One State, under Coal by Jeffrey St. Clair

Latest online article in the Ecologist about Mike Roselle, Climate Ground Zero’s Director. The piece is about the state of mountain top removal coal mining, the politics of West Virginia’s coal apologists, and just why Roselle delivered blasting dust debris to Gov. Earl Ray Tomblin’s mansion in Charleston on Thanksgiving last year.  Then,  just a few weeks later, Freedom Industries rusty, leaking chemical tank of MCHM leached  into the Elk River, contaminating the downriver water supply of 300,000 residents of Charleston, after being “filtered” by American Water’s treatment plant.

Courtesy of www.theecologist.org

Photographs by Mike Cherin

When Mike Roselle tried to give his State Governor a sample of Mountain Top Removal dust for analysis, he was not expecting to be arrested at gunpoint and banged in jail for a week on suicide watch – all without charge.

A few seconds after he rang the doorbell, Roselle was surrounded by a dozen State Police officers, guns drawn.

A couple of weeks before Thanksgiving Mike Roselle decided he’d had enough.

Enough of the toxic dust in the air. Enough of the constant blasting that rattles his small house.

Enough of the poisoned well-water. Enough of the chopped mountains and buried streams. Enough of the forests, playgrounds and cemeteries plowed under for one more suppurating coal mine. Enough of seeing his friends sicken and die in the West Virginia county that has the highest mortality rate in the United States.

A straightforward mission

That November morning Roselle, the John Brown of the environmental movement, took a drive with his friend James McGuinnis up roads washboarded by the ceaseless transit of coal trucks to Kayford Mountain.

What used to be a mountain, anyway. Much of that ancient Appalachian hump has been stripped, blasted and gouged away by the barbarous mining method called Mountaintop Removal. Roselle’s mission was straightforward.

He aimed to collect some of the dust, the pulverized guts of the mountain, that showers down on the nearby towns and villages, streams and lakes, day after day, like deadly splinters from the sky.

Roselle scooped up a few pounds of that lethal dirt in a couple of Mason jars. He wanted to have the debris tested. He wanted to know what toxins it contained. Lead, probably. Arsenic, perhaps. Mercury? Who really knew. The mining companies weren’t saying. Neither was the EPA.

Photo by Mike Cherin
Collecting blasting dust debris for testing.                                Photo by Mike Cherin

A dutiful servant – of Big Coal

Roselle got it into his head to take the mining dust to the one person in the state who might be able to give him some answers, to assure the folks who live under the desolated shadow of Kayford Mountain that there was no cause for alarm – the man who was charged with protecting the citizens of West Virginia from harm, the Solon of the Monongahela, Governor Earl Ray Tomblin.

On Thanksgiving morning, Roselle went to Charleston with his jar of dust. He walked right up to the Governor’s mansion and rang the doorbell.

At the Governor's Mansion.  Photo by Mike Cherin
At the Governor’s Mansion. Photo by Mike Cherin

 

Earl Ray is what you might call a lifelong politician. A Democrat, Tomblin was elected to the West Virginia senate fresh out of college in 1974. He was 22 at the time and has held elected office ever since. Across those four decades, Earl Ray has been a dutiful servant of Big Coal.

Every time a coal mine caved in, a waste dam breached, or an explosion of coal gases maimed and killed some miners, Tomblin would be there to offer his comfort. Consolation to the afflicted coal executives, that is.

Tomblin has raged against the ‘war on coal’. His administration has repeatedly sued the EPA on behalf of coal companies, citing its “ideologically driven, job-killing agenda”. And he has assured the mountain people of West Virginia that the coal dust fog that shrouds their communities is safe to breathe, eat or drink.

An unexpected turn of events

Then Mike Roselle showed up on Tomblin’s doorstep to make the governor prove it.  Roselle didn’t expect to see Tomblin that morning, so he’d slipped a note inside the jar asking the governor to test the dust and report back to him on what it contained.

But a few seconds after he rang the doorbell, Roselle was surrounded by a dozen State Police officers, guns drawn. Roselle was immediately arrested, hustled into a waiting police car. He was not told why, apparently because the cops couldn’t find a section of the state code that Roselle had transgressed.

