic element, such as cleaning, the satisfaction is twofold.

“One thing that brings everyone together is that the coastline of Cornwall is beautiful,” says Sharpe. “The key thing is the beach is for everyone to enjoy, but we’ve got to protect it. Litter picking is one really simple way that everybody can give back to the environment that they love.”

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Pick up the pieces: the battle to clean up Cornwall’s beaches

Pick up the pieces: the battle to clean up Cornwall’s beaches

Marine Girl: Emily Stevenson of Beach Guardian. She wore a dress made of crisp packets when she graduated as a marine biologist.

Plastic pollution blights the Cornish coast, but local people are tackling the problem

When eight-year-old Harriet Orme saw a dead hawksbill turtle in her Cornwall village’s harbour three years ago, the image haunted her. Not because the huge, critically endangered turtle had crossed the seas from the tropics to a defunct fishing harbour on the north coast of Cornwall, but because it had most probably died after ingesting thousands of tiny pieces of plastic.

“Harriet is a womble,” her mother, Sophie Orme, says. “Now, wherever she goes, she automatically picks up litter and hands it to me.” The two are spending their morning, like countless mornings before, litter-picking on their nearest beach. In their home town of Portreath, with a population of around 1,400 permanent residents, environmental custodianship is catching on. “It’s becoming the culture of the whole village. From the village elders right down to the youngest kids. Even the local pub runs nightly beach cleans in the summer,” Orme says. The area’s social values, she believes, are changing, much like when smoking became taboo. “You become a pariah if you litter,” she says.

Across Cornwall, community beach cleans have gathered momentum as a year-round activity appealing to all ages. Unlike surfing, dog-walking or cold-water swimming, beach cleans require little equipment or hardiness – just a common goal to keep treasured outdoor spaces litter-free.

“Litter was always a part of my childhood in north Cornwall,” says 24-year-old Emily Stevenson. “We would build sandcastles out of plastic.” Although she and her father, Rob Stevenson, often carried out impromptu beach cleans, it was not until 2017 that they held their first community clean. But after a serendipitous moment made headlines – when Emily unearthed an empty packet of crisps from 1997, the same year she was born, it led to her wearing a graduation dress made from crisp packets that was widely reported – numbers of volunteers “exploded”. The duo formed the social enterprise Beach Guardian, and have since spent thousands of hours scouring various cliffs and coves in more than 200 beach cleans.

Beach Guardian focuses its efforts on the seven bays between Newquay and Padstow, two of the county’s most well-trodden holiday destinations. This stretch of coastline is Rick Stein territory – the whimsical Cornwall of foraging in hedgerows, steaming mussels and stargazy pie – or at least as television would have you believe. But in the dead of winter, when country lanes are quiet and the long swathes of sand are no longer cluttered by windbreakers, beach towels and body boards, bands of locals come to the beach on the hunt for rubbish.

The new face of pollution: Emily Stevenson found 171 items of PPE in a one-hour litter pick in Cornwall.

On a winter morning around 50 people, armed with litter pickers and recycling sacks, have come out on a Sunday to offer a hand. Stormy weather and high spring tides have made rich pickings for them, as buried plastics, hidden for decades at the bottom of the sea bed, have churned up to the surface. Most volunteers crouch over tangles of seaweed, fishing plastic from burrows, but a small group leaves to remove a plastic pontoon wedged into a cliff before it breaks up into minuscule pieces of polystyrene.

Around 5,000 items of marine plastic pollution exist for each mile of beach in the UK, according to the Marine Conservation Society. And, living in the county with the largest coastline (422 miles), it is no surprise that the Cornish are deeply invested in their surroundings. Fishermen’s kisses, nurdles and biobeads – special names for fragments of fishing nets and small plastic pellets – are part of the vernacular, recognised by locals as devastating to marine life. It can be an uphill battle when you realise the “unquantifiable” amount of microplastics in the ocean, Stevenson acknowledges. This doesn’t deter the most dedicated volunteers, who pass kitchen sieves over the sand, scouting for plastic flecks of colour.

