For Our Children

One year ago today we all went about our daily routines, not realizing the largest oil spill in US history was about to occur. Kids along the Gulf Coast enjoyed days of swimming and fishing, experiencing the delight of bountiful beauty the many resources of this region offered.

Then disaster struck, killing eleven men and unleashing an unrelenting gusher of crude oil originating from a deepwater oil rig a mile beneath the surface of the Gulf of Mexico. The nation, the world was in shock as this catastrophe unfolded. Remember the images of heavily oiled pelicans? Of red-brown slicks that stretched for miles? Do you recall the visions of planes spraying millions of gallons of toxic dispersant chemicals onto the Gulf?

All of these images stick in my mind but the most disturbing images that haunt me from my visits to the Gulf Coast over the past year are those of children frolicking in crude oil washing up in waves on the beaches of Alabama. I will never understand the morals that allowed local politicos to keep the beaches open. I heard the mayor of Orange Beach, at a town hall meeting last summer, respond with the following statement when moms expressed concern over kids swimming in the Gulf: “There is no law against stupid.”

I understand the pressure these local mayors were under to keep condos full, restaurants open and filled with tourists, but at what cost? When will the lives of our children matter more than money?

As part of my ongoing documentation of the effects of the oil spill I am interviewing kids about their experience last summer and what they think, now that we are a year away from the beginning of the spill. Yesterday, in interviewing two girls who live on Weeks Bay, I heard their concern.

“I wanted to swim and fish but couldn’t because of the oil.” “I was scared…we couldn’t get in the water because we didn’t know what was under us.” “I was scared because the waves were bringing in dead fish.” “I was worried about the birds and crabs.”

Why should our children have these worries? As children, my brother, cousins and I played on the pier at Weeks Bay and swam and crabbed. Our only concern was the icky, squishy mud on the bottom that kept our feet moving in the water column. Or as my cousin said, “My only concern was getting stung by jellyfish.” My heart ached for all children that are living with the environmental rape we, as adults, continue to allow. What is peace of mind for children worth? Why are we so unconcerned about these young ones that will inherit our messes?

Does this little boy realize that the sand he is digging in continues to be covered in tar balls that wash in with each tide? Is he aware that when the waves are high, air-born oily mist coats the sand in which he plays?

How much damage are we willing to inflict on our children–their mental, physical, and emotional health? Why is it okay to make their world a place where quality of life is no longer something they can depend on?