25 years later, toxic sludge torments bhopal
100 of tons of waste still languish inside a tin-roofed warehouse in a corner of the old land of the Union Carbide pesticide mill here, about a quarter-century after a poisonous substance gas leak killed thousands and turned this ancient city into a notorious symbol of industrial catastrophe. The toxic remains have yet to be carted away. No one has examined to what extent, over more than two decennary, they have seeped into the soil and water, except in desultory checks by a state environmental agency, which turned up pesticide residues in the vicinity wells far exceeding permissible degree. Nor has anyone bothered to computer address the concerns of those who have drunk that water and tended kitchen gardens on this soil and who now nowadays ailments from cleft palates to mental retardation among their kid as grounds of a sec generation of Bhopal victims, although it is impossible to say with any certainty what is the beginning of the afflictions. Why it has taken so long to deal with the catastrophe is an epic tale of the ineffectualness and seeming apathy of India's bureaucratism and of the authorities's failure to make the mill owners do anything about the mess they left. But the inquiry of who will pay for the killing of the 11-acre site has assumed new urgency in a state that today is progressively keen to attract foreign investing. It was here that on Dec. 3, 1984, a tank interior the mill released 40 tons of methyl group isocyanate gas, violent death those who inhaled it while they slept. At the time, it was called the world's worst industrial accident. At least 3,000 people were killed immediately. One thousand more may have died later from the aftereffects, though the exact death toll remains unclear. More than 500,000 people were declared to be affected by the gas and awarded compensation, an average of $550. Some victims say they have yet to receive any money. Efforts to extradite Warren Anderson, the chief executive of Union Carbide at the time, from the United States continue, though apparently with little energy behind them. Advocates for those who live near the site continue to hound the company and their government. They chain themselves to the prime minister's residence one day and dog shareholder meetings on another, refusing to let Bhopal become the tragedy that India forgot. They insist that Dow Chemical Company, which bought Union Carbide in 2001, also bought its liabilities and should pay for the cleanup. "Had the toxic waste been cleaned up, the contaminated groundwater would not have happened," says Mira Shiva, a doctor who heads the Voluntary Health Association, one of many groups pressing for Dow to take responsibility for the cleanup. "Dow was the first crime. The second crime was government negligence." Dow, based in Michigan, says it bears no responsibility to clean up a mess it did not make. "As there was never any ownership, there is no responsibility and no liability — for the Bhopal tragedy or its aftermath," Scot Wheeler, a company spokesman, said in an e-mail message. Wheeler pointed out that the former factory property, along with the waste it contained, had been turned over to the Madhya Pradesh State government in June 1998, and that "for whatever reason most of us do not know or fully understand, the site remains unremediated." He went on to say that Dow could not finance remediation efforts, even if it wanted to, because it could potentially open up the company to potential further liabilities. In a letter to the Indian ambassador to the United States in 2006, the Dow chairman, Andrew Liveris, sought assurance from the government that it would not be held liable for the mess on the old factory site, "in your efforts to ensure that we have the appropriate investment climate." The claims have divided the government itself. It is now in the throes of a debate over who will pay — a debate that might have taken place behind closed doors were it not for a series of public information requests by advocates for Bhopal residents that turned up revealing government correspondence. It showed that one arm of the government, the Chemicals and Petrochemicals Ministry, entrusted with the cleanup of the site, has wanted Dow to put down a $25 million deposit toward the cost of remediation, while other senior officials warned that forcing Dow's hand could endanger future investments in the country. A senior government official, prohibited from speaking publicly on such a contentious issue, described the quandary. "Do you want $1 billion in investment, or do you want this sticky situation to continue?" the official said, calling it a "stalemate."
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