On the beach, a mother holds open a bag for her child, who runs back and forth, gleefully adding “juicy bits of plastic” to a bulging pile. “Once you start seeing it, you can’t not see it again,” Zoe Collis says. “By coming here you see the scale and complexity of the problem. It means when you go home you then start thinking, right, what do I not need? Do I need that plastic bottle of water? Probably not.”

Beach cleans became a vital way for her family to integrate after they relocated from Staffordshire to Cornwall six years ago. “You start seeing the same faces. And you find out other things going on. It’s been a great way of finding a group of buddies and building a community,” she says. During the long days of the pandemic, regular cleans were a lifeline for families like hers. Especially at Christmas, as Omicron torpedoed festive plans, beach cleans provided a welcome escape. “We had hot chocolate and mince pies afterwards. It was something to do to get out of the house that felt safe,” Collis adds.

After spending his childhood summers in north Cornwall and working on a nearby campsite as a student, Mark Pendlebury retired to the county late last year. At his first beach clean, he wants to give back to the beaches he has spent over five decades enjoying.

Christmas presents: activists prevent dune erosion on Cornwall’s beaches by reusing old Christmas trees.

Opening his palm, Pendlebury reveals four pieces of Lego, salvaged from a cargo spill. In 1997 more than 4.8m pieces of Lego bound for New York were lost at sea and are still washing up on Cornish beaches today. Among the pieces Pendlebury finds are a canary-yellow surfboard and a teal, thumb-sized figurine, which vaguely resembles an elephant, or perhaps a hippo. It’s tricky to tell as the bricks are slightly misshapen, their trademark bumps licked by waves until rounded. Such items are considered collectibles by avid beachcombers: the rare bits of junk that find their way to the shores from exotic places or decades past.

“I have folders and folders of stuff that I refuse to give up,” says Emily Stevenson. “Each one tells you a story of a particular beach clean.” Her big thing is crisp packets. “I’ll remember this clean in 10 years’ time by this packet. Memories just seem to cling on to it.”

Of course, front rooms and garden sheds can’t hold everything the cleaners find. Instead, Beach Guardian’s plastic bounty is used for educational purposes – as art activism. A statement from the group says: “Everything from our beach cleans is brought up to our Beach Guardian Lab. Volunteers sort through what we have. The large items like nets and rope are used for large art installations like our whale, giant puppets and our Plastic Age stone circle. The smaller items are used for school resources so that pupils can see first-hand what we are finding on our beach cleans and watch our Tune In Tuesday videos on YouTube.”

Nets, ropes and large plastic items are shredded down and turned into kayaks to help recover more items at remote coves while other plastics are recycled into beach-cleaning stations. As a last resort, all waste in Cornwall is incinerated to generate electricity, so it’s very unlikely that anything will end up back in the ocean, the environment or in landfill.

Beach Guardian is also pushing for policy change, starting with local authorities and businesses, through to politicians and multinational corporations. The team has met decision-makers from parliament and PepsiCo, to present the dangers of plastic in our ecosystem. Stevenson uses an analogy: “If you have a leaky sink in your bathroom, you wouldn’t spend year after year mopping up the floor; you’d fix the tap. Beach cleaning is mopping up the floor, but we’ll do that forever unless we turn off the plastic tap.”

-Buried treasure: one of Emily Stevenson’s lovely crisp packets, the use-by date on this one was 1984.

However, when the tourist season strikes, Cornwall tackles a very different litter crisis. Kevin Wood, who works in maintenance in Watergate Bay, is tasked with cleaning the beach every morning, mopping up the residue of picnics, barbecues and late-night beach parties.

“​​It’s horrendous in the summer. We literally fill up black bags with barbecue rubbish, crisp packets, plastic spades, all sorts. When the bins are full, people just throw rubbish on the floor,” he says. According to Wood, fires cause some of the worst damage. Last year was particularly dire, with wooden chairs and tables stolen from the forecourt of a hotel used as fuel in the name of a good time. “I wish they could see it now when we’re picking mainly old stuff and fishing gear, so they could see the difference in the summer,” he says.

