This entry is the seventh of a several-part installment on my coverage of the Deepwater Horizon oil disaster in the Gulf of Mexico. Feel free to comment and ask questions & please help to share this link with others. You can read all of the current entries here: http://itsjustlight.com/?cat=105
It should be noted that this entry is VERY heavy on photo content (and is very long in general). It may take up to a few minutes for all of the images to load if you aren’t using a high-speed internet connection. You can access a larger version of each image in every entry by clicking on the photo; a new window or tab will open with the larger image, which I highly recommend to see the most detail.
The road north from Venice was nearly deserted. The few vehicles that passed me in the opposite direction were mostly police cars and military vehicles hauling sandbags. As I drove north, back toward New Orleans, I couldn’t help but feel angry on the behalf of all the people living in and around the bayous who have made their living from the sea for generations. Not only have they had their lives turned upside down and been forced to watch their would-be income floating ashore belly-up, but to add insult to injury their only hope for income now is to work for the very company that ruined their lives.
After hearing the other journalists in Venice telling horror stories about being denied access to the beaches in Grand Isle, I wanted to try my own luck. I made up my mind to continue driving through the evening to Grand Isle, not knowing what I would find there. I had seen photographs of dolphins on the beach there in May and all accounts seemed to indicate that the situation there was dire. It was nearing 11pm by the time I arrived in Port Fourchon, Louisiana’s southernmost port, located in Lafourche Parish. The port is one of the major hubs of the oil industry, with over 600 offshore oil platforms within 40 miles, providing nearly twenty percent of America’s oil supply. This is oil country as much as it is fishing country, and as I drove past the glittering lights of the port, parking lots filled with rig workers and service personnel, it was easy to see why tensions are running high here. I drove as far as I could towards Fourchon Beach, but as I was expecting, the road was blocked by law enforcement vehicles, their blue lights lighting up the night sky.
I was exhausted, and as midnight drew closer I knew I needed to find a place to sleep. The hotels near Port Fourchon and Grand Isle were all filled with BP contractors and government employees. There was absolutely no chance that I was going to drive around in the middle of the night looking for a motel back on the mainland, so it looked like I was going to spend a night in my car. I’m not at all opposed to sleeping in cars, it’s really not much worse than half of the hotel rooms I’ve stayed in. I drove around for a bit looking for a good overnight parking spot; I wanted somewhere that was private enough that I wouldn’t find the state police banging on my window in the middle of the night, but public enough that I wouldn’t find myself totally isolated if something were to go bump in the night. I found a perfect spot right next to the water in front of an empty dock illuminated by the orange glow of a streetlight, in a quiet but populated area near Port Fourchon Marina. The real downside to vehicular accommodations in Louisiana is the heat and humidity. The humidity is inescapable, but a steady, cool breeze was blowing in from the Gulf and across the bayou, seemingly solving the heat issue. I opened the sun-roof, rolled down the windows, reclined my seat and swung my legs up and onto the passenger side dashboard. With a towel rolled up behind my head as a pillow I was pretty comfortable. Within minutes, the cool breeze had filled the car with swarming mosquitoes, not only biting me but also buzzing loudly in my ears. At a certain point once you’ve been bitten by enough of these horrible little insects, your skin starts to feel a bit numb and the individual bites no longer bother you as much. The buzzing, however, never gets less annoying. I was forced to roll the windows up and soon I could feel the sweat trickling slowly down my neck. Slumber finally came though, and I managed to sleep until 6:30am.
With the early-morning sun already beginning to turn my car into an oven, I quickly brushed my teeth with the water from my metal bottle, and with at least my mouth feeling a bit more refreshed I set off in the car towards Grand Isle, just a few miles away. The town was quiet, but the signs along the road loudly proclaimed what the locals thought of BP. “BP. Cannot fish or swim. How the hell are we suppose to feed our kids now?” read one sign. A toilet sat in someone’s front yard, with a placard above it designating it “BP Headquarters.” I pulled into the parking area for one of the beach entrances. It was nearly 8am now, but the beach was still deserted. I could see a few small figures in the distance, but there was no one on the beach for thousands of feet in either direction. The oil was not terrible in this particular spot I had chosen to explore. Small clumps of crude dotted the sand, much like what I had seen in parts of Florida and Alabama.
