occupational
www.wvpublic.org
Former Blackjewel miners end railroad blockade in Kentucky
Unpaid coal miners ended their protest in order to take new jobs, start classes, or move away from their coal-dependent communities.
Mines that change owners have worse safety record, audit finds
Mines that changed ownership were nearly twice as likely to have safety violations, and five times as likely to have severe accidents.
abcnews.go.com
As wildland firefighter suicides rise, families and agencies look for answers
Federal wildland firefighting agencies are increasing mental health resources.
Europe heat wave 2019: record heat wave hits Spain, France, and Germany
All-time temperature records have been broken in the heat wave sweeping the continent.
DAY ONE: Workers allege fraud in Kingston coal ash cleanup trial
The federal trial begins for workers alleging health risks after coal ash cleanup with Jacobs Engineering.
Fear and money breed silence in Saskatchewan.
For victims of toxic sour gas leaked from the operations of Saskatchewan's powerful oil and gas industry, crying foul in public can have serious consequences.
This investigation is the second chapter in an unprecedented series investigating the power and influence of the oil and gas industry, and its impacts on Canadian communities. It was carried out over the course of a year by National Observer, the Toronto Star, Global News, and journalism schools at the universities of Concordia, Regina, Ryerson and British Columbia, with support from The Michener Awards Foundation and the Corporate Mapping Project. A complete list of credits follows the story.
Read the first chapter here, and watch the televised investigation on Sunday and Monday on Global National at 5:30 CT/MT/PT and 6:30 ET/AT.
It wasn’t hard for a team of journalists to find people in Saskatchewan who have had dangerous encounters with hydrogen sulfide. Also known as H2S or sour gas, it’s a toxic substance that can leak from the wellheads, pump jacks, tanks and flare stacks of the oilfields.
At high concentrations, H2S can bring death within seconds. Insidious and invisible, its victims may die rapidly from respiratory paralysis, or over days from an inflammatory reaction in the lungs.
In interviews, Saskatchewan residents and oil industry workers expressed concerns about the potentially deadly problem, but very few were willing to go on the record and talk about it.
There is a culture of secrecy surrounding the sour gas issue, an unprecedented investigation by National Observer, the Toronto Star, Global News, and four journalism schools has found. It’s a secrecy locals and industry insiders say is fuelled by industry money, the province’s reliance on that money, and fear of threats that are said to have followed those who dare break the silence.
A bale of hay catches the last sunlight on a summer evening in southeastern Saskatchewan. Photo by Robert Cribb for the Toronto Star
Silenced by fear
Statistics show that the oil and gas industry has some clout in Saskatchewan. Last year, its producers topped up provincial coffers with more than half a billion dollars in tax revenue, and the projections are similar for 2017.
Internal government documents obtained by this investigation lay out nearly five years of industry violations related to toxic sour gas, but they also confirm that key industry players weighed in on the policy reforms — and penalties — they might face as the provincial government tried to crack down on industry's infractions.
In July 2015, field staff from the Saskatchewan Ministry of the Economy — the industry's sole regulator — raised concerns about their relationship with oil and gas companies.
“The role of the regulator needs to be adjusted,” read notes taken during a meeting between ministry officials and industry representatives. “The regulators are acting as consultants in some situations. The role of the regulator is to enforce the rules and if the rules are clear and if enforcement is consistent and clear then, ‘cultural’ changes can be made.”
Asked for this investigation however, about the appearance of a 'close relationship' with oil and gas companies, the Ministry of the Economy declined to comment. In written statements, a spokeswoman said instead that the ministry is “committed to protecting public health, worker safety and environmental standards,” as evidenced by its investments in ramped up inspections and better sour gas monitoring technology.
Despite such reassurances, in the rural communities of southeastern Saskatchewan, locals interviewed for this investigation said the fear of the oil and gas industry’s influence is very real. In the towns and First Nations reserves of rural southeastern Saskatchewan, many families are connected to the industry one way or another, and social ties are tight.
Criticism of oil and gas companies can upset neighbours, family and local businesses — a transgression no one can afford.
“There’s no sense in speaking up because nothing you do will ever change anything,” said one woman — a former industry worker who, along with her husband, agreed to speak about this culture of silence on the condition of anonymity.