One solution has been the rollout of individual beach-cleaning stations. The concept is amazingly simple – place a board, a litter picker and a bag at the entry point to each beach. In bright blue and yellow, the stations are hard to miss, serving as a constant reminder of environmental responsibility. The scheme, run by Cornish charity The 2 Minute Foundation, piloted in 2014 and now there are over 1,000 stations, one in every continent of the world.

“The stations don’t discriminate. Lots of tourists will come along and take part, especially those who aren’t clued in about the organised beach cleans,” says Martin Dorey, the charity’s founder. He collaborates with tour operators that run summer beach cleans for holidaymakers, as well as artists selling jewellery and trinkets made from marine debris. “It appeals to people’s sense of giving back and feeling like they belong to the community by doing something positive,” Dorey says.

Beach cleaners are encouraged to share photos under the hashtag 2minutebeachclean. After the first station was installed in Bude, Cornwall, Dorey measured a 68% drop in litter left on the beach that year. Fifteen years later, with hashtags registered as far as Antarctica, the scale of the charity’s work is harder to track. “It’s the key that unlocks laziness. Two minutes is nothing; everybody’s got two minutes,” says Dorey. By setting an achievable goal people are inspired to make incremental changes. “We don’t need 100 perfect people – we need everybody to be imperfect, but at least trying,” he adds.

Top pick: Emily Stevenson received a Diana award for her work cleaning up the beaches.

For Dorey, beach cleaning offered respite after a difficult divorce. But he has also heard testimonies from others who have used the ritual to silence anxious or even suicidal thoughts. Now, The 2 Minute Foundation has an employee trained as a mental-health first aider, in the hope of spotting signs of struggle early on.

The benefits of beach cleaning on mental health are still relatively anecdotal, although recognition of nature’s restorative qualities is becoming more mainstream. In lockdown, savouring time spent in open spaces became a crutch for many of us, to such an extent that in July 2020, the Environment Secretary dedicated £4m to “green social prescribing”. GPs and other healthcare practitioners can refer patients with mental health concerns to nature-based activities, such as local walking schemes and community gardening projects.

This opens the door to exploring our relationship to aquatic environments, ponds, lakes, rivers and oceans. At the forefront is BlueHealth, a pan-European research project led by a University of Exeter department based in Truro. In a 2019 study, experts found that people living less than 1km from the UK coast had “significantly lower” odds of being at a high risk of “common mental disorders”, such as anxiety or depression, compared to those living further than 50km away. The link was stronger within socioeconomically deprived communities, indicating that access to blue spaces could reduce health inequalities.

“The doctors of yesteryear had the right idea when they would prescribe the coastline as a type of medicine,” says Jolyon Sharpe, a countryside officer at Cornwall Council. “Beach cleaning can be done beautifully in isolation; it can be very therapeutic, almost meditative,” says Sharpe. The melange of sounds – crashing waves, blustering wind and seagulls crooning – is pivotal. “Everything you hear is a sensory overload, and that’s incredibly good for your mental wellbeing.” And, when you add an altruistic element, such as cleaning, the satisfaction is twofold.

“One thing that brings everyone together is that the coastline of Cornwall is beautiful,” says Sharpe. “The key thing is the beach is for everyone to enjoy, but we’ve got to protect it. Litter picking is one really simple way that everybody can give back to the environment that they love.”

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Plastic pollution could make much of humanity infertile, experts fear

Since the start of the 2020s, humanity has faced worldwide calamity after worldwide calamity, all of them raising questions about our survival as a species. The COVID-19 pandemic has already claimed millions of lives and not yet finished its rampage. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has raised the specter of nuclear holocaust, which many assumed has subsided with the end of the Cold War. Even as these problems worsen, climate change continues to quietly creep along in the background, overheating the planet for future generations.

Yet what if, on top of all these things, there is an even more dystopian crisis in the offing — one in which humans are no longer able to reproduce without artificial help because we have filled the environment with chemicals that have altered our bodies?

Scientists believe this is not only possible, it is likely to happen within our lifetimes.

