By SUSAN WARREN
Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL
The company behind the horrific 1984 chemical spill in Bhopal, India, lost
its independence last week when Dow Chemical Co. completed its $7.39
billion purchase of Union Carbide Corp. But the legacy of Bhopal
continues to reverberate in the U.S.
The chemical leak that killed more than 3,000 and injured tens of
thousands more spurred a revolution in approaches to safety, pollution
and community relations that have made chemicals plants in the U.S.
more accessible and more accountable to their neighbors. New laws
forced plants to disclose safety and pollution data. And an army of
community activists won new powers.
Almost immediately after the catastrophe, the communities around
chemical plants began to scrutinize them with fear and suspicion, while
chemicals companies began to reassess their business. "Almost every
company took a step back and reviewed our whole situation to make
sure we were doing everything we could" to ensure plants were safe,
said Charles Van Black, vice president of the American Chemistry
Council.
Even now, Bhopal "has an indelible impact on everything we do," says
Mr. Van Black. "We can't undo it. But we learned immensely from it."
For all the industry's progress, the business of
making chemicals remains a dangerous one. Out
of 14,500 facilities filing government-required
risk-management plans, 1,145 reported 1,913
accidents between June 1994 and 1999. Those
accidents killed 33 workers, injured nearly 1,900 and sent 217 people
outside the plants to the hospital.
Companies say they learned their lessons, however. After Bhopal, Dow,
for instance, went into each of its plants and facilities to evaluate ways
to make equipment and processes safer. After indexing the toxic effects
and explosive potential of each chemical, the company changed the way
it handled some, such as using pipelines to transport some dangerous
chemicals instead of railcars.
At Bhopal, the large amount of chemicals stored at the plant
contributed to the magnitude of the disaster. In its own review, Dow
sought ways to reduce inventories so that chemicals are made only
when they are needed. Since the 1980s, Dow has cut in half the amount
of deadly chlorine it stores at its Freeport, Texas, facility, even as
production has increased.
Computer automation also has helped. Instead of standing next to a
giant chemical furnace to ignite explosive fuel, Dow workers now click
a
button in a control room behind blast-proof doors. Recently when
supply problems threatened to cut off Dow's supply of nitrogen,
potentially forcing dangerous unplanned shutdowns, a NASA-like control
center orchestrated a careful production slowdown that cut usage
enough to keep all the plants running.
The industry also pledged more
openness with community and
government groups, though making the
change has been challenging.
Lyondell Chemical Co. found its match
in 1997 when LaNell Anderson, a
56-year-old real-estate agent irate
about pollution, stormed into a
community meeting and demanded that
the Houston chemical company allow
local residents to review its
manufacturing operations.
Lyondell was reluctant at first, afraid
that its openness could backfire with
lawsuits or increased opposition. But
Ms. Anderson, whose sweet smile and
pungent manner earned her the
nickname, "the garlic milkshake,"
persisted, and Lyondell finally agreed.
For three years, community members
met monthly with Lyondell and its
joint-venture chemical company,
Equistar, for hours at a stretch and
occasionally spent all day touring the
plants searching for ways to reduce
emissions. Progress was slow, and
tempers flared. Ms. Anderson, who has
been known to pull over next to
chemical plants to take air samples,
accused the company of stalling. The
company wondered if it was really being
heard. "I had some internal doubts as
to whether the community would have the patience and stamina to stick
to it," says Danny Flack, a Lyondell environmental engineer who steered
the community team through reams of complex information.
On one tour of a plant command station, the group zeroed in on a bank
of computers monitoring the production of benzene, a chemical known
as a carcinogen and one of the area's nastiest air-pollution offenders.
Ms. Anderson was especially curious about one unit that was producing
fewer emissions than another. On another tour, the group grew
concerned about a strong stench coming from a styrene plant, which
signaled a leak.
Over the following months, the team demanded information and
interviews with an assortment of Lyondell workers, from engineers to
plant operators. "We peppered them with questions like Perry Mason,"
recalls Ms. Anderson.
Eventually, the community group scratched the styrene fumes off its
to-do list, deciding there were better places the company's money could
be spent, such as reducing emissions of known carcinogens.
To plant manager Jim Bayer, that was a sign that the group grasped
the kind of tough decisions chemical-plant managers have to make.
In the end, the community gained a greater appreciation for the
complexity and challenges inside a chemical plant, says Ms. Anderson.
And, she adds, "we challenged them to think outside the box."
Still, even with the changes, many worry the industry will grow
complacent again. "Business, as you know, is a very competitive place,"
says Irv Rosenthal, a director of the Chemical Safety and Hazard
Investigation Board, created by Congress after Bhopal to review
industry safety. "There is a tendency, as with a new car, to drive it
faster because it's got new brakes and the roads are better."
Write to Susan Warren at susan.warren@wsj.com