Bright orange, water-filled Tiger Dams had been placed along the entire beach, about 50 feet from the edge of the water to keep oil from encroaching further up the beach and into the wetlands and neighborhoods beyond. Tiger Dams are interlocking rubber bladders that can be filled with liquid to form a continuous barrier. Typically used to stop floodwaters, the Louisiana Army National Guard had completed an 8.2 mile long stretch of Tiger Dam to stop the flood of oil. A small sand berm had been constructed next to the Tiger Dam, about 2-3 feet high in most places. These barriers seemed as though they would keep oil out of resident’s living rooms, but they certainly weren’t doing anything to stop oil from reaching the beach. At the waters edge, the retreating tide had left behind small puddles of brown oil on the beach, scattered randomly across the sand like fallen raindrops of chocolate.
I drove about a mile farther down the beach, heading east towards the end of Grand Isle. I pulled off into another beach entrance and once again walked down onto the beach. Within moments a Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s Deputy roared up on an atv. It’s important to note that I was on a public beach, supposedly open to the public. I was also nowhere near the sand berm or Tiger Dams. The deputy asked me what I was doing and I told him that I was a photographer documenting the oil disaster.
“Do you have a media pass?” he asked.
“No, I just arrived in Grand Isle. Do I need one to be on the beach?”
“Yes, who are you working for?”
“I’m a freelance photojournalist…”
“Well, I don’t know if they will give you a media pass if you are freelance.”
“Where I can I go to at least try and get one?”
“You have to go to the command center at the end of the island. I guess you can’t really hurt anything by being where you are so you can take a few pictures, but you cannot cross over the berm.”
“Ok, thanks.”
“If you cross over the berm we’re going to have major problems.”
“Alright, I won’t cross over the berm.”
“You’ll be arrested if you do.”
He gunned the atv back the way he had come, zooming over the sand. Well, that wasn’t quite the attack by military sharpshooters clad in black that I was almost expecting from some of the stories the other journalists had been telling me the day before, but it wasn’t exactly a warm invite to those who come bearing cameras either. Still, the deputy was more or less cordial, even if he seemed a bit confused that I was on an open public beach, where I, even with a camera slung over my shoulder, was still a member of the American public. I decided that the best thing to do was to go off in search of this apparently hard-to-get media pass so that I could avoid this sort of hassle from every atv-riding cop in town. The Huffington Post has reported that the atvs have been purchased by BP for use by the law enforcement officers, which seems to me like a massive conflict of interests, but I’ve seen few things so far that aren’t. You could write a dozen books and film a hundred documentaries on the ridiculous conflicts of interest going on all around me (and I’m sure several people will soon).
I reached the end of the island and found dozens of air conditioned trailers, all of which looked as if they could be the command center I was looking for. I parked near one that looked promising and walked over to a security tent posted outside. The guard told me I needed to go to the trailer “over there” and pointed to the east. I headed over there only to be told by some National Guard soldiers that they thought the command center was back the way I had come. I retraced my steps and found myself asking another group of soldiers where to go a few minutes later. They directed me to yet another security tent where I finally found two young Guard soldiers posted who seemed to know where I needed to go. I needed an escort, so the young soldier who seemed the most bored with sitting around in the morning heat seemed eager to help me. He led me into a giant tent, the sort rented for weddings and galas, that appeared to be the break room for cleanup workers. One official directed him to another official who finally directed us to the elusive command trailer. With the command trailer virtually impossible to find, I wondered what exactly they were in command of.