They drove him to jail anyway, saying simply they “had orders to bring him in.” Orders from whom, they didn’t say.

Over course of the next six days Roselle was kept jailed without charges, including three days inside the Hole, the disciplinary unit. Why? Because Roselle had refused food until they could inform him of the charges against him.

Later he was transferred again, this time into a glass-enclosure, the suicide watch room, where he was forced to wear an orange medical gown for two days. Then, suddenly, he was released on a mere signature bond.

Whose freedom?

A few weeks after Roselle walked out of that Charleston jail, a storage tank at a chemical ‘farm’ owned by Freedom Industries ruptured.

Out of a one-inch hole in a white stainless steel tank, a stream of a licorice-smelling crude began pouring onto the ground and into the nearby Elk River and downstream directly into American Water’s intake and distribution center – the primary drinking water source for the Charleston metropolitan area.

The chemical that contaminated Charleston’s water supply, forcing 300,000 to go without drinking water, was a compound called MCHM – 4-methylcyclohexylmethanol.

It’s used in the processing of coal and another  highly toxic compound marketed under the name of Talon, which is manufactured by Georgia-Pacific, a company owned by the Koch Brothers.

Authorities not alerted

Freedom Industries discovered the leak early in the morning of January 9th, but never alerted state authorities or the water company. Hours passed before any attempt was made to stem the flow of the chemical into the Elk River. In that time, more than 125 people were sickened by drinking fouled water and sought treatment at area hospitals.

The fiancée of one of Freedom Industries’ top executives claimed that the illnesses were probably induced by the media. She said that she’d showered and brushed her teeth with the contaminated water and was “feeling just fine.”

As for Governor Tomblin, he took pains to reassure the people of West Virginia the spill that had fouled the Elk and Kanawa Rivers had absolutely nothing to do with the coal industry:

“This was not a coal company incident. This was a chemical company incident. As far as I know there was no coal company within miles.”

Selective unawareness

Apparently, Tomblin was unaware of the fact that nearly all of Freedom Industries’ contracts were with the state’s coal industry.

Nor that one of the company’s top executives, J. Clifford Forrest, is also the president of Rosebud Mining, a Pennsylvania coal mining company – which was recently sued for illegally giving advance warnings to mine managers of impending safety inspections by regulators.

On the afternoon of the Elk River spill, state legislators were meant to convene in the capitol building for a special session geared at passing a resolution denouncing the ‘war on coal’.

But the statehouse was evacuated before the great debate could take place, with lawmakers scrambling out the exits, coats over their heads, in a vain attempt to shield their lungs from the sickly-sweet smell of MCHM.

And to this day no one in West Virginia is quite sure whatever happened to Mike Roselle’s jar of dust.

 


 

Jeffrey St. Clair is the author of Been Brown So Long It Looked Like Green to Me: the Politics of NatureGrand Theft Pentagon and Born Under a Bad Sky. His latest book is Hopeless: Barack Obama and the Politics of Illusion. He is on the board of the Fund for Wild Nature. He can be reached at: sitka@comcast.net.

This article was originally published on Counterpunch.

 

http://www.theecologist.org/News/news_analysis/2311593/one_state_under_coal.html

Protecting the Cook Family Cemeteries



William Chapman "Chap" Cook fought with the Union Cavalry during the Civil War. Cook is buried on Cook Mountain in Boone County, WV.  photo courtesy of Vickie Cook Stewart
William Chapman "Chap" Cook fought with the Union Cavalry during the Civil War. Cook is buried on Cook Mountain in Boone County, WV. photo courtesy of Vickie Cook Stewart



Protecting the Cook Family Cemeteries

by Antrim Caskey

Bandytown, WV — Following a July 30 mountaintop meeting with Boone County Deputy Sheriff Randall White, members of the Cook and White families returned to their family cemeteries on Cook Mountain, Saturday, August 1, to mark off the 100-foot legally designated protective boundaries surrounding three historic Cook family cemeteries.

Boone County Deputy Sheriff Randall White confirmed with a family member by telephone on Saturday morning that the blue and pink ribbons marking the 100 foot protective boundaries around each of the three cemeteries had been fixed that same morning.

