A Sea in Flames - Carl Safina [60]
Meanwhile, a blowout in Pennsylvania: a well blows natural gas and drilling fluid seventy-five feet into the air. It does not ignite and no one is hurt but it takes sixteen hours to control.
The government now estimates that 500,000 to 1 million gallons of crude—12,000 to 24,000 barrels—are leaking daily.
Our Thadmiral tells us, “This spill is just aggregated over a 200-mile radius around the wellbore, where it’s leaking right now, and it’s not a monolithic spill. It’s an insidious war, because it’s attacking, you know, four states one at a time, and it comes from different directions depending on the weather.” He adds with a dash of frustration, “This spill is keeping everybody hostage.”
Hostages: A BP rep tells residents gathered at a church, “We are all angry and frustrated. Feel free tonight to let me see that anger.”
Residents aren’t buying it. “ ‘Sorry’ doesn’t pay the bills,” says one. “We’re sick and tired of being sick and tired.”
Sick. And tired. In Louisiana, seventy-one people suffer throat irritation, cough, shortness of breath, eye irritation, nausea, chest pain, and headaches following exposure to emulsified oil and dispersant. Most are briefly hospitalized.
The stress of anger is giving way to the hopelessness of depression. Without fishing, what’s lost is not just vocation, but also what life means, what life is, and people’s understanding of who they are. What’s lost is pride. What’s gained is fear of losing everything. What’s creeping in around the edges: The search for answers at the bottom of a bottle. The thought that suicide may end the pain.
In two weeks spanning the last week of May and the first week of June the Louisiana Department of Health and Hospitals counseled 749 people having symptoms that could lead to destructive behavior. Experts say the region should brace for long-term psychological strain. Are they making matters worse by announcing that?
One fisherman, stricken by the sight of fish floating dead, frets over whether he will be able to pass on his trade to his children, a thirteen-month-old son and ten-year-old daughter. His wife, who has sought counseling, says, “My husband went from a happy guy to a zombie consumed by the oil spill.” He replies, “If you’re not out there in it, you can’t comprehend what this is about. We’re going to be surrounded by it.” Says one town council member, her voice trembling, “We’re not going to be okay for a long, long time.”
HIGH JUNE
The flow BP is getting good at stopping is the flow of news. When folks at Southern Seaplane, in Belle Chasse, Louisiana, call the local Coast Guard–Federal Aviation Administration command center for routine permission to fly a photographer from the Times-Picayune over part of the oily Gulf, a BP contractor answers the phone. His swift and absolute response: Permission denied. “We were questioned extensively. Who was on the aircraft? Who did they work for?” recalls Rhonda Panepinto, who co-owns Southern Seaplane with her husband, Lyle. “The minute we mentioned media, the answer was: ‘Not allowed.’ ”
A spokeswoman for the Federal Aviation Administration says the BP contractor who answered the phone was there because the FAA operations center is in one of BP’s buildings. “That person was not making decisions about whether aircraft are allowed to enter the airspace,” the spokeswoman spoke.
Why is the FAA in a BP building when BP is the cause, and is under criminal investigation? No other office rental spaces in the four-state region? And they