But Henderson, now a commissioner for Calhoun County (population: 111,000), where the depot is based, has become so disenchanted with the Army’s handling of the incineration project that he’s turned into a vocal critic. Incineration, it turns out, raises troubling health and environmental issues and–against the backdrop of a looming war with Iraq over its alleged stockpiling of chemical weapons–Anniston offers a portrait of the United States’ own worrisome handling of such weapons. Opposition has steadily mounted against the incinerator, scheduled to fire up early next year. Activist organizations like the Chemical Weapons Working Group–which filed a joint lawsuit two weeks ago to block the start-up–and federal and state politicians have assailed the disposal program’s mismanagement, which, they argue, is needlessly endangering lives. Henderson’s motto–formerly “Build it, burn it, forget it”–has now changed: “They’ve built it, are trying to burn it and forgot about us.”
Virtually everyone agrees that the stockpile needs to be destroyed. (Under a global treaty signed by the United States, all chemical weapons must be eliminated by 2007.) The contentious question is: how? So far, one quarter of the nation’s stockpile has been destroyed in Utah and Johnston Atoll in the Pacific–all by incineration. But opponents of incineration technology point to 18 documented releases of chemical agent into the environment at these sites, 15 of which the Army confirms (none has resulted in known lasting harm to humans). Further, at the Anniston facility, the Army is planning to use a controversial incineration method called “chop and drop”–burning chemical agents together with other rocket components rather than separating them–at a rate never before undertaken and that the furnaces weren’t designed for, opponents claim. All of which leads some groups to call for alternative technologies that they consider more manageable. (Four of the country’s nine stockpile sites have opted for such alternatives.)
The Army considers these arguments overwrought. Smokestack emissions are “cleaner than a pack of cigarettes,” says Mike Abrams, spokesman for the Anniston incinerator. It’s far riskier, he contends, to allow the weapons to continue to deteriorate in storage. As for chop and drop, he says, the furnace to be used has proven “robust enough” to handle such a task.
The Army says it’s ready to begin operating safely as soon as it clears regulatory hurdles. But county officials insist that no burning commences until a host of protective measures–like distributing Israeli-style protective hoods and “overpressurizing” schools and other facilities to keep chemical agents out–are in place. They complain that the federal government has delayed so long in providing funding that they may need as many as two more years. Alabama politicians like Sen. Richard Shelby have backed their demands. In the meantime, Commissioner Henderson and his constituents can only pray that if the incinerator fires up, it proves to be as safe as the Army has promised.
