When I was growing up in the ’80s in Santiago, Chile, during the Pinochet dictatorship, air quality was the environmental problem most present in our lives. It determined whether we could drive that day, how overwhelmed hospitals would be, and whether or not we would have physical education at school.

Global warming was unheard of. And plastic was our friend: a cheap, versatile, and durable material that let us play, move about, and simplify our lives. We never anticipated its long-lastingness would become a problem.

During those politically tumultuous years in the country, my childhood was marked by a comforting routine. We still had four recognizable seasons, with gray and rainy winters and long, warm summer days. On Sundays my family ate lunch at my grandparents’ apartment: white rice and turkey topped with applesauce, boxed ice cream and “dulces chilenos” (traditional sweet pastries) for dessert, and Coca-Cola or bottled juice to drink—a special treat reserved only for weekends.

In my household, among my father’s few domestic responsibilities was being in charge of the reusable bottles. I can recall how diligently he kept tabs on them, filling their crate in the laundry room to ensure that each PET (for polyethylene terephthalate) or glass bottle we used found its way back to the market.

In those days, deciding to use returnable bottles was not necessarily driven by environmental consciousness or finances. It was simply how things were done. Buying liquids meant planning ahead, returning empty bottles to our local Almac (short for almacén, or grocery store)—which later became Ekono (económico, Spanish for thrifty), and then Lider (acquired by Walmart in 2009). My dad would insert the bottles one by one into the mouth of a reverse vending machine, and receive a ticket. Then, when he brought the crate, filled with new drinks, to the checkout counter, he would present the ticket and get a discount.

In 1989, Chile had its first presidential election in 20 years. Democracy returned and a new sense of freedom emerged. The country was not only experiencing important political and social changes, but also economic growth that promoted development and consumption. Soon, going to the grocery store became an overstimulating family trip with upbeat music, store specials announced over speakers, and furry “mascots” offering hugs and frightening kids. Previously predictable shelves now showcased new brands, with fancier packaging.

With all the new choices, consumer behavior changed too, spontaneous purchases became the norm to many Chileans, and planning ahead fell by the wayside. The bottle vending machines vanished from supermarkets—supposedly due to high maintenance costs and the need for extra personnel to handle the delicate glass bottles. We began buying single-use plastics. Our family’s old red crate never left the house again.

Plastic was not originally intended for single-use. Marketers promoted Bakelite, the first synthetic plastic invented in 1907, as “the material of a thousand uses.” Its logo was the symbol of infinity. But somehow, the promise of making life easier turned throwaway into a lifestyle.

In the years since, plastic production has sharply increased worldwide, more than doubling over the last two decades to more than 450 million tons annually. It contributes to climate change through greenhouse gas emissions, and disproportionately affects marginalized communities living close to plastic production and waste sites. A great deal of plastic waste ends up in the oceans, according to the Ellen MacArthur Foundation, a U.K.-based organization that advocates for a circular economy.

On our current track there could be more plastics than fish in the seas by 2050. This waste degrades marine habitats and endangers species. It also poses threats to human health through the food chain, and affects the tourism, fishing, and aquaculture economies.

Currently, 50% of the plastic produced worldwide serves a single-use purpose. If we reused just 10% of our plastics products, we would divert almost half of the plastic waste that winds up in the oceans each year.

Chile, where things are once again shifting, can help show the way. There, in 2012, an entrepreneur named José Manuel Moller brought back the old vending machines—with a new twist. For low-income households in Chile who live day-to-day, non-perishable staples like rice became unaffordable when sold in one-kilogram, pre-packaged plastic bags. Such families had to purchase smaller bags, with significantly higher costs per gram—in effect, paying a “poverty tax.”

To address the problem, Moller’s company Algramo began dispensing products such as rice, beans, lentils, sugar, and laundry detergent into returnable containers, installing vending machines in small local grocery shops to distribute the items. It made the staples affordable. It also helped small businesses and low-income customers reduce plastic waste.

