Businesses 'Go Green' and get Positive Press

By Daniel Gross

Newsweek

Sept. 24, 2007 issue - Westport Wash & Wax proudly bills itself as the only solar-powered carwash in the state of Connecticut. The proprietors, brothers Craig and Scott Tiefenthaler, have just covered the roof of their business with 18 panels. The total cost: $21,000, with the state's taxpayers footing 60 percent of the bill.

This sort of behavior drives economists and global-warming skeptics to distraction. Even with the massive government subsidy, it'll take seven years for the owners to recoup their investment. And on sunny days, the panels provide only enough juice to run the shop's refrigerators and lights. "To run my main motors, I'd need a city block of solar panels," says Craig.

At first blush, the carwash has all the hallmarks of a greenwash: a feel-good gesture that detracts attention from painful efforts that could really influence energy use. People who are serious about using less energy could skip the carwash altogether and bathe their vehicles with a hose and cold water. And if they're truly freaked out about global warming, perhaps they should drive their Porsche Cayenne SUVs less frequently.

But the Tiefenthalers, who have no advertising budget, have clearly made an economically rational choice. Within two weeks of installing the panels in August, the carwash was featured in the two local newspapers, a Web site covering Westport and the cable-news channel that covers Fairfield County. The New York Times has called, too. "We regard it as an effective form of advertising because of the image we're trying to maintain and create," Craig says.

For companies large and small, going green is now a surefire way to cut through the clutter. A recent issue of the New York Times travel section included a brief article—complete with Web address—describing in loving detail the features of the Proximity Hotel, a green inn in Greensboro, N.C. Some hot hotels feature roofs with happening pool scenes. The Proximity's roof features solar panels and a vegetable garden.

The Wall Street Journal recently profiled Citigroup's efforts to save $100 million on energy costs. Among the measures: turning off escalators and a failed effort to crank up the heat in a Tampa office from 72 to 78. (It failed because sweltering employees revolted.) Citigroup is going through one of its periodic dark nights of the soul. The giant bank is on the hook for billions of loans to private-equity deals, and its stock sits at April 2000 levels. Were Citigroup to trumpet loudly its efforts to improve the bottom line by jacking up ATM fees, it would be pilloried. But when an unloved Fortune 500 company turns the office into a sweatbox, it is hailed as a planetary savior.

In the current Zeitgeist, green companies that do what they're supposed to do—save money, raise profits—can earn valuable free air time that doubles as an objective third-party endorsement. And for an embattled company, going green is the ultimate conversation changer. Wal-Mart, the poster child for low wages, skimpy benefits and unfashionable merchandise, has been lauded for its no-brainer efforts to increase the mileage of its mammoth truck fleet and its decision to offer more organic foods. Google, whose CEOs fly around the world in their own Boeing 767, is reaping a huge propaganda jolt from the 1.6-megawatt solar installation recently activated at its headquarters. (Double bonus: Google uses the system to charge plug-in hybrid cars!) In July, McDonald's earned a supersize portion of positive press when its U.K. unit announced it would convert 155 delivery trucks to run on biodiesel made from McNasty leftover french-fry grease.

The media love these stories, in part because advertisers—who are increasingly building their brand images by associating themselves with alternative energy—love the content. As a result, many companies might be better off dispensing with high-concept advertising altogether. (I don't get about half those Geico caveman ads anyway.) Forget about the focus groups and the Gucci-wearing ad hipsters. Buy a few solar panels, offset some carbon and crank out some press releases—on recycled paper, naturally. Let word slip that your CEO lunches on organic salads, and has started eating with his hands rather than using wasteful plastic utensils and paper plates. And if something really bad happens, like an accounting scandal, roll out the big guns: go carbon-neutral.

Patriotism used to be the last refuge of scoundrels. Now that refuge might be environmentalism. Imagine how much better off Britney Spears would be if she had shown up at the MTV Music Video Awards in a Prius, performed in a bustier laden with light-emitting diodes and concluded by suggestively planting a tree to offset the emissions created during her disastrous show.

- 2007 Newsweek, Inc.

The Long March

China's terra-cotta warriors invade London.