Finally, we had found the Shangri-La of Grand Isle, a blue air conditioned trailer filled with men entrusted with the power to issue media passes to the public beach. My intrepid guide, seemingly finding the runaround as ridiculous as I, knocked on the door but got no response. He opened it and we entered, only to be ushered outside by a man with a clipboard.
“You WILL be arrested if you cross the berm,” the official with the clipboard issuing me my media pass said authoritatively.
“ok…” I replied calmly, used to the typical displays of machismo that are par for the course when speaking with police and government officials.
“Do you understand? You WILL be decontaminated and then arrested if you cross over the berm,” he said again with a little more force just for good measure.
“I understand,” I said again casually.
With the pissing match over, we were able to move onto the subject of where I was allowed to go. I was surprised to learn that I could, in fact, go anywhere on the beach (except over the berm or I would be arrested) I wanted and anywhere on the island. Anywhere I wanted to photograph and ask questions was fair game, though it seemed this memo had been lost in translation somewhere between the blue trailer and the rest of the island. The only place I would actually need their media pass to gain access to was Elmer’s Island, where I would need a sheriff’s department escort. The official told me that there was really nothing to see on Elmer’s Island, but I decided that I would be the judge of that so I asked for the media pass anyway, figuring that at the very least it would serve as a sort of paper armor against the roving bands of badge-wearing, atv riding enforcers of berm safety. The media pass was a a small piece of printer paper, about the size of a business card and with the words “Jefferson Parish” juxtaposed against the skyline of a city I am nearly certain is not in Jefferson Parish or anywhere near it. There were fields for the media pass number, the date, and my name.
As I walked away from the command trailer, media pass in hand, I headed in the direction of a giant outdoor wedding tent. I started to snap a few photos when I heard bootfalls behind me. My young national guard escort to the command trailer ran up behind me and breathlessly exclaimed, “You can’t take photos here. It’s US government property.”
So much for taking photographs anywhere on the island I wanted, but the lunch tent wasn’t that interesting anyway, so I decided not to press the issue. The guardsman was a nice guy and I needed to get out onto the beach asap. Ultimately, I was surprised to encounter less resistance. After reading dozens of articles about other journalists and photographers being turned away by BP officials, the Coast Guard, and police I was expecting to meet a similar fate. Still, the simple fact that I was required to seek out permission from my government to photograph on public beaches bothers me. The issue of safety was hardly a legitimate excuse for the red tape either, for just a few hundred miles away in Alabama, oil covered beaches remained open as toddlers ran through the viscous brown ooze.
A national guard soldier and I talked for a while about the ultimate folly of restricting access to the beaches. He felt that conspiracy theories were only furthered when people were denied free movement and available and accurate information. Ultimately, I have been left with a feeling that the red tape and restricted access is more a result of countless government and law enforcement agencies jockeying for control than any real government conspiracy(although the same cannot be said for BP who seems to be cutting corners and blocking access at every turn). This disaster illustrates government inefficiency at its absolute worst. Too many agencies were involved with a poor central leadership and what seemed like almost no communication. It was as if all of the inefficient bureaucracy of Washington had been airlifted to the bayous of Louisiana.
Since my departure from Grand Isle, I have read dozens of stories about the intimidation tactics used by BP security and law enforcement officers on the beaches, many of them comparable to what I experienced. Some of the authors took issue with being told they weren’t allowed to cross the berm and go down to the water’s edge. I usually try to examine these sort of things from both sides, but having been there myself I’m still a little unsure about how I feel regarding this issue. Without a doubt, there are a lot of people out there who are lacking a bit of common sense – some wear official badges, others wear badges with no official authority, and others wear press badges. Does the media have a right to show the world the devastation unfolding on the beaches, in the marshes, and in the waters of the Gulf? Absolutely and without question. Much like free speech itself, other issues quickly come into play and only serve to further confuse things. The question then becomes, should the media have the right to enter oil contaminated areas without wearing proper protection from the oil? I can almost understand the official response of “no” from the perspective of law-enforcement officers who tend to expect the worst to happen – certainly they wouldn’t want a bumbling photographer to trip over his tripod face-first into a pool of crude oil. Really though, if it’s so dangerous to be exposed to oil, why aren’t cleanup crews being provided with respirators and adequate equipment?