The couple had been sickened by H2S near their southeastern Saskatchewan home, but feared that if anyone found out about their clandestine meetings with journalists, word would spread across the province and industry. The husband said he would be blackballed and unable to find work.
The few who have publicly raised concerns about spills in their fields, water being fouled, sacred sites defiled, or gas emissions wafting into their yards told of recriminations. Some lost clients, some lost the friendship of neighbours, and some lost jobs.
Michener Fellow Patti Sonntag (left) speaks with a source about his experience with local oil and gas operators in southeastern Saskatchewan in April 2017. Photo by Patti Sonntag
A 'lonely place' to stand
Others described stronger tactics.
“People are afraid because, well, (oil companies) have a lot of money, they own everything, and there’s always that promise of bringing in money and with money, you know, hope,” said Marilyn Wapass of the Thunderchild First Nation in west-central Saskatchewan.
Her community has welcomed oil development, but Wapass launched a protest when seismic testing — which involved explosive charges — was conducted near their sundance grounds. Wapass was arrested for trying to stand in the way.
“For myself, personally, only a handful of people have actually come forward and have stood by me and continue to stand with me,” she said. “For the rest of the people, they’ve just kind of turned their backs on me I guess, for whatever reasons.
“It’s been a very lonely place to stand, that’s for sure.”
Wapass was charged and found guilty of contempt of court in 2013, but was not given any fines or jail time. At that time, Justice Shawn Smith said the sentence was a warning.
Marilyn Wapass of the Thunderchild First Nation in west-central Saskatchewan speaks with journalist's for the University of Regina's Crude Power documentary, premiering Oct. 4, 2017. Image courtesy of Janelle Blakley
When shunning crosses the line
Emil Bell of the Canoe Lake Cree Nation knows the feeling of isolation well. He went on a hunger strike last summer after Husky Energy spilled more than 225,000 litres of crude oil and diluent into the North Saskatchewan River — a drinking water source for thousands and home to endangered lake sturgeon.
“People are scared to get involved in (complaints),” he told the investigation. “Even in my own community, people don’t want to hang around me because if they are employed by the reserve, they can lose their job because they’re associating with me.”
Sometimes, such shunning can turn into outright intimidation.
It happened to Shirley Galloway after she raised concerns about sour gas plumes near the town Oxbow, Sask. Galloway is a nurse who, along with her husband Jim, runs a business that trains oilfield workers in occupational safety, including H2S risks.
“(Workers from a local drilling company) were driving down our road, then turning around and shining their lights on our house,” she said in an interview.
For a time, the harassment was consistent and “creepy,” added Jim: “They would shine the lights, turn around, shine the lights back in the house and then slowly creep by the house.”
Many residents and landowners who spoke with reporters on condition of anonymity said having their names published would end their career prospects, since operators can easily nix a hiring or cancel a service contract. Some also thought government regulators couldn’t be relied on to help them, and that broadly speaking, they have been left on their own to negotiate with the oil companies.
An internal government document revealed that Saskatchewan’s Ministry of the Economy would prefer that as well.
A pump does its work in a field south of Oxbow, Sask. in September 2017. Photo by Mark Taylor for the Toronto Star
Lack of public records on sour gas
“[The ministry] prefers to see operators deal with public complaint without having to be involved,” read the minutes of a meeting held between government and industry on May 28, 2015.
There is often no information on complaints involving H2S, or those injured by it, available to the public.
The investigative team tried to obtain 60 sour gas complaints sent to the Ministry of the Economy over the years, but received a response that those records “do not exist” within the department. Even where reporters obtained copies of complaints sent from residents to ministry officials, the government responded that there were no records.
But the ministry disputes that its H2S database is incomplete or inaccessible.
“The safety risks of sour gas are well known and all incidents involving gas releases are published on the Ministry’s website,” wrote spokeswoman Deb Young in an emailed response to questions.
A check of the website shows that while incidents involving natural gas releases are logged, the involvement of H2S is not. Access to Saskatchewan’s Integrated Resource Information System (IRIS), where complaints are logged, is further restricted to oil companies, landowners and related institutions that have a government-issued ‘associated business’ ID and password.
Even when incidents are reported, the government’s database is often so incomplete and opaque that serious incidents are almost unrecognizable. An incident report from Dec. 22, 2015, for instance, contains a dry, four-sentence summary of an equipment failure in the southeast when H2S gas was vented.
