Microplastics: “White Blanket Debris” And More? | Natallia Valadzko

Natallia Valadzko

These are the opening lines of Evelyn Reilly’s poetry collection Styrofoam published by Roof Books in 2009. It is a mesmerizing case of ecopoetics that explores the multitude of plastic polymers and the environmental dangers they pose. Reilly draws parallels between artists and scientists, especially with respect to how plasticity – of materials or the human brain – has been greatly celebrated. While neuroplasticity may stand for many forms of creativity, the plasticity of thermoplastics has made a ton of life-changing applications possible in distinct areas of life. The more evidence – first-hand and scientific – comes to light, the more we acknowledge the detrimental environmental effects of “our infinite plasticity prosperity plentitude” (to use Reilly’s words).

But what about us as subjects? Styrofoam additionally expresses the wariness that extends to the artistic and intellectual traditions that may have been cultivating environmentally destructive orientations. The poet uses a mode of collage and citations that range from Ezra Pound and Herman Melville to articles from Wikipedia and the Food and Chemical Toxicology journal to reflect on the relationship between humans and nature, or matter in general.

Nowadays, we see consumers and manufacturers attempt to cut down on single-use plastics and find sustainable alternatives, and yet the question Reilly asks in the beginning could not be more relevant, especially if more answers sound like this:

Indeed, the notorious disproportionate time of use and decomposition of plastics may seem tragically ridiculous. Plastic packaging may prove useful for mere hours and then be destined for deathlessness by ending up in a landfill— a “mummifier of waste”.

The mention of being outside “a meaningful timeframe” can make one think of the concept of hyperobjects. It is roughly defined as objects or events which exist in such temporal and spatial distribution that they evade human conception. That is why an important aspect of hyperobjects is that they are bound to outlive current biological and social forms (think: us!). Morton, who coined the term, gives examples of global warming, Styrofoam, and radioactive plutonium. You really need a distorted sense of time in order to wrap your mind around the life and (non-)death of thermoplastics, which, on top of that, are scattered all around the world in vast quantities. The unfathomable reality of plastics, radioactive materials or climate change may be hard to grasp as it keeps eluding us; the fact of the matter remains that it is the reality that has been affecting our biosphere, down to the cellular makeup of living beings.

Although plastic islands in the ocean are a serious and undoubtedly horrifying problem, they are visible to the naked eye. What about the things we cannot see? Shouldn’t we be even more terrified when the basis for concern bypasses perception but would not stop the consequences? What I mean is… microplastics. As the name suggests, they are tiny plastic particles, which come in different shapes and sizes, and are mostly indiscernible to the human eye (officially, less than five millimeters in diameter). Where do they come from? Primary microplastics are particles designed for commercial use, for example, cosmetics and microfibers shed from clothing. Secondary microplastics are a result of the breakdown of larger plastic items, such as water bottles. As per an estimation made by oceanographers in 2015, there were between 15 and 51 trillion microplastic particles floating in surface waters globally. Interestingly enough, littering or irresponsible waste disposal is not the only one to blame for such terrifying numbers. Storms, water runoff, and winds can carry both plastic objects and microplastics into the oceans and local bodies of water. Or another reminder that nothing “really” stays the same: plastic specks shear off from car tires on roads and synthetic microfibers shed from clothing when machine-washed. In short, in recent decades researchers have discovered microplastics everywhere: deep underwater, in Arctic snow and Antarctic ice, in marine animals, drinking water and even cells; floating in the air or falling with rain over cities. This ubiquity of microplastics means we might be inhaling or eating plastic at any time from any source.

Everyone breathes in and ingests a bit of dust and sand, and we are not certain if adding some plastic specks will harm us. This uncertainty has fueled an already quite extensive body of research into the several ‘hows’ in connection to microplastics. For instance, scientists are interested in “how much”. In other words, working together with regulatory institutions, they want to quantify the danger to human health by, for example, measuring microplastic concentrations in drinking water. Another ‘how’ is aimed at uncovering the effects of microplastics on animals and humans. How do specks of plastic affect us once inside? Here are just a few tentative suggestions because more research needs to be conducted. As there exist nanoplastics so tiny that they can end up in cells and tissues, it is likely that they may cause irritation or lung tissue inflammation leading to cancer. Similar to the mechanics and consequences of air pollution, these specks may build up in airways and lungs, which is linked to the damage of respiratory systems. In addition, as seen in marine animals, serious but not immediately evident harm can be done by swallowing plastic with no nutritional value resulting in animals not eating enough. One study concluded that turtle hatchlings, only a few weeks old, did not die directly ‘because of’ ingesting microplastics but because of the insufficient speed of growth. Moreover, zooplankton is said to grow more slowly and reproduce less in the presence of microplastics. This, in turn, can travel up the food chain and affect other animal populations, posing dire threats to biodiversity and even feeding the world’s population.

One final point is devoted to the challenges of such research. In marine studies, for instance, labs have used microplastics of sizes and shapes that are different from the aquatic environment. There has been an over-reliance on sphere-shaped polystyrene at higher concentrations, while the more accurate sample would also include fibres and fragments; not to mention the ever-soelusive nanoplastics. This brings us to yet another obstacle: looking at particles larger than 700 µm already requires tremendous effort, then what can be said about analyzing an even smaller range? And finally, as most studies are in vitro studies, it is still unclear how to extrapolate the impact of microplastics on tissues to potential health issues in whole animal organisms.

In the end, let’s hark back to the quote in the title: “white blanket debris”. Reilly mentioned that the collection is haunted by Coleridge’s “the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner” and “The Whiteness of the Whale” from Moby Dick. The echoes of death, whiteness, and the sublime abound across all the poems. The death of an albatross is complemented by the mention of the killing of a humpback whale by a cruise ship. Additionally, if for Melville’s contemporaries whiteness was so disturbing and eerie that it “struck panic to the soul”, then one could only imagine the horror of being amidst “the white blanket debris” of plastic islands.

Yet, these allusions do not extend the traditions by which they were inspired; instead, there is caution around Romantic and Transcendentalist ways of thinking. With ecopoetics she hopes to find the language to break free of “the mesmerizing spell of the transcendent”. Her anti-sublime stance is about moving past the deified nature and the attempts to separate from this world, go further or higher. Even space debris (or “the extra-terrain garbage” in one of the poems) floating in space is the result of a human’s desire to escape earthly existence. In contrast, ecopoetics or simply environmentally conscious thinking would stay attached to the earth and focus on the (inter-)connections between species and their surroundings. So, to reiterate, both scientists and artists deal with manipulation of matter: modeling and remodeling thermoplastics, on the one hand, and assembling and reassembling the components of certain world order, on the other. It means that we have to not only find more sustainable solutions to current environmental crises but also rethink our fascination with cheap but deathless plasticity of chemical production, fast fashion and a cornucopian view that technology (and not protection and regulation) would “solve” all environmental problems. One of the responses to the current ecological events has been named eco-anxiety or even eco-grief; and perhaps fighting that kind of despair is becoming harder and harder with each devastating headline. In Styrofoam there is also a certain degree of elegiac grief but, most importantly, there is a call to bear unwavering witness. By witnessing all the harm to the environment, we do not turn away from the clash of the “white blanket debris” and the endangered polar bears. We bear witness. We keep looking and looking at ecosystems being altered right in front of our eyes, look for (micro)plastics and their repercussions, look after what is right here, on earth, globally and locally.