At each cemetery, family members measured the one hundred foot protective zone around each cemetery. Using orange ribbon, wooden stakes, and spray paint, the family marked the boundaries. Although difficult to discern at first, it appeared that Randall White’s men had been to Cook Mountain and made their own markings around the cemetery. The two sets coincided in general, however a few newly posted “no trespassing signs” were spotted within the protected boundaries. In addition, at the main Cook cemetery, holding almost thirty graves, the tape we found was at 50 feet from the cemetery.

Marvin White, Randall’s cousin, was still skeptical. “We have to keep an eye on this, keep a very close eye,” he warned.

Lindytown Access Road



The Lindytown side access road, mired in deep mud, proved very challenging to navigate.  photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009
The Lindytown side access road, mired in deep mud, proved very challenging to navigate. photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009



Traveling the road up the Bandytown/ Lindytown/Twilight side of Cook Mountain proved to be quite a technical driving challenge, especially after days of heavy rain.  The wash-out on this route, which according to the West Virginia Department of Environmental Protection (WVDEP) is the official access route to the Cook family cemeteries, had been repaired,  as Jeff Sammons, superintendent at the Horizon Resources job, told us on July 30.

However, the 4-wheel drive vehicle Billy Stewart drove us up in could not make the incline in the mud and we diverted our route to a spur off the main road to access the graves.  “They need to fill that gully with gravel,” said Stewart. Indeed, it looked like the repair was temporary and well on its way to washing out again.

Standing at the largest of the three cemeteries, Leo Cook, 73, was born in December, 1935. He grew up on Cook Mountain. And he’s one of the few of his generation of Cooks who is still alive and living in the area. From the cemetery, Leo Cook pointed out where deep mining has occurred on Cook Mountain in the 1950s, “They had a drift mouth right over here and I watched them haul coal from under this mountain. They mined way down this ridge.”



Leo Cook, 73, standing in the largest of three Cook family cemeteries on Cook Mountain, grew up here and has worked to maintain the historic cemeteries over the years.  antrim caskey (c) 2009
Leo Cook, 73, standing in the largest of three Cook family cemeteries on Cook Mountain, grew up here and has worked to maintain the historic cemeteries over the years. antrim caskey (c) 2009



Marvin White asked Leo Cook if he meant they mined underneath the cemetery. Leo Cook stood in the cemetery and shook his head, “I saw them take coal from right underneath us.”

In fact, the ridge where these cemeteries sit are ringed with highwalls. The last cemetery is just a couple of hundred feet from a perilous drop-off.

Crossing Roadblocks



One of five road blocks on the Cook Mountain Road between three Cook family cemeteries.  photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009
One of five road blocks on the Cook Mountain Road between three Cook family cemeteries. photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009



Cook scampered up the pile of mud and rock debris and expressed disgust at the mine company’s actions, “they didn’t have to go and do this,” he grumbled as he topped the pile and looked back over his shoulder.

We walked along muddy puddled roads and climbed over four more of the man-made obstacles. We got muddier and muddier. At the second to last roadblock, where last week, volunteers from Rock Creek, WV shoveled a trough to drain a large lake of standing water, the roadblock had been re-established with additional mud and rock.

Ivan Stiefel, one of the July 30 volunteers, said when he heard that the mine companies had undone their work said, “I don’t know how a company can be so arrogant — to block a family from its heritage. Stiefel, an avid kayaker and a 2008 Brower Youth Award recipient, has been organizing around the issue of mountaintop removal for the past two years.

Mike Bowersox, a veteran activist with Seeds of Peace, who along with thirteen others also helped clear the roadblocks last Thursday said, “It’s an outrage that they’re denying the Cooks and the Whites access to their family cemeteries –that they’re blocking the route they’ve used for more than two hundred years.”