By Ginanne Brownell

Newsweek International

Sept. 24, 2007 issue - It's no easy feat to move an army. Getting the armored transport, resources, munitions and soldiers ready for invasion is a spectacular achievement of logistics, effort and manpower. But the incursion last week of a Chinese army into London was especially heroic: the troops and all their kit are 2,200 years old and made of terra cotta. On loan to the British Museum from China, the 20 figures and their horses, chariots, bows, bowls and bells, which have protected the tomb of the first Qin emperor since his death in 210 B.C., began their journey in Shaanxi province. After museum officials signed documents and got the proper insurance—each figure is estimated to be worth £750,000 to £1.5 million—the soldiers were packed securely into crates at the beginning of August. Transported by truck from Xian to Beijing, the ancient warriors flew on four different planes to Amsterdam and then were driven to London. Though the horses barely fit through the doors of the Reading Room, all the priceless objects arrived intact.

The idea for "The First Emperor: China's Terracotta Army" (through April 6) arose two years ago when the then Prime Minister Tony Blair went to China in part to improve cultural ties between the two nations. British Museum curator Jane Portal, who accompanied Blair, had studied in Xian when she was an archeology student in the 1970s, and used many of her connections there to help the museum get permission for the 120 objects on loan.

The exhibition explores the life and reign of Emperor Qin Shi Huang Di, as well as the excavation of the warriors. It features the largest number of terra-cotta figures ever loaned by China at once—including two kneeling archers, two generals and one charioteer—and allows visitors the unusual experience of standing face to face with the warriors. At the excavated site in Xian, visitors look down on a pit holding 7,000 amassed warriors. "It's a much different experience than you get in China," Portal says. "Here you can walk among them and really see things like the incredible detail that went into making figures like the cavalry horse."

The terra-cotta army was discovered in 1974 when local farmers digging a well struck baked clay instead of water. The 56-square-kilometer site, which holds 600 pits, is still being excavated; some of the most recent findings, including birds and terra-cotta musicians, are on display in the London show. Experts predict digging at the site will continue for several more decades. Qin's burial mound, rumored to be heavily booby-trapped, has yet to be exhumed; officials say they do not have the resources for such a huge endeavor.

But from what they've found so far, it's clear that Qin was not your average emperor. Born in 260 B.C., he was a great martial strategist who unified all the Chinese states into one empire; it's believed that the Western name "China" derived from Qin (pronounced "chin"). He built roads, palaces and sculptures, and oversaw the development of a unified script, code of law and system of weights and measurements. After surviving several attempts on his life, the first emperor became obsessed with living forever. He tried to achieve immortality by taking pills and potions containing large amounts of mercury, which most likely killed him.

Preparations for Qin's tomb were begun well before he died. More than 750,000 workers helped sculpt the clay warriors that would protect him in the afterlife. One of the most interesting items in the exhibition is a long model that shows how the terra-cotta figures were constructed. Clay body parts were fired, then assembled, before the fine details were added. Examples of such torso and leg fragments are on display, along with intricate items like measuring cups, seals and weights with Chinese script.

The highlight, of course, is the soldiers. The slight but obvious scent of terra cotta permeates the room where they stand. The generals who greet visitors are dressed in different regimental detail; a replica of the kneeling archer painted in reds, browns and blues demonstrates how colorful and striking the warriors once appeared—and how long and far they've come. Their battle may be over, but their journey goes on.

- 2007 Newsweek, Inc.

The Muck is Coming

Something is out of whack in China's lakes and rivers. Algae blooms are making fresh water undrinkable.

Liu Jin / Getty Images

Dances with Algae: Like many of China’s lakes, Taihu is overwhelmed with muck

Sept. 24, 2007 issue - Zhang Zhengxiang jabs his finger angrily over the water, which shimmers a bright, fluorescent green. That's the color of the toxic algae that now clogs large swaths of the high-altitude, freshwater Lake Dianchi for most of the year. The water may be pretty from a distance, but it's a sign that the lake is profoundly sick. Before the early 1980s, says Zhang, this was a swimming area, and shrimp from the lake were a prized delicacy at high-end restaurants in Shanghai, Beijing and elsewhere. Now the lake's shrimp are inedible, and the toxins in the algae make swimming a decidedly unpleasant experience. Zhang yanks up his trouser leg to show the rash left on his ankles from a recent wade into the once pristine waters. "If you go in, your skin will turn red immediately," says a disgusted Zhang.

China's breakneck economic development has resulted in the world's fastest-growing toxic-algae problem. On the coasts, monster blooms of algae—the "red tides"—have already made many areas a misery of muck, devastating fisheries and tourism. However, toxic blooms on China's freshwater lakes and reservoirs are even more worrisome, since they can have an impact on critical tap-water supplies. This summer the worst-ever such blooms were a media focus in China, as one lake and reservoir after another fell victim to poisonous goop. In May a blue-green algae bloom on Lake Tai caused mass panic when it contaminated the water supply of 2 million residents of the city of Wuxi, in Jiangsu province. Huge blooms were also reported on Lake Chao, further inland. And in late July, 100,000 residents in the northeast city of Changchun went waterless when a toxic bloom appeared on a key reservoir.

