(Feature piece written for the Athens News Monday)
As we stepped off the bus the sun was at our backs; we encountered a sea of squinting eyes.
"What are they doing here?" the eyes asked silently. "Why can't they mind their own business?"
It was a valid question. I had spent the last two and a half hours pondering the answer, as myself and roughly a dozen other members of the Sierra Club rode a Greyhound from Athens to St. Clairsville, in Belmont County. Our goal: convince the EPA at a public hearing to deny the Ohio Valley Coal Company (OVCC) a permit to build a new coal slurry pond for its two mines in that area.
Some background: The two mines, Powhatan No. 6 in Belmont County and Century in Monroe County, produce 60 percent of the state's coal. They employ 1,300 workers locally and 10 times that number indirectly. If the company's permit is denied, the head of the corporation which owns the mine, Murray Energy, has stated he will close both mines.
Which explains the cold reception. But there were serious issues with the proposed expansion, I earnestly told myself. Coal slurry, a byproduct from the washing process of coal extraction, is a notoriously toxic substance and has been known to seep into groundwater or spill into local drinking water. One may recall the Buffalo Creek Disaster of 1972 in Logan County, W.Va, in which a slurry spill left 125 dead and 1,100 injured out of a population of 5,000.
The most recent spill at the OVCC mines occurred in 2008 and blackened 10 miles of Captina Creek. Before that there was one in 2005. So accidents are not a remote possibility.
The line of people waiting to speak their mind on the issue stretched out the door of the James Carnes Center and down the road. Judging from the looks we were getting, around 90 percent of them were coal miners, forced to choose between their jobs and water quality.
"Coal Miners Never Die, They Just Keep Digging Their Graves Deeper" read the backs of the shirts of the broad-shouldered men ahead of us.
"It gets colder the closer we get to the door," commented one of my companions, and I knew what she meant as we shuffled past metal detectors into the main auditorium.
Sitting near the front, I took a moment to survey the audience. Businessmen with folded legs and workers with folded arms wore similar stern expressions as we waited for the fireworks to start. I noticed one man in an expensive-looking suit staring at me with a look of exasperation.
"When will you learn?" he seemed to be asking.
Eventually four men seated themselves on the stage in front of us, two representing the Ohio EPA and two the Army Corps of Engineers. Jed Thorp of the former group was the first to take the mic. A squeaky voice asked the attendees in the back row if they could hear him.
"Passions run high on both sides of this issue," he observed. "Everybody here has a right to be heard."
After a fairly dry description of the issue, the panel heard questions from the audience, which would not be recorded as public comments. The first question regarded the 2008 spill.
"We don't have that information here tonight," Thorp weakly explained.
One person misunderstood the meeting format and took the opportunity to make a comment in defense of the mines.
"I dirty more streams fishing than these coal companies do."
"What's he fishing with?" I heard someone whisper behind me.
Lights flicked on as the sun sank beneath the horizon ominously: it was time for public comment, the reason we were all there.
For the next two hours a surprisingly diverse procession of concerns were heard.
The businessman I noticed earlier was the first to step up. Revealing himself to be John R. Forrelli, vice president of Engineering and Planning for Murray Energy, he carefully explained his company's commitment to improving the Captina's water quality, though there was "no cost-effective alternative" to the plan being debated.
The loudest response from the audience was earned by John Conway, a resident of Belmont County "for about 100 years."
"I want to point to an endangered species." He gestured dramatically toward those seated behind him. "These coal miners."
Sierra Club representative Nachy Kanfer acknowledged that coal keeps the lights on, but stressed that it wouldn't always be so. "We call on the governor to start working on clean energy jobs in coal country."
When my turn came I didn't use half of my allotted three minutes. My heart pounding in my ears, I tried to argue that miners didn't have to choose between their jobs and the environment, that the company could dispose of the slurry in safer ways. My words sounded more like pleas than promises.
Fellow OU student Stephen Swabek spoke more eloquently about the unsustainable nature of coal power. "In 25, 35 years, when it's all gone, what's going to happen here?"
Perhaps the most poignant comment was offered by a young woman in a pink tee-shirt which read "Wife of a Coal Miner."
"No one is here to say, 'if the coal mine shuts down, we're here for you.'"
By the time the last comment was heard there was a distinctly different atmosphere in the room. Tensions had eased, while the worry remained like a sore thumb. Panelists lauded the audience for their civility and attentiveness.
Col. Michael Crall of the Army Corps called it "a testament to the character of the citizens of Belmont County." The miner's slogan came to mind.
Looking up at a clear starry sky as we filed out of the Center, the words that resounded in my ears more than any other were those offered by an elderly miner, Christoper Rogers, near the hearing's close:
Whatever you decide, he said, "Be smart. Be smart and do it right."
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