With a zoom lens, not being able to walk a few dozen feet further didn’t pose a huge problem for me during much of my coverage, but the question of whether I should have the right to walk those few dozen feet and stand directly in and over the oil has been bouncing around in my mind. Of course, official rules have rarely stood in the way of good journalism, so there will always be a few photographers around not afraid to venture beyond the red tape, or in this case, the Tiger Dams and sand berms.
I made my way down the highway, past humvees and deserted restaurants. Entering Grand Isle State Park, devoid of tourists and onlookers, I parked as close to the staging area as I could get and hiked to the beach, lugging along my heavy camera equipment. The tinted window of a large pickup truck idling with it’s engine on next to the road rolled down as I passed it and I was instantly ready to defend my right to be there. “I have a media pass,” I blurted as the window descended, only to be surprised once more to find the truck’s occupant giving me directions for how to pass around the staging area to reach the pier. The day was proving to be full of strange encounters.
It was about 11am, but the sun was already high in the sky and the temperature had been climbing steadily into the 90′s. A cocoon of humidity made every movement laborious and within seconds sweat was streaming down face. I passed through the staging area, still largely deserted as the workers had yet to arrive on their buses from Houma and New Orleans. No one hassled me as I made my way to the pier.
The scent hit me before I could see it, a thick, invisible wave of nauseating petroleum vapors rising off the ocean and evaporating from the oil drenched sand. A small crew of workers scooped shovel-loads of oily sand into garbage bags in a losing David vs. Goliath battle that saw a nearly infinite tide of oil washing ashore for every drop that was scooped away. From my vantage point only a dozen feet above the workers, I could hear their mutterings as they cursed the obvious futility of their labor. One of the workers looked up at me and jokingly asked me to come down and give them a hand. I shouted back that it looked like they would need more than just me to put a dent in the dark ooze piling up around their boots. “Yeah, we’ll need a miracle,” he replied.
As the men sweated and swore and heaved shovelful after shovelful of oil and sand into their bags, the oil rose slowly from beneath the sand and rolled in on the surf to fill the spots they had just “cleaned.” It was truly a losing battle. A dolphin swam in languid circles a few yards offshore, its dorsal fin creating a small wake in the dark waters, a foreboding reminder of just what was at stake. The waves coming ashore were black and the first several yards of the beach a deep brown, contrasting against the beautiful cream colored sand beyond the berm. The view from the pier offered an aerial view of the disgusting mass that floated on the water. The once-blue waters were now covered with swirls of brown and a deadly rainbow spread across the surface as far as the eye could see. The sun was overpowering and I could barely see the lcd display on the back of my camera to review the images I was taking. It wasn’t until later that I was able to truly see what I had captured, a sickening sight of oil coated waves so horrifying that the liquid pictured is barely recognizable as sea water.
That is an amazing article about your experience. Thank you so much for sharing.
Thank you for reading Reba! It was such a horrifying sight to stand over the water and look down on the thick oil riding atop the waves. It was even more heartbreaking to see a dolphin swimming through this awful stuff.
Great pic’s, and well put together and really gives you a feel of what it’s like there. ?
Also why is this done by hand? Why not just take out all the contaminated sand with machinery
In some areas they are using machinery, but even that method has its faults – not all of the oil is gathered and more sand may be removed from the beaches than necessary. It’s a really terrible situation with almost no “good” solution. Of course, no matter what method they use to remove the oil and contaminated sand and debris from the beach – the question still remains…what to do with all of the millions of plastic bags filled with this contaminated mess.