A company report on the incident — obtained through a freedom of information request — recounted a more alarming version of events. The gas cloud drifted half a kilometre in an area with roads, fields and the occasional farm before enveloping three workers at a gas plant.
Four workers were notified by radio of a gas leak and told to evacuate immediately. While alarms sounded, two ran toward the main control room as their personal H2S monitors were going off; the third also attempted to evacuate, the document reads.
A fourth hit the “emergency shut down” button and grabbed a breathing apparatus before checking on the others. Three workers were “effected [sic] by H2S with one worker losing consciousness.”
The company report concluded that the well suffered a “catastrophic” failure, leading to a “high concentration of H2S being emitted to the atmosphere.”
None of that information was made public.
A sign warns passersby of their proximity to dangerous sour gas on the road leading to Moose Mountain Provincial Park, Sask. Oilpatch worker Michael Bunz was killed by H2S gas from a battery in the park on May 22, 2014. Photo by Mark Taylor for the Toronto Star
Comments from industry
Obtaining information from some oil and gas companies also proved difficult during the investigation. Crescent Point Energy, a Calgary-based oil and gas company, declined to respond to a question about whether any of its facilities in Saskatchewan had ever been caught with sour gas infractions.
But according to an internal government document obtained by the investigation, Crescent Point was given two suspensions in November 2012 alone — at least one of which was undeniably due to H2S infractions.
“Safe operations are Crescent Point’s first priority,” said Crescent Point in a written statement. “We conduct our business in a manner that minimizes impact on the air, land and water surrounding our operations.”
The company added that it supports strong regulatory enforcement to ensure industry compliance and that it has previously made recommendations to the Saskatchewan government for “monitoring enhancements and mitigation practices.” It declined to reveal what those recommendations were.
Canadian Natural Resources Limited (CNRL), another Calgary-based oil and gas company, declined to comment on this investigation altogether, as its industry association — the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers (CAPP) — had already responded to interview requests.
Executive vice-president of the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers Terry Abel speaks with National Observer reporters Mike De Souza and Elizabeth McSheffrey from CAPP's headquarters in Calgary on Sept. 19, 2017. Image courtesy of CAPP
A culture of silence
Lori Erhardt, a United Church minister in Oxbow, suffers from breathing problems and must sometimes rely on supplemental oxygen. In 2012, she was forced to leave her home for 17 months to escape what she believes was constant exposure to toxic emissions.
“I’ll be driving... and all of a sudden my voice just goes and this is happened for several years, and then I’ll feel this tightness in my chest,” she said. “I’d land in the hospital about every year... You feel a bit like a canary in a flare zone.”
When she tried to file complaints, she said regional officials seemed “helpless” to take action: “The response was usually, ‘Well, you know, we’re monitoring it.’”
She was instructed to contact people higher up in government, but decided to leave Oxbow instead. “I was so sick,” she said, “I just couldn’t do it.”
The Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers (CAPP), which represents more than 90 oil and gas producers in Canada, said it encourages members of the public to come forward with their concerns. In an interview from CAPP’s headquarters in Calgary, executive vice-president Terry Abel said the lobby group’s focus is on encouraging “best practices” for communication of health and safety information.
“... Consistent with our commitment to public safety and our acknowledgement that unsafe operations are completely unacceptable, totally unacceptable... we believe strongly that anyone who's aware of unsafe operations, whether it's a member of the public or an employee — they have a duty to come forward,” he said.
“And further extension to that, as CAPP or as a member company, or as government... When that information is brought to your attention, you have a duty to do something about that and respond to it.”
Saskatchewan resident Shirley Galloway, who has publicly complained about H2S before, took a direct approach and it backfired. After she sent complaints to contractors about facilities operated by a local company, the company sent her a registered letter asking her to cease communications with the contractors or face legal action.
It ended: “Please govern yourself accordingly.”
If something goes wrong, “if there’s any kind of release or gas, we have nobody to call,” said Galloway.
The culture of silence is the result of industry holding rural communities “hostage,” explained Emily Eaton, a professor at the University of Regina who has studied the impacts of the industry on rural residents for several years, recently as a member of the Corporate Mapping Project.