Family Stories



Members of the Cook family visit the grave of their descendant, Civil War veteran, William Chapman "Chap" Cook, on Cook Mountain in Boone County, WV.  photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009
Members of the Cook family visit the grave of their ancestor, Civil War veteran, William Chapman "Chap" Cook, on Cook Mountain in Boone County, WV. photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009



As we walked onward to Chap’s grave, Vickie Stewart held her grand-daughter’s hand. Jenna mentioned something about chips that were back in the truck, that she was getting hungry. Vickie told us how as kids she used to eat a lot of popcorn, “Growing up, we grew popcorn. We’d wait ’til it got hard and we’d rub and twist those cobs ’til our hands were covered in blisters. But we didn’t care, that’s how we got popcorn…I had an uncle that grew all different colors! Blue, pink, red….”

The trees stood thick and the temperature dropped as we walked the final path to Chap’s grave. Jenna turned and peeked at me over her shoulder, “I’ve had many friends that have had to move away,” she told me. “Like my friend Jordan.”

Jenna is ten and attends Van Elementary School in Van, WV.

I asked Jenna where did her friends live.

“Twilight,” she told me.

She got very quiet and her grandmother exclaimed,” Can you believe it, a ten year old has to deal with this, her friends moving away because of a coal company!”

What Coal Can Do To a Community: Twilight, West Virginia



The devasted community of Twilight has become the target of thieves in the wake of a mass buy out by coal operator Massey Energy. photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009
The devasted community of Twilight has become the target of thieves in the wake of a mass buy out by coal operator Massey Energy. photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009



Accessing the Cook cemeteries from Lindytown, you will drive through a tiny community called Twilight. Twilight is dying, on its last breath, you can almost see the blood flowing down the streets. “As soon as the grass gets three inches high, they’ll rob you,” said James Smith, who, with a heavy heart, just sold his home in Twilight and will leave the area.

“I just couldn’t live in a garbage dump…the main reason I sold is because there is no one left. I’ve got no one here and you can’t depend on strangers.”

Smith recalled a daytime looting he witnessed recently at a recently sold home across from him. “A pick up truck pulled up right along side that house and a bunch of men jumped out, loaded that vehicle up and drove right on by. They didn’t even look at me when they passed,” he told me.

Residents of James Creek are determined to prevent the same situation developing in their hollow and the blocked access to the cemeteries has sparked considerable worry and consternation.

“It’s like they want to erase us and pretend that we were never here,” said Maria Gunnoe, a community organizer with the Ohio Valley Environmental Coalition. Gunnoe has worked extensively for years in the communities below Massey’s draglines — Twilight, Bandytown, Lindytown — are names that frequently bring tears to her eyes. Gunnoe was awarded the 2009 Goldman Environmental Prize for her work to stop mountaintop removal coal mining.

Defending Their Heritage



Leo Cook and Marvin White mark a 100 foot boundary around the grave of William Chapman "Chap" Cook, August 1, 2009.  photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009
Leo Cook and Marvin White mark a 100 foot boundary around the grave of William Chapman "Chap" Cook, August 1, 2009. photograph (c) antrim caskey, 2009



After measuring out the protective zone at Chap’s lone grave, Cook took us down the mountain on another road, to where his family home-place stood. Cook wanted to show us the old cellar and the well. The weeds had grown up so much that we could not locate them, but coming back up Cook found the old sleigh road they used to use. Cook led us up the hill, bushwhacking through the briars and mountain laurel, to the old drift-mouth where they took coal for use at home.

Sitting on the mossy bank, the mouth of the underground tunnel was opaque. Cook hopped inside and gave a yell. No one answered. He sat back down and folded his hands on his knee. Marvin Smith handed Jenna a shaving of a birch tree – she gleefully inhaled the minty aroma though she couldn’t understand how her grandmother used to chew it, as gum!

Cook told us that the mine company has threatened to prosecute him personally if they find him on their property. “I’ve walked off here hundreds and hundreds of times,” Cook told me.  He gestured off into the woods, “right there used to stand an old apple tree — had apples this big around,” he said, cupping his hands hands generously as if holding a softball-sized fruit.

Twenty minutes later, at 12:15pm, as Marvin White walked one hundred feet into the woods with the measuring tape, Leo Cook held the other end, standing at the edge of  the fence he put up around Chap’s grave two years ago.

We heard a deep blast rumble and pop in the distance. No one heard a warning blast.