A Sea in Flames - Carl Safina [100]
At a pile of sand forty feet high, I climb to take photos. A guy in a truck from a company called Clean Harbors, from Albany, New York, gets out. I’m sure he’s going to hassle me. Instead he says, “It’s okay to park here. How can I help you today?” I say he already has, just by being such a breath of fresh air. I ask if his company is contracted by BP. “I really can’t comment.” Okay, something less threatening: I wonder out loud how much it’s costing to make these miles-long berms. Just small talk. I’m not really asking him. He says, “I really can’t talk about any of that. I could get fired for talking.” The First Amendment protects corporations’ free speech, but not the free speech of people who work for those corporations.
It’s the Fourth of July. Two hundred and thirty four years ago, the United States won its independence from, guess who: the British.
Not so fast.
At the end of the road is a public park clearly marked “Open.” It’s noon when, on foot, I approach what looks like a little temporary trailer-style guard station at the entrance.
A young guy with a clipboard straightens up and walks quickly to the threshold of the park entrance. The power play is immediate. He’s joined by an older guy, sixties, who takes over the interaction.
“I assume this park is open,” I say, “since the sign says ‘Open.’ ”
“No.”
“Then why does the sign say ‘Open’?”
“Because they haven’t taken it down.”
“Why would they take it down if it’s a public park that’s ‘Open’?”
“It’s closed.”
“Why is it closed?”
“Because there are operations going on here connected to the oil spill. It’s been taken over by the National Guard. The National Guard is operating down here.”
“And they’ve closed the public park, even though it says it’s ‘Open’?”
“Yes. The city has closed it.”
“Does that seem right to you?”
“I have no comment on that, sir. All I know is, it’s closed to the public.”
“And who do you work for?”
“I work for Response Force One security.”
“What is Response Force One? I’ve never heard of that.”
“A security company.”
“And you’re hired by who?”
“Response Force One.”
“Yes, but who are they hired by?”
“BP,” he says with a lift of his chin, as though those two letters are the big trump card of the whole Gulf region. A foreign-based corporation has hired American citizens to keep other Americans off public property clearly marked “Open” on our national holiday. These are not even real cops. They’re what we used to call rent-a-cops, private security guards, the kind appropriate for guarding private property like office buildings and department stores. The kind who have no real legal authority. Local police or sheriffs, as I understand it, can grant authority to private security guards, but I can’t check whether they’ve officially done so here, since, after all, it’s a holiday. These guys, however, are not guarding the park or public property. They’re guarding, well, I can’t really see; looks like more booms and Porta Potties.
“So BP closed the public park?”
“No. The town has closed it. Because there are operations going on here.”
The parking lot behind the guard is pretty empty, and the equipment is idle. It’s a holiday, after all. “I don’t really see any operations going on here,” I say.
“Sir,” he says, starting to lose his cool, “I’m tellin’ ya—it’s closed. Okay?”
“Okay, and I’m asking why.”
“Because there are operations going on. It’s a secure area.”
“So, it’s the Fourth of July, Independence Day, and—”
“Sir,” he interrupts, now getting exasperated, “if you have any questions about the beach being closed, I’m gonna suggest that you contact somebody from the Town of Dauphin Island.”
“Okay. Who can I contact?”
“Anybody in the city. Contact the mayor.”
“Do you have their phone numbers?”
“They’re not working today.