Over the years, Algramo extended its reach from Chile as far afield as supermarkets in the U.K. Recently, Moller received the Champion of the Earth Award, one of the United Nations’ highest environmental recognitions. Chile has further encouraged reuse through new regulations like the country’s 2022 single-use plastic law, which not only prohibits disposable utensils like forks, knives, straws, plates, and cups, but also compels supermarkets and convenience stores to provide and receive reusable bottles.

While working for the Chilean Plastic Pact, part of the Plastics Pact Global Network, which connects national and regional initiatives to implement solutions towards a circular economy for plastic in response to global plastic waste and pollution, I’ve learned that the problem is not plastics, but the way we use them. That is why the goal is to build a new plastics economy that allows this long-lasting material to circulate endlessly, never reaching landfills or littering our oceans. Recycling alone, which reaches only about 9% of the U.S.’s plastic waste, won’t be enough. Reusable packaging is key.

I see glimmers of promise.

In the U.S., nonprofits like Upstream and companies like Blueland are leading the push toward reusable packaging. Last week representatives from 175 countries are meeting in Canada to advance a legally-binding global treaty to end plastic pollution, following previous rounds of talks in Kenya, France, and Uruguay. Reuse standards for global scalability and its possible financial mechanisms should be a central part of the document.

For me, reuse connects me to my Chilean childhood, a time when life was simpler and followed a different rhythm. It’s time to return to the symbolic red crate.

The post Could My Chilean Childhood Combat Plastic Waste? appeared first on Zócalo Public Square.

I first encountered the Salton Sea by accident on a cross-country road trip in the summer of 2005. After the trip, I tried to learn as much as I could about the sea and the people who live near it, but the available online research was unsatisfactory and outdated. Books were very expensive and hard to obtain. So I returned. Less two years after my road trip, I left London for the Salton Sea.

Since then, I’ve collected the stories and photos of my neighbors. Living here can inspire them. Jeni Bate, an artist from Salton City, paints skies and clouds from her back porch. Norm Niver, a musician now in his 80s who has worked to save the sea since the ’70s, lives in Salton City in a small house perched on the banks, a boat dock jutting out over the water with a chair in position for five o’clock martini time.

I still remember the first person I spoke with, a fisherman whom I met in Desert Shores during a fish kill back in February 2007, during my first visit. He expressed his anger with the politicians and organizations that could have done something to prevent the sea from faltering, from drying up, but haven’t. That frustration—that we have been abandoned—is a common sentiment. I’m in awe of all the residents who have sat for years in meetings, and can list all the excuses they’ve heard from governmental agencies for why their communities received so little.

A significant issue is dust. The sea is drying up and needs to be kept wet to minimize the amount of dust particles that float into our air when it’s very windy. Our fear is that, as the water levels drop, the dry playa, which contains toxic dust and chemicals, will be airborne and breathed in by residents near the sea. Wind events are frequent and cause visibility to drop dramatically. Neighbors’ houses disappear behind the walls of sand and dust. Dust tornadoes have ripped across the nearby desert, pulling up lose sand. Particulate matter, such as fertilizers, pesticides, fungi, arsenic, and other heavy metals, become airborne, entering our respiratory systems. Previous wind events have shown that particles can reach as far as Los Angeles County. Already, levels of asthma and other respiratory ailments are far above what they should be. Two out of five children have asthma in Imperial County.

Resolving the problem is complicated; scientists are figuring out how to solve some of the sea’s problems with water quality and keeping the sea from drying up and leaving behind a toxic playa. Scientists are also battling with how to contain the hydrogen sulfide, which can also make residents very sick. At risk are the lives of the residents at the sea, as well as in regions farther away, such as L.A. County, and the teeming wildlife. To do nothing would be disastrous.

So we do something—gathering to clean up. This region is prone to high winds that pick up discarded trash and blow it around the region, filling the air with plastics and paper. These items get caught in desert flora, are picked at by wildlife, and float in the Salton Sea, where fish and birds can get to them. There is a lot of illegal dumping and that needs picking up too—before the animals and wind get to it.

It’s not clear to us who should be responsible for picking up the illegally dumped material. But no one will take responsibility, so we do.

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