Rogue algae are just one symptom of the environmental price China is paying for its roaring economy. Rapid growth has meant a surge in nitrogen and phosphorus pumped into the nation's waterways, which has fed both ocean and freshwater blooms. China and other developing countries are increasingly dependent on freshwater lakes and reservoirs to supply drinking water to swelling populations. Toxic algae can render water undrinkable, cause lung and liver problems and turn shellfish into a deadly dish for humans.

Of course, most algae are harmless. In fact, they produce much of the oxygen necessary for animal life on earth, absorb carbon dioxide, decompose into critical fossil fuels and are the base of marine food chains. Some algae are naturally toxic to humans and other animals, possibly to ward off predators, scientists speculate. Pollution has fattened the algal blooms to unprecedented proportions. Whereas red algae of the ocean feast on nitrogen, the blue-green algae that inhabit fresh water munch on phosphorus—plentiful in fertilizer runoff from farms, factory waste and untreated sewage. Both types of algae can also feed on nutrients from the atmosphere—in acid rain, for example. The link between pollution and algae was speculative until the early 1990s, when the former Soviet Union halted farming subsidies to the Black Sea area. Algae blooms declined dramatically.

The ground zero of China's toxic-algae problem is Lake Dianchi, in the southwestern Yunnan province. The situation is so bad that the nearby city of Kunming is now forced to gets its drinking water from upstream reservoirs instead of the lake. For at least five years running, Dianchi's water has rated 5 or more on a key water-quality index, meaning it's completely useless. One reason: officials can't divert river water into Lake Dianchi to help flush out toxic algae blooms, as they can with lakes further downstream in the Yangtze River system. That's because it's too high—nearly two kilometers above sea level—and fed by small mountain springs, or rivers that are themselves polluted. Nitrogen and phosphorus pour in from all sides and accumulate, turning the lake into the equivalent of a 200-square-kilometer clogged toilet bowl.Such pollution isn't the only cause of monster blooms. In the Baltic Sea, the overfishing of cod has thrown the food chain out of whack in a way that leaves algae—including the toxic kind—the big winner. Fewer cod has meant more herring and fewer tiny critters called copepods, which are algae's natural predator. Add plentiful nutrients from decades of fertilizer use and untreated runoff from countries surrounding the sea, and the result is goop gone wild: the largest-ever algae blooms were recorded in July 2005 and July 2006, covering almost 150,000 square kilometers. (This year wasn't as bad due to heavy rains.)

Color China Photo-AP Murky Waters: A fast-spreading algae in China's Lake Tai is contaminating drinking water for millions

The only real solution to China's freshwater algae problem is to curb the amount of phosphorus-rich pollutants that enter the water. That won't be easy. At Lake Dianchi, $660 million has been spent on reducing industrial pollutants, building sewage-treatment plants, intercepting polluted water and banning detergents containing phosphorus. But the situation remains dire. One reason, say environmentalists, is that the government hasn't been willing to crack down on fertilizer use. By one estimate, 40 percent of pollutants that pour into the lake come from agricultural runoff that continues unabated. The farms on the lake's eastern shore produce massive crops of roses and other popular flowers for markets in Asia and beyond. Farmers douse fields with fertilizer to increase yield. One elderly couple wrapping bundles of flowers at a lakeside farm told NEWSWEEK that lake water was pumped up the banks to irrigate the flower fields, and then drained—untreated—back into the lake. Bright green algae floated in the drainage ditches dug between fields lined with plastic hutches. Such farms provide livelihoods and critical growth for the local economy—even as they dump noxious chemicals into the nearby lake. "We've been using too much fertilizer in agriculture," says Liu Hongliang, a retired environmental-engineering expert. "[Lake algae] will become more and more serious in the coming years."

Stopping the flow of new pollutants into waterways doesn't clean up the accumulated gunk of decades that's already fouled many lakes and coastal areas. Experts say removing such existing nutrients from lakes is possible but exorbitant—and removing them from coastal waters may be impossible. "How do you empty huge ecosystems of nutrients? There's no easy answer to what can be done," says Henrik Enevoldsen, coordinator at the IOC Science and Communication Center on Harmful Algae in Copenhagen. Humans are turning critical waters to goop through unchecked economic activity. Unless that's curbed, more and more will suffer the toxic fate of China's Lake Dianchi.

With Wang Zhenru in Beijing

- Newsweek