These photos are so hard to see
The gulf looks like an oily sewer in the last photos – the swirling rainbows are almost pretty, but when you think about all the animals that live on and under that water it’s just horrible
Thanks for this, Reba.
I mean Nick! Sorry!
These pictures are so hard to look at, but I’m glad you’re sharing them.
I don’t see how they can ever get the beaches cleaned up and I certainly don’t see how they can get the gulf cleaned up. Even 20 years after Exxon Valdez the sand still has oil in it…and this is ten times as much oil.
I can’t believe there are still people saying “it’s not THAT bad”
If this isn’t THAT bad, I don’t know WHAT is
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I wish they were showing these photos on every tv station
I can’t believe that there is an animal rescue dept. (supposedly) right there on Grand Isle and no one was out in that foulness trying to net that poor, poor dolphin. It’s as if no one gives a damn about the animals. One Zodiac and 2 good netters could’ve got him out of the danger zone. When will we ever learn….Btw, I tried to book a cabin and charter a boat with a group of volunteers to “help” out down there and not one marina even bothered to return my calls. Seems BP has taken all of the accommodations. It’s such an oxymoron. It must be unimaginable for the locals to have to now work for the same company that destroyed their homes and jobs and are killing off all the sea creatures and wildlife. It just makes me want to cry….
Lesli, it would definitely have been easy to capture the dolphin I saw, although I suspect that even if he/she had been caught it would have been too late. Sadly, the danger zone is now nearly the entire Gulf. Unfortunately, the dolphin was almost impossible to see from the shore or water since he was swimming so low; it was only from my higher vantage point on the pier that I was able to see him. I was able to capture a single photograph, but it shows only a small, dark bump and ripple in the water. By the time I made it off the pier to let someone know, the dolphin had disappeared from sight. Sadly, that dolphin is one of only thousands who will likely perish in the oil. An amazing 28 species of cetaceans are found in the Gulf of Mexico, some of them permanent residents and others transients. Species ranging from Orcas (killer whales), sperm whales, and even humpback whales can all be found in the vast waters of the Gulf.
It’s definitely tough for the locals – it must be incredibly difficult to balance being outraged at the corporation that destroyed your way of life with continuing to provide for your family, especially when BP has turned many places into one-employer towns.
The next blog installment will focus more on the wildlife of Grand Isle and what is being done to protect it.
It’s so terrible to think about all the creatures that are swimming under that black layer of oil. I wish they knew to swim for cleaner water.
This is so heartbreaking! Thank you for doing this important work. You are showing us what the mainstream media won’t.
Thank you so much for this. Why aren’t there other journalists covering this like you are?
My daughter and I watched a couple of vids today. One is called
F@#king Booming School and can be watched here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6UFNjJzHuX0&feature=player_embedded
The other was the Aussie version of 60 min. I told my daughter that this would not be repaired in her lifetime, I can only hope that it’s repaired in my grandchildren’s lifetime.
Shame on the American media. And, as much as I love our President, shame on him for allowing the photo ops without any real substance.
I’m not sure Ginger – my media pass number on Grand Isle was two hundred and something, so I was clearly not the first to walk the same shores. On the day these images were taken I only encountered two other photographers on the pier, one who was working for one of the major wire services. I didn’t run into any other media on the beach though – I walked east beyond the pier, where some of the worst damage was and found the area completely deserted.
I imagine that some of the lack of coverage is due to budgets; many newspapers and magazines these days rely on only a handful of writers and photographers from just a few wire services to deliver images and reporting. The BBC crew I met on Dauphin Island, AL had only a small point and shoot camera and a tiny handheld voice recorder. I’ve come across some good reporting though – there are still some great journalists out there who try to get to the heart of the matter and aren’t afraid to take a few risks.
I’ve seen both of those videos you shared and I agree that they are both very good. While I’ve never been to booming school, it’s terribly obvious that the boom is being placed without a thought in the world in most areas. There would be just a few sections of boom here and there, leaving vast areas open for the oil to flow through. Tomorrow’s entry will take us to the east end of Grand Isle, away from the prying eyes of the occasional reporter and where seemingly no cleanup effort was taking place.
incredible photos of a tragic scene, thank you for sharing your experiences
ugh, beaches are not meant to be black.
