The Coke Machine - Michael Blanding [122]
Armed with that science, the villagers demanded that the local council, the Perumatty Panchayat, cancel the plant’s license to operate. But the council dragged its feet in the face of Coke’s own tests contradicting the villagers’ claims of water depletion and pollution. “In the beginning we were not against the plant, because so many people were getting employment,” admits former village council president A. Krishnan. “We told them we cannot take any action without investigating.”
By now, protests in front of the plant attracted hundreds—and on some days, thousands—of people. As word spread, outside groups such as the Indian branch of Greenpeace used the situation to decry the liberalization of the Indian economy as a cautionary tale of the evils of globalization, adding their own foot soldiers to the protest. The village was fast becoming an activist carnival. For each outside group, villagers would show off their depleted wells, let them taste the water, show them the failed attempts to boil rice. Sympathetic stories in the media followed, emphasizing the David versus Goliath aspects of the story, and day by day political pressure grew.
Eventually, both of the state’s two communist parties declared their support for the villagers. Coke maintained the support of the mainstream Congress Party, which then controlled Kerala’s parliament, and the left-of-center Janata Dal (Secular) Party, which controlled the local village council. But the panchayat was wavering in the face of the activist occupation of the village—and Coke itself pushed it over the edge when they rebuffed the council’s request for information to dispute the activists’ claims. “They were just too arrogant,” says Krishnan. “They said we’ve already talked to the big guys, we don’t need to talk to you guys.”
Stung by the response, the panchayat reversed itself, revoking the plant’s operating license on April 9, 2003, a year after the protest had begun. The stage was set for a showdown with the state government, which still supported the company. Just at that moment, in July 2003, a BBC radio crew appeared on the scene and dramatically changed the game. Told by farmers that Coke had distributed solid waste as fertilizer, the crew took a sample back to analyze its nutrient content to see if it actually could be used to help grow crops.
No one expected the results they found. The tests from the University of Exeter revealed not only that the sludge was useless as fertilizer, but also that it contained dangerous levels of the toxic heavy metals lead and cadmium. Samples taken from a nearby well also found toxic levels of lead and cadmium, which is known to cause prostate and kidney cancer with prolonged exposure.
The news report rocked the country, from Plachimada to Mehdiganj. After years of anecdotal reports that the sludge was harmful to livestock and crop production, here at last was proof from an internationally respected news agency. India has long had a double standard about Western foreign countries. On one hand, the long shame of colonialism has created a fierce animosity toward foreign influences—evidenced by the early backlash against Coke. On the other hand, the long period of British rule has created an almost reflexive deference to foreigners. While the tests by the Indian company hadn’t resonated, the evidence from a respected British university couldn’t be ignored.
Shamed before the international press, the Kerala Pollution Control Board did its own tests, concluding within a week that Coke’s sludge contained levels of cadmium four times the tolerable limit of 50 milligrams per kilogram. The following day, the Janata Dal Party held a joint press conference with the panchayat. Not only did it support the local government in revoking the license, party officials said, but it also vowed to pursue legal action to close down the plant.
In the midst of this controversy, Coke