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環境保護人士發現鄉鎮並非只關乎大型木材公司及礦場
由Writers on the Range保羅·拉莫爾著, 1999年7月2 日
「如果礦場關閉了，我不知道我們該怎麼辦。」透過電話，這個女人的聲調顯得緊張而倦怠。「我必須找份工作，兌現我們的退休金以糊口。我猜如果必要的話，我們甚至要搬遷到別處去。」
我無意刺探別人的生活。只是事先打個電話提醒她，今晚她女兒有場小型籃球練習。但是，在西部小鎮上，人往往會不自覺地走入鄰居的生活中。
如同小顉上每一個人一樣，我已聽聞過當地某座地下煤礦場的大火事件，以及關於高濃度的一氧化碳迫使工人緊急疏散的消息。此外，我知道人們對於工廠是否永久關閉感到憂心忡忡，因為這將導致超過一百個家庭中的負擔生計者失業。這樣的聲浪頗為確切。這突顯出在我的球隊中，大約有超過一半女孩的父母在當地三家礦場工作。
我是個後知後覺者，但是我有我的理由。七年前我從這裡搬至科羅拉多州Paonia鎮，為Sierra Club朝朝暮暮工作，其為美國最大之環境保護機構，總部位於加州舊金山。在當地，我是熱衷保護國家空氣、水質、及僅存野生地區的人員之一。我們很少討論依土地為生及居住於小鄉鎮的人們。即使討論了，也是以負面口吻在談論。同時,我們總是講話不離"最"字：老樹是「遠古來的森林」；在鑿油的威脅下，北方國家野生動物保護區正是「美國的野生聖地」;並且聯合抵制我們最後僅存野生地帶的惡勢力全是些大企業：大石油公司、大木材企業，以及大煤礦業者，正蠶食般地掠奪公共用地。
無庸至疑，我們是話中有話。公司行號及富有的經營人經常掠奪西部地區的資源，卻很少考慮到環境生態的問題。景觀已無法挽救地惡化。然而，投機者卻仍存在，並規劃著新方法來從公共區域中想辦法獲取利益，雖然近年來雪上活動以及野地越野車之類的產業-如大型休旅業---比傳統高爾夫業更具威脅。
回到主題
但是處在環境政策的世界，使我覺得與社區疏離，這是我離開城市搬至小鎮的一大理由。不過，我對在煤礦鎮定居仍舊有些掛慮。那些礦工都是些「強壯難纏的傢伙」，他們搞不好會把環境保護者當早餐給吃了。
當然，事實比幻想有趣些。我遇到的第一個礦工是我的鄰居包伯，他高大、心直口快、有著沙色髮、有兩個孩子。一星期中，我們固定談些花園柵欄、在河川深處釣魚、及天氣的問題。他給了我們一些自家的蒜頭；我們給了他一棵不知如何處理的年幼蘋果樹。接著是路易斯，他是個退休的礦區電工匠，他可以暗地裡告訴你任何事情，從機構團體不再投資鄉鎮，生活因而多麼悲慘，到那些不知好歹的孩子們在房屋間的小徑賽車的事情。在火爆的外表下他其實古道熱腸。在多個寒冬的夜裡，他幫我們修理了日趨老邁的煤爐。
當然，並非所有的煤礦工都是親切爽朗的。他們有些是粗暴的。即使在現今，採礦業還是吃力不討好。每十二小時換班、每週六個工作天令礦工及許多家庭吃不消。礦工也經常對他們的工作感到不安。二年前在一趟前往美國ARCO石油公司所屬煤礦區的旅行中，我瞧見此一不安的事實。我們一路開往煤山最深黑的地帶，直到抵達如牆般高的重型機械裝置區。在那裡，輸送帶上，一大片刀刃刨平厚實光亮的煤塊，其運轉有如一突出起伏的河流，將煤塊由礦山送入鐵道。
有人問起了公司對當地社區所作的承諾。一礦區工程師談到：「喔！我們哪兒也不去。」「我們這兒至少還有二十年的煤值得挖。」
一公司主管接著說：「此地是本國最具生產量的地下煤礦之一。」
然而，隔天，在Denver Post中，一小篇幅的報導指出，ARCO已將所有北美煤礦經營設備拍賣了，以求穩固公司。
因為新經營者並沒有大規模的變更礦區的運作，那些礦工仍能保有原來的工作。但是，如果經營者決定降低損失，或早或晚那受礦區大火所殘害的家庭將必須遷居。
在西部鄉村，生活並非有絕對的標準。你可以喜歡礦工卻對他們危險而不定的工作特質反感。這就如同你想要保護環境，卻仍對於礦業及人為社區的評價高過高級雪上休閒小鎮。
在礦區發生火災的這一週，有較多的父親帶著女兒來練球，其中有一個是和我通過話的婦女的丈夫。他看來精神奕奕，並留了一會兒和他女兒玩滾箍遊戲。我希望不久之後他能回到地下去工作。
 保羅·拉莫爾是Writers on the Range的編輯，此報提供科羅拉多Paonia鎮當地熱聞的服務。
原文與圖片詳見: http://www.gristmagazine.com/grist
/maindish/larmer070299.stm
版權歸屬 Earth Day Network，環境信託協會 (李佳家 譯，施淑芬審校)
中英對照全文：http://news.ngo.org.tw/issue/ecoeco/
issue-ecoeco00062901.htm
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Enviro learns rural town isn't about Big Timber and Big Mining
by Paul Larmer, Writers on the Range 07.02.99
"I don't know what we're going to do if the mine closes." The woman's voice sounds strained and tired through the phone. "I'm going to have to find a job, and we may have to cash in our retirement fund. I guess we'll move if we have to."