What can we do to help?
omg! this is so bad
Thanks for detailing your journey along the southern coast during these sad and frightening times. I was born and still live in Baton Rouge; Unfortunately I feel like I need to leave the region in seek of a safe living place. The thought of toxins in the water and toxic gases in the air combined with the looming threat of a hurricane have me in fear of an even greater disaster. I may be overly-paranoid, but if it keeps me alive and healthy I’m okay with that.
I have one respectful correction to make on your post: Having been to the beach in Grand Isle several times as a child, I have the distinct memories of this area of the gulf being muddy brown every time I went. I’m just saying that if these parts of the gulf were ever blue, it’s been a long time.
Nelson, I can’t blame you for wanting to leave. After seeing and smelling the devastation on Grand Isle I was beyond eager to leave the area. It is overwhelming to witness and it’s no secret that crude oil contains more than a few unhealthy things. It’s equally heartbreaking to even be living near the coast, constantly forced to confront the reality that things may never return to their original splendor and that millions of animals are likely to perish.
You’re right about the water off many parts of the Gulf coast not being blue – the Mississippi river enters the Gulf of Mexico near Venice, LA…just a short distance from Grand Isle. Less sediment is carried into the Gulf than there once was, due to increased development along the river and more artificial channeling, but there is still plenty of mud that reaches the Gulf of Mexico and spreads out to sea. Depending upon the currents and weather, some areas along the coast of Louisiana enjoy clearer waters than others. You’re probably right though, “blue” unfairly conjures up images of the clear, azure waters of the Caribbean. A better adjective would be murky-turquoise during much of the year. Sadly, even murky would be a more desirable description than the horrible orange, deep brown, and black that the thick crude oil washing ashore has turned the water and beach. I’ve never before seen waves that are actually black, but the ones rolling slowly ashore near the pier were as dark as could be.
The heat was overpowering and I can only imagine the adverse health effects the cleanup crews are going to suffer from breathing in the petroleum fumes as they rise from the hot sand and off the water itself. Not providing respirators to all of the cleanup workers is a preventable tragedy in the making.
Thank you for doing this. I cannot believe that this is happening here. The mainsteam media seems to have almost stoped their coverage. Coverage of this should not stop, it should be in everyones face, they should not be allowed to forget. The people of this country should be in the streets demanding action on this. All those workers are going to get sick and die, my God what have we become in this country.
The government has gotten very good at keeping things from the american people. What right does BP have to control this like it does? They are murderers and should be treated as such. But no not here they still have incredible power and are now set to destroy another pristine area and No One in the government is doing a thing.
Thank you for this Nick. These pictures, and your story, are devastating to see/read, but so necessary. I want to throw up, cry and scream all at the same time and I know this feeling in the pit of my stomach won’t go away until I figure out how to help (in whatever small way I can). Keep sharing.
this post is very usefull thx!
My heart aches. Just aches.
Hi Nick,
From one journalist to another….terrific writing and photography. Thank you for posting this on the web and giving those of us unable to drop everything to fly south a personal account of what’s going on.
I am appalled that the area isn’t swarming with journalists covering the biggest environmental disaster to ever hit the US. It doesn’t make sense. BP seems to be in the driver’s seat with the public officials as well as the government (how dare they defy a federal order to stop using toxic dispersant, obviously to try to fool the public).
I’ve been trying to get information by looking at websites of say, the Pensacola papers…and the writing has less juice, and less information, than reporting a traffic stop. I’m appalled the newspapers print a press release saying its okay to swim in the water, without any proof that they investigated this idea before printing it. And toddlers walking around breathing fumes without a banner headline in the paper saying NO, Don’t let them do that, appalling.