Understanding why involves three statistics: First, that a human male who has fewer than 15 million sperm per milliliter is considered infertile; second, that in the 1970s sperm counts in Western countries (where there is available data) showed an average of 99 million sperm per milliliter; and third, that this number had dropped to 47 million sperm per milliliter by 2011. Scientists agree that plastic pollution is a likely culprit.

The trailblazer here has been Dr. Shanna Swan, a professor of environmental medicine and public health at Mount Sinai School of Medicine in New York City, whose most famous book has a conveniently self-explanatory title: “Count Down: How Our Modern World Is Threatening Sperm Counts, Altering Male and Female Reproductive Development, and Imperiling the Future of the Human Race.”

The main culprit is believed to be chemicals within everyday plastics known as endocrine disruptors. These chemicals, including a range of phthalates and bisphenols, are literally inescapable. They can be found in the dishware, food cans and containers from which you eat your food, and in the water bottles and other plastic receptacles from which you drink. They are in virtually all of your commonly used household electronics, your eyeglass lenses, your furniture and even on any commercial receipts that come from a thermal printer. Because endocrine disruptors are in pesticides, they have also entered the foods that we eat thanks to the agriculture industry. Even without pesticides, though, we would still wind up eating these endocrine disruptors. Microplastics — that is, plastic particles which are five millimeters or less across or in length — have entirely covered the planet. Animals accidentally eat microplastics all the time and plants regularly absorb them through their roots. Humans themselves ingest the rough equivalent of a credit card’s worth of plastic each week.

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“First society needs to identify and agree we have a very serious problem; this takes time like climate change,” Bjorn Beeler, international coordination at IPEN — International Pollutants Elimination Network — told Salon by email. “Scientists knew in the 1970s/80s climate change was coming due to [greenhouse gas] emissions, and now we are discussing adaptation and climate crisis 40+ years later (late). So to curb the threat, we need to define the problem, then turn off the toxic chemical tap.”

Even if that happens, however, there is so much plastic everywhere that humanity simply cannot escape at least some of the consequences from this constant exposure. Swan told Salon by email that federally funded assisted reproduction technology — something currently provided in only one country, Israel — will help in making sure that people impacted by this pollution can still have children.

“Disadvantaged communities are more highly exposed to risky chemicals and they are more affected (on average) by the same level of exposure,” Swan wrote to Salon. “So, it’s a ‘triple whammy’ for these communities.”

John Hocevar, the Oceans Campaign Director for Greenpeace USA, explained to Salon by email that “reduced sperm counts and other reproductive ailments disproportionately impact low income communities and people of color. Poor communities are more likely to be located closest to incinerators and landfills, as well as refineries. Access to expensive treatments to compensate for reproductive health issues are not equitable today, and even with an optimistic view of the US political landscape it is clear that this problem is not going to go away any time soon.”

Not surprisingly, the plastic industry and others that rely on these chemicals dispute that the endocrine disruptors are responsible for the drop in sperm counts. As Beeler pointed out, they will provide alternate data just like industries do when they dispute the validity of climate science. Hocevar added that plastic companies also have an advantage because plastics are so pervasive that “it is difficult to design controls where plastic can be excluded as a factor. The plastic industry uses this terrible situation to try to claim that we don’t have enough evidence to be sure that these chemicals are dangerous.”

And, to be clear, there are other factors that no doubt contribute to fertility issues for both men and women: Obesity, smoking, binge drinking, stress. Still, the science about endocrine disruptors is clear.

“Chemicals in plastic (phthalates, bisphenols and others) as well as pesticides, lead and other environmental exposures are linked to impaired reproduction including sperm count and quality,” Swan told Salon. “Some, like phthalates and BPA, have a short half-life in the body (4-6 hours), so it is possible to reduce the body’s exposure if we can stop using products containing these.” At the same time, society will have to exercise collective will and make sure that the most vulnerable among us are not left behind.

“Low-income communities can’t afford to ‘buy their way out’ of the problem by purchasing organic, unprocessed foods, safer cosmetics etc. (which are more expensive),” Swan explained. “But the ‘mass infertility scenario’ is a threat to everyone (not just the disadvantaged).”

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