I hadn't meant to pry. I had just called to remind her of her daughter's peewee basketball practice that night. But in a small, western town, you can't help but run into the lives of your neighbors.
Like everyone else in town, I had heard about the fire in one of the underground coal mines, about the high levels of carbon monoxide that forced an emergency evacuation. And I knew people were worried the company might shut its operation down permanently, putting the top breadwinner in more than 100 families out of work. But that voice made it real. It suddenly registered that nearly half of the girls on my team had parents who worked in one of the three local mines.
I'm a slow learner, but I have my excuses. I moved here to Paonia, Colo., seven years ago, fresh off a stint with the Sierra Club, the nation's largest environmental group, based in San Francisco, Calif. There, I was one of dozens of people working feverishly to protect the country's air, water, and last wild places. We rarely discussed the people who worked the land and lived in small rural towns, and when we did it was not in flattering terms. We also talked a language of superlatives: Old trees were "ancient forests;" the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, under threat of oil drilling, was the "American Serengeti;" and the forces aligned against our last wilderness areas were all BIG: Big Oil, Big Timber, and Big Mining, just chopping at the bit to plunder the public lands.
Of course there was a kernal of truth in our words. Corporations and wealthy industrialists have frequently grabbed for resources in the West with little regard for the health of the environment. The landscape has in places been irrevocably changed for the worse. And opportunists are still out there scheming new ways to make a profit off the public domain, though today the ski and off-road vehicle industries -- Big Recreation, if you will -- seem more a threat than the traditional bogeymen.
Back on the Ground
But the world of environmental politics left me feeling disconnected from community, which is one reason I left the city and moved to this small town. Still, I was a little apprehensive about settling in a coal mining town. Those miners were "big tough guys" who probably chewed up environmentalists for breakfast.
Reality, of course, is more interesting than fiction. The first miner I met was my neighbor, Bob, a tall, affable, sandy-haired father of two. Within a week we were regularly chatting over the fence about gardening, fishing holes, and the weather. He gave us some of his garlic crop; we gave him a young apple tree we didn't know what to do with. Then there was Louis, the retired mine electrician who could talk you under the table about everything from how life has gone to hell since the unions left the valley to "those damn kids" who race their pickups down the alley between our houses. Under his feisty exterior, Louis has a warm heart. On more than one cold winter's night, he has fixed our aging coal furnace.
Not all coal miners are sweetness and light, of course. Some are rough and violent. Coal mining is a difficult occupation, even in these modern times. Twelve-hour shifts, six days a week can take a toll on miner and family. Miners also fear constantly about their jobs. I caught a glimpse of this two years ago on a tour of another coal mine owned then by the giant ARCO mining company. We drove deep into the blackness of the mountain until we came to the massive longwall machinery. There a great blade shaved chunks of glistening coal onto a belt that ran like a swollen, lumpy river out of the mountain to the railroad tracks.
Someone asked about the company's commitment to the local community. "Oh, we're not going anywhere," said the mine engineer. "We've got another 20 years worth of coal down there, at least."
"This is one of the most productive underground coal mines in the country," the company executive seconded.
But the next morning, a small story in the Denver Post announced that ARCO had just put all of its North American coal mine operations up for sale. So much for stability.
Those miners kept their jobs because the new owners didn't signifcantly change the mine's operation. But it could have been hit-the-road time, just as it might be later this year for the families of the fire-stricken coal mine, should the owners decide to cut their losses.
Life isn't black and white in the rural West. You can like miners and dislike the dangerous and capricious nature of their business, just as you can want to protect the environment, but still value mining and agricultural communities over exclusive ski resort towns.
The week of the mine fire, a few more fathers brought their girls to practice, including the husband of the woman I called on the phone. He seemed in good spirits and stayed for a while to shoot hoops with his daughter. I hope he's back working underground soon.
Paul Larmer is the editor of Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News, based in Paonia, Colo.
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