E-waste Poses a Monster Problem

Got a phone call from an old friend the other day. I recognized his voice immediately by the series of atomic snorts accented by a metallic high-pitched wail, like someone was twisting rusty railroad tracks around an angry dolphin. A little puff of smoke escaped from my cell phone, signaling big news: Godzilla got a new job

“I haven’t heard from you since you had that little spat with Megalon,” I told the big green former monster movie star who had been knocking around everywhere from Tinsletown to Bollywood in search of work. He still was sore about that Cloverfield business in New York. “And that was some major battle you had there with Ghidorah, the three-headed golden dragon from space,” I added.

“Oh, that was totally overblown by the online news media,” Godzilla complained gruffly. “You know how it is; words are exchanged; things are thrown. The next thing you know, you’re all over YouTube.”

“Only in this case, you tossed an office building and a jumbo jet,” I reminded him.

“It was a small jumbo jet, okay?” he said, irritation creeping into his voice as it often did in the early days, right after those atomic bombs woke him from a prehistoric slumber. Talk about oversleeping!

“That fight with that giant arthropod got you kicked out of Japan, didn’t it?”

Godzilla paused and I didn’t know if he was upset about my comment or trying to think of a fiery comeback. Sometimes he’ll surprise you with his clever repartee.

“I was ready to move on anyway. I took some time off and waded around the world for awhile until I came ashore in this nice little village where I found work right away. I just fell into this job and it’s a perfect fit for a hot property like me,” the monster told me.

I let that comment pass like Mothra in a low flight pattern.

“So tell me about your new job,” I said, trying to tilt the conversation away from Godzilla’s less endearing qualities. “Must be something special.”

“Well, I’m into computer technology now. No more boxing with Rodan or having to toss Mechagodzilla II over my shoulder. All I do is take these computer parts that people bring me, heat them up a bit with my breath so they can yank some of the precious metals out of them, then I burn up what’s left. Cool, huh?”

“You’re incinerating e-waste?” I grumbled.

“Yeah! It’s a natural for me – with my atomic breath. I just exhale my super-heated vapor on the leftover circuit boards and wires and other mangled stuff and poof! No more computer scraps!”

“You are such a dinosaur!” I shouted angrily. “Don’t you know how incinerating e-waste destroys the environment? It’s one of the most destructive, deadly things you can do!”

There was a long silence at the other end. For a moment, I could barely hear him breathing nuclear fire into the phone.

“For the first time in my life, I’m fitting in with others,” he replied defensively, relying on the same tone of voice I’d heard him use to deflect incoming missiles while he stood on top of a bus station and gobbled a few passengers. “I don’t have to tear the roof off of buildings to meet new people any more. I don’t have to pop the top off a locomotive and cram the passenger cars in my teeth to get attention. I’m living in this sweet little village on the bank of a picturesque river. Or it would be scenic if it wasn’t for all the mountains of old computers lying around. And hardly anyone seems to be afraid of me.”

“That’s probably because they’re more afraid of the toxins in the equipment they’re disassembling by hand every day,” I replied pointedly. “I imagine those primitive smelting operations where workers stir a fire-pit to extract small amounts of gold could be terribly more important than a hundred-foot monster with a spiky, thirty-foot tail.”

“I don’t think most of the people working there are aware there’s anything bad about this stuff. And it doesn’t bother me – I’ve got thick scaly skin. Plus, I’m radioactive already, thanks to all of those atomic bombs. What’s in these old computers that’s so bad?

I sighed heavily. “Well, computers are full of toxic substances that poison the men, women and children who are paid starving wages to extract the metals. And when you incinerate the heavy metals found in electronics – the lead and cadmium and mercury - you’re poisoning the air, not to mention the toxic dioxins and furans released from burning plastic and chemicals. Toxins in the rest of the scraps leach into the water supply or contaminate the soil when they are dumped in landfills.”

“Hunh,” Godzilla said. “What baffles me more than how that stupid turtle Gamara can fly is where it all comes from.”

“Where’s it all come from?” I said, surprised that he didn’t already suspect the dubious origins of e-waste. So I told him

“A lot of the electronics collected in the United States for recycling are actually shipped to China, India, Nigeria and other countries in Asia and Africa where environmental safety standards are weak or don’t exist or are easily bypassed by unscrupulous recyclers. And protections for the poorly paid workers simply don’t exist.”

“I made a little hat out of an old water tower to keep the ashes out of my dorsal plates, but I have noticed that there is a definite lack of protective gear around here,” Godzilla said. “Heck, even when I was stomping around Tokyo, I knew to put some boots on my big feet sometimes to keep from squishing cars and debris between my toenails.”

Thinking of all the holes in the infrastructure Godzilla had left in his wake whenever he went on one of his destructive binges, I wondered aloud about the big monster’s carbon footprint.

“As happy as you sound in your new profession, I think you need to find another job that’s a little more environmentally friendly,” I suggested. “I worry about you, GZ. And I fear for the environment.”

“I guess you’re right,” Godzilla lamented. “But I suppose I do have a head start on doing what’s right for the global environment.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

I could almost picture him looking down at his bumpy, moss-colored belly scales. “I’m already pretty green.”