“Certainly (industry) does provide benefits. No one can deny that there aren’t a lot of jobs produced by industry in rural areas,” she said, “but those come along with an expectation that you’ll remain silent about the types of impacts that you might be experiencing in your backyard.”
“The culture of silence in Saskatchewan is really a culture of fear.”
United Church minister Lori Erhardt says she feels helpless standing up to the Saskatchewan government when it comes to toxic emissions she believes caused her breathing problems. Photo by Mark Taylor for the Toronto Star
Authors
Elizabeth McSheffrey, National Observer
Mike De Souza, National Observer
Robert Cribb, The Toronto Star
Patti Sonntag, Michener Fellow
P.W. Elliott, University of Regina
Keep reading...Show less
With Irma - and a power failure - Miami gets a taste of deadly heat.
In an increasingly steamy city that lives on air conditioning, losses of power can be deadly.
by Adriana Brasileiro | @Adribras |
MIAMI, Sept 26 (Thomson Reuters Foundation) - Miami is a city that lives on air conditioning. When it fails, people can die.
After Hurricane Irma knocked down power lines and disconnected the cooling system at a nursing home north of Miami this month, 11 residents perished when temperatures inside soared.
Florida Governor Rick Scott blamed management at the facility for allowing patients to endure sweltering conditions as the heat index - a measure of combined heat and humidity - passed 100 degrees Fahrenheit.
But public outrage has also targeted the local utility company for not restoring electricity fast enough, and the city for not ordering and assisting with an evacuation.
In this often sweltering southern city, widespread use of air conditioning makes it easy to overlook the growing risks of extreme heat. But the risks are there - and they can be just one power failure away.
Around the world, a surge in extreme weather events, including storms, floods and droughts, has focused attention on the risks associated with global warming.
But one of the biggest threats - and a particularly serious one for already hot countries and cities - is worsening heatwaves, which remain an under-estimated risk, experts say.
In the United States, Florida is predicted to experience the greatest increase in the deadly combination of heat and humidity over the next decades.
The number of extreme heat days, when the heat index is above 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40.6 degrees Celsius), is expected to jump to 126 a year by 2030 and 151 by 2050 in Miami, according to a study by Climate Central, a U.S. non-profit science and media organisation.
In 2000, Miami saw just 24 such extreme heat days, the study noted.
Miami's sweating residents - particularly those who spend a lot of time outside - say they're noticing the difference already.
"I've been here all my life and working in construction, and I can tell you: it's getting hotter every year," said Rai Finalet, as he moved barriers along Little Havana's Flagler Street, which is being repaved.
On a summer day in early September, there was not even a hint of fall in the air. Instead it was 93 degrees, with a heat index of 107 degrees.
Finalet's long-sleeve shirt, which he needed to protect his skin from the scorching sun, had been soaked since he started his shift at 8 a.m., he said.
Taking frequent breaks and drinking "gallons" of water is his secret to surviving an outdoor job, even as most Miami residents try to avoid stepping out of air-conditioned spaces.
TOURISTS WILT
With only a thin canopy of trees and a location far from Miami's breezy shores, densely populated Little Havana often registers the city's hottest temperatures.
In the summer, which effectively lasts from April through October, the average temperature is often above 86 degrees and very few locals venture out on the streets around midday.
But Nolvia Hernandez, parasol in hand, had rushed out to pick up her son from school.
"I avoid going out during the hottest times of the day, and when I do, I take my umbrella," she said. Asked why she was wearing a long-sleeve shirt, she said the air conditioning is kept very cold at her workplace.
Tourists regularly brave the heat to experience iconic Little Havana, where hundreds of thousands of Cuban immigrants settled over the decades, opening quaint cigar shops, lively restaurants and salsa clubs.
At the Ball and Chain, a traditional bar with a live salsa band playing most days and evenings, a powerful misting system along the facade offers visitors an inviting respite from the heat.
Next door, the Azucar ice cream shop, with its powerful air conditioning, is another spot where tourists can take a break from suffocating temperatures outside.
Veronica Agudo, Lucia Beth Marcoleta and Tatiana Harder walk in and breathe a big sigh of relief as the cold air sweeps over them. The friends from Chile sit on a bench and slouch against the wall, sweat trickling down their faces.
