MERCHANTS OF DEATH
Joseph Tiraco
In this era of cynicism toward politicians and numbness with corporate
greed, there seems always a new low reached by the unholy union of the two, and in
the end, the public usually gets screwed one foot longer then anyone had imagined
possible.
In the late 1940's, when a Ride from Manhattan to the Rockaways cost 15
cents and took 40 minutes, a station midway along the route stood at Metropolitan
Avenue, just East of Woodhaven Blvd. It was a time when doctors puffed cigarettes
in magazine adds with captions like, "I prescribe Lucky Strike for relaxation." About
the terrors of cancer and industrial waste, the public remained in a state of ignorant
bliss. Every street corner in America had a sharpie with a get rich quick scheme.
Across the street from the Metropolitan Avenue station, among a labyrinth
of train tracks, a deep pit was dug, and inside were stacked layer upon layer of steel
drums filled with industrial waste. When the pit reached capacity, concrete was poured
over the pit which then served as the foundation of a factory building. Another pit was
dug, and the process was repeated several times. Thus, a scheme was devised to get
several bangs for the buck, legitimizing illicit profits from a toxic waste disposal racket
by turning the cash into real estate holdings; with a hidden benefit, the toxic waste was
entombed, keeping it permanently out of sight and out of mind.
For fifty years, a steady stream of workers trying to earn an honest living
to support their families walked into factory buildings that where sitting on
carcinogenic chemical dumps measuring contamination levels 5,000 times greater then
needed to cause cancer. (After all these years, at a depth of 80 feet, astonishingly high
levels of PCE are leaching into the ground water) These workers, laboring in noxious
chambers, bring to mind the endless stream of innocent people who, a few years before,
had walked into ovens oblivious to the gaseous death inside. Unlike their European
counterparts, these American workers - actually, they were your neighbors from
Queens, New York - met slow painful deaths, sliced, diced and radiated by knowing
doctors. Some may be suffering and dying even as we speak, their lives forfeit to mass
murderers in business suits - killers that make Son of Sam seem a rank amateur -
ruthless profiteers in league with money-mad politicians (a scheme of this magnitude
could not have transpired without political protection.) They managed to keep the
secret buried for five decades. Crime does pay. And there is such a thing as the
perfect murder.
The secret, like its victims, lay swallowed up in the bowels of the Earth,
and was so easy to keep. Why not extend the conspiracy of silence to seven or ten
decades? Why end a good thing now? Enter, Home Depot, Sports Authority and
Forest City Ratner.
Attitudes about cancer and toxic chemicals have changed significantly
over the past half century. Environmental laws have been strengthened. To our credit,
NY State has built a ferocious environmental protection agency. As the corporations
that purchased the factories built on waste dumps prepare to turn the buildings into
retail space as cheaply as possible, and anxiously want to sweep the problem under the
carpet, they are running afoul of environmental watchdogs. Under attack, but heavily
invested in this year's upcoming citywide election, the megastore barons are calling
in their markers, and retreating to the last refuge of the scoundrel - political protection.
Three teams are playing a very confusing game on the same ballfield: megastore
developers, environmentalists and politicians.
In a deal that smells fishier then the Fulton Street market at dawn, Home
Depot, prior to purchasing the contaminated land, spent years and a great deal of
money meticulously shaping a cleanup agreement favorable to themselves, then refused
to sign the agreement. They just walked away shortly before the signing and let the
previous property owners commit themselves to an agreement they never intended to
keep. The obligation was merely momentary, as they too walked away immediately
after signing the document, conveying their interests and responsibilities to Home
Depot. So a cleanup agreement now exists that no one admits to agreeing to. Even
though Home Depot's name appears nowhere, and the agreement was never signed by
them, the environmentalists believe the document has the force of law (a Queens
County version of the Munich Accords); but, between belief and hardcore reality lies
the gulf of all that is human. Since the building have to be torn down and the
foundations ripped up in order to expose the source and quantity of contamination, the
document contains so many unresolved points that it is more like an unsigned
agreement to agree then a deal. The NYS Department of Health, after reviewing the
agreement, voiced concern over the lack of a plan to protect the surrounding
community. It seems obvious that Home Depot will back pedal as much as it can using
political pressure, deception, and legal mumbo jumbo to do as little as it can get away
with, while the environmentalists plan to press Home Depot one step at a time under
the premise that anything is better then nothing. Bear in mind, the agreement - a
cockamamie deal only a simpleton would believe is genuine - covers but a small portion
- less then a fifth - of this vast industrial site. The balance is still teaming with
carcinogenic waste without a stringent remedial plan in sight. No testing has been done
to determine how far off site the contamination might have migrated in the soil and
water, nor is it mentioned in the agreement. Apparently, no one wants to know.
Both Sports Authority and Forest City Ratner claim they are exempt from
soil testing and cleanup because the soil will not be disturbed by their construction
process. They will stock the stores and hire young, bright eyed and bushy tailed
employees - with no medical benefits - and when they fall ill, just sweep them out with
the garbage. We can only hope that the big bosses come visit their stores often,
stay long, and inhale deeply.
Graham Greene masterfully unwinds threads of illicit profits and political
protection in his story, "The Third Man." So smoothly does he slip the glittering
Sheffield shank to the hilt, we feel not the prick til the following morn. The film was
made in 1949, and workers disembarking at the Metropolitan Avenue station would
have passed the posters hanging on the station walls as they hurried to the newly
constructed factories.
In this scene, two men are meeting inside a gondola gently ascending to
the crest of a Ferris wheel. Holly asks Harry Lime if he has ever seen any of his
victims. Harry looks down from on high at the scuttling mortals below:
Harry goes on to compare himself to governments:
Holly: "You used to believe in God."
Harry: "Oh, I still do believe in God, old man. I believe in
God and Mercy and all that. But the dead are happier
dead. They don't miss much here, poor devils...."
If we have truly risen from the jungle state to attain a just society, then
both the problem and the blame are shared equally by us all, and not the sole misfortune
of a few who by happenstance were sacrificed to unscrupulous politicians and
corporate greed. The affected property must be acquired by government for inclusion
on the Superfund cleanup list, fully detoxified and returned to its natural state. The
people who worked in the factories, tracked down and their medical bills paid at the
public expense. In no other way can we claim to be civilized.
November 6, 1997
Harry: "Victims? Don't be melodramatic. (He opens the door to
the car.) Look down there. Would you really feel any
pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? If I
offered you 20,000 pounds for every dot that stopped,
would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money?
Or would you calculate how many dots you could afford
to spare? Free of income tax, old man, free of income
tax...."
Harry: "Nobody thinks in terms of human beings.
Governments don't. Why should we? They talk about
the people and the proletariat, I talk about the suckers
and the mugs - it's the same thing. They have their
five-year plans, so have I."