I cut my teeth as a journalist in the 1970s with models of writing they called the “new journalism” ….to tell a story filled with images that described sensory impressions as well as specificity of place, the event, to interview people thoroughly and really question everything as deeply as possible, and certainly to verify and seek out truth from fiction. To rewrite a press release was considered the worst thing you could do..to be a toady for anyone trying to push an agenda on an unsuspecting public. it’s our JOB to watchdog and advocate for the public good. Our newspaper editors and publishers both supported and encouraged our work, too.
So thank you for doing this. And to people with facebook who are sharing your site with others.
Thanks so much Jan! I was beyond surprised to find virtually no other media presence on Grand Isle. Venice was crawling with news crews, but unless you had $1,000 to charter a boat to get offshore to film, there really wasn’t much too see there. Grand Isle, on the other hand, was easily accessible but totally deserted.
I can certainly sympathize with budget cuts limiting the abilities of newspapers to send their journalists out on investigative assignments for more than a few hours, but if an assignment ever deserved a budget to make coverage possible – this is it. I agree wholeheartedly with everything you’ve said – it’s the responsibility of the media to go out seeking answers and to report fairly without sensationalism, especially when the reality is horrifying enough.
In the very beginning of this OIL SAGA, I was also wondering why they don’t just replace the sand…..
. . . but then I realized that with this leak being an ONGOING occurance – that would be too costly at this time……I’m sure that’s what will be done as soon as the oil stops coming ashore !!!
My guess is that this disaster is not being covered by loads of journalists because they don’t want to do to Obama – what was done to Bush during hurricane Katrina, and also maybe because humans aren’t still dying. . . . only wild-life, and maybe too many people don’t give a darn about these wonderful and innocent creatures. . . .
found your site on del.icio.us today and really liked it.. i bookmarked it and will be back to check it out some more later
Nick:
I am amazed by your work. I am one of the co-organizers of the Los Angeles event for Worldwide Protest BP Day which will take place on July 10, 2010. This is our second worldwide event. I would love to get permission to use some of your photographs for picket signs for the protest and to post a link to your blog on our website.
Thank you so much for doing this. It is too easy for us in Los Angeles to ignore this devastation.
When we had our oil disaster in Spain there were literally hundreds of volunteers cleaning the beaches and rescuing the animals, why can’t they do that there too, it would be so much quicker than this undercover system by BP, which will work against them when people get to know about the damage caused!!
goosebumps and tears are all I got at the moment….but it is so important people like you and others are sharing the truth (sadly our gov’t and BP are not!) so thank you….so beyond heartbreaking….so shameful for all mankind.
many more prayers…..pushing into actions…..many more tears , much more healing to be done. love and light, T
This is not to be cleaned up!! needs to get worse first.. all in the name of biofuel and algae farms.. sounds crazy but true.. America will now fuel its entire country from the Gulf of Mexico.. please research this.. Loop Current Study was done for this.. and there are systems, big corporations and everyone is in place.. this will not be stopped.. so unbelieveable and you are right! what great country limits its right to freedom of media, speech.. and does not want the help of other countries or allow even its own people to help.. this is intertwined and has been in place for years.. research it!!! so hard to believe.. hey, but new jobs for everyone in bioenergy and a toilet bowl gulf! the gulf is needed for the new fuel of US.. and profits will be made by these new energy companies, sugar company, corn companies, ceo of boards, cap and tax group, etc, etc, etc.. all crap will be put back into the ocean to feed the cestpool of algae!!
thank you for taking the time and risking your own health in order to inform everyone of what is really going on. I am so heavy hearted and saddended by what has been done to the innocent lives of so many species of wildlife. There is no end to this disaster.
keep up the good work for us all who cannot do what you are doing. We are listening.
[...] the ones below that show the less picturesque side of oil contamination and its tragic effects in Part VII and Part VIII: Cleanup workers on Grand Isle struggle to keep up with the dark oil washing [...]