"This humidity is killing us," said Marcoleta. "We want to walk around and see all the sights, but it's just so hot."
"It's better to stay on Miami Beach, in the water, for our entire vacation," Agudo joked.
One outdoors spot in the heart of Little Havana where temperatures are cooler is Maximo Gomez park, also known as Domino Park. It's a small green oasis with lush trees where residents play dominoes and chess on tables under gazebos fitted with ceiling fans.
Leo Diaz, one of the players, lives in a building with a new central air system, but prefers to spend time outdoors. He worries about Miami's future as climate change boosts temperatures.
"This city is building more, paving more areas, and we can all feel that the climate is changing. Soon we won't even be able to stand being here. I hope I don't see that in my lifetime," said the former radio announcer who arrived in Miami from Cuba almost 30 years ago.
'IMMUNE' TO HEAT
Already heat is the top weather-related killer in the United States - but it is a silent one, with heat-linked illnesses often diagnosed as other disorders, said Laurence Kalkstein, a climatology professor at the University of Miami's Miller School of Medicine.
In places like Florida, there is low awareness of heat risks because people expect days to be hot, and the state is relatively well-equipped to deal with high temperatures, he said.
"Heat-related mortality isn't very common here, so most people believe they are immune to it," he noted. "But we have a growing vulnerable population - of aging people who don't sweat as efficiently, and others like the homeless, obese people, or those on certain medications."
In steamy Florida, high humidity makes it harder for sweat to evaporate, preventing the body from cooling off. That's what can cause heat exhaustion and potentially deadly heat stroke - and what may have contributed to the deaths at the nursing home.
Climate change has already given Florida a lot to worry about, with many officials so far more focused on dealing with rising sea level and worsening flooding than heat threats.
But cities in Florida also have created "resilience" offices to try to adapt to and plan for coming changes, including worsening monster storms - and rising heat.
"Heat is an issue for low-income communities and more vulnerable individuals, (such as) the elderly population," Jane Gilbert, the chief resilience officer for the city of Miami, said in an interview before Hurricane Irma.
"We want to understand better if there are places where people can't afford to have air conditioning, and to have an efficient plan for the more vulnerable groups to evacuate to shelters in case of power outages," she said.
Miami is also working to increase the number of trees in neighborhoods such as Little Havana, and to guarantee that key facilities, such as hospitals, gas stations and supermarkets, have alternative power sources when electricity fails, she said.
After Irma, more than 12 million people lost power. Many had already evacuated to other areas, fearing the aftermath of being stuck at home for days without air conditioning or working refrigerators.
AIR CONDITIONING BOOM
The invention of air conditioning has in many ways made modern Florida possible, fueling a population boom after World War Two, according to a history book by the University of South Florida.
The state's famed tourism industry, its top revenue generator, for instance, only took off after most hotels invested hefty sums in efficient cooling systems by the 1960s.
Now nearly everyone relies on air conditioning - and plenty of it.
Silvana Giuffrida, an architect in Miami, has three units in her townhouse-style condo in the luxury Brickell neighborhood, one on each floor.
She keeps her home's remote-controlled shades down as much as possible to reduce the heat that floods into her sun-bathed home facing spectacular Biscayne Bay.
"I try to keep the temperature around 78 degrees, which is also the best level for energy efficiency," she said.
Drinking a lot of water, wearing light-colored clothes and avoiding going outside in peak temperature hours are also part of her routine to beat the heat, she said.
For the most vulnerable, however, state authorities have decided to step up protections after the nursing home tragedy exposed the dangers of extreme heat.
Governor Scott issued an emergency order requiring nursing homes to have generators that can keep air conditioners running for up to four days.
Kalkstein, of the University of Miami, said the deaths highlight the risk that heat poses for Miami - and for many more cities.
"What we all need to realize is that these excessive heat events will happen more and more often, all over the world, and we all need to be more aware of the potential health impacts," he said.
(Reporting by Adriana Brasileiro @AdriBras; editing by Laurie Goering and Megan Rowling; Please credit the Thomson Reuters Foundation, the charitable arm of Thomson Reuters, that covers humanitarian news, climate change, resilience, women's rights, trafficking and property rights. Visit https://news.trust.org/climate)
Keep reading...Show less
ORIGINAL REPORTING
MOST POPULAR
CLIMATE
