Another Roxana Is Possible

When asked about the refinery, a lot of people respond similarly: it provides for our community, but simultaneously, it pollutes our community.  Some describe it as a love/hate relationship for the refinery.  I find myself in a similar place--I wouldn't want to chase away jobs or lose a major (if not the only) moneymaker in the area but I must ask, are those our only options?  It's either no refinery and clean air or refinery and dirty air (and all the things that go along with both)?  Or do you think there is another solution? Perhaps there is another way possible for things to work out.  

I think it is this false dichotomy that keeps everyone chugging along with the status quo which continues to cause major health issues for some residents and even students!  I can't help but compare it to some sort of pagan sacrifice.  How many people will have to suffer for it to no longer be worth all of the supposed economic support the community is gaining from the refinery? 


There has to be an alternative but we will only begin to take steps towards such a thing if we step away from our apathy and our assumed powerlessness. We have the power to create.  We have the ability to change our community--to change the future--and we need to because we know better.  We are lacking in only one thing, and that is creativity. Fortunately for us we have an entire high school of young minds involved in the issue.  Perhaps our most valuable resource in Roxana, Illinois, is the youth attending Roxana High School, not the refinery.  And, instead of readily turning our heads as another young life is affected by the refinery, we should empower the young people in our lives to work towards another way of living.

Field Trip

Today my partner and I were driving around the refinery.  As we were making our way around, we stumbled upon the Refinery Museum.  It just so happened that we made it on one of the 2 days it's open, so of course we went inside.

The men and women who work at the museum were most pleasant.  They were very kind and seemed somewhat surprised to have visitors.  First thing when we entered the building, they invited us to watch a short film on the history of the refinery.  With much pleasure we found a seat on one of the wooden pews in the viewing room.  The film was a series of photos along with a narration of the history of the plant's past 95 years.  The film's content is much of what you would expect: happy faces and a story of hard working Americans who, through good times and bad, kept their heads up and fueled God's blessed country.  I was hoping to see more photos of the high school, or high school students in the film, which seemed to be shot in the late 80's or early 90's.  Unfortunately I only caught one glimpse of a high school student out by the Roxana track (with an awesome perm).

After the video we took a self-guided tour of the museum which consisted of one larger room divided up into kiosks of information and memorabilia.  Nothing much caught my eye, gas cans and old uniforms, newspaper articles and other like propaganda.  I ran across some sexist safety cartoons but unfortunately that wasn't very surprising.  As we were finishing up, I realized I did not come across much of anything to do with the high school, that is, Roxana Community High School, Home of the Shells, sometimes called Shell Country.  There was a small pamphlet in one of the cases that said "Partners in Education" and a few black and white pictures of what I assume to be Homecoming but both lacked description or even mention in the kiosks.  I was wondering if I had just overlooked so I asked the people who worked there.  I asked if they had any information on the high school, when it was built and the refineries involvement.  My question was returned with a moment of silence, a few glances at each other, and then they told me they didn't know.

As we drove away from the refinery my head started to hurt.  For one reason, the smell was so potent near the museum it nearly made you choke and for another, I was dumbstruck that the refinery museum didn't have anything to say about the high school.  It was as if the refinery didn't even know it existed.  I just had such a hard time understanding how there could be such disconnection between the country of people they boast about leading towards progress and the real life community of human beings that live on the other side of the tank farm.

I think about how big the refinery is to the students and alumni of Roxana High School and how we barely made it into it's scrapbook.  The refinery made an appearance in most of my cheerleading photos, it showed up to all of our pep assemblies and it even came to my graduation.  It literally dictated the path I took to school, the quality of it's resources and the general quality of life for all of the area's residence.  I left the museum feeling like I was part of an abusive dating relationship.  I depended on the refinery for everything, I depended on it to keep me healthy and safe, for it to know better, but mostly for it's consideration.  Unfortunately, as the museum seems to show, the refinery had other things on it's mind.

The refinery is a part of our community whether or not it chooses to engage in such an intimate matter.  It has, in fact, fueled our economy, but that doesn't give it leave to disregard the health and well-being of its next-door neighbors.  Maybe in 1917 having a school next to the refinery for its workers' families seemed like a good idea, but it's been 95 years, and with no mention of the high school in the museum, it seems like someone is trying to avoid a conversation and it feels like a slap in the face.

Paresthesia

I have been living back in my hometown for about 5 months now.  It has been an interesting transition.  When I first moved back, I thought I was going to ignite some fire within myself and my neighbors.  I hoped everyone's eyes would raise to the bright glowing flame in the sky, we would all shout in unison  "NO MORE OIL!"  But I more or less started to wander as I went looking for kindling-sticks and found myself back into the bonds of my gasoline-filled car.

With over 2,200 acres of property, the refinery touches the fence lines of four different communities.

I do not have an easy solution for my problem or for the larger problem that involves the beloved earth under the refinery tanks, the river nearby or the animals that use to hip-hop around where the smoke now rises.  I use to be able to pass by such a scene and say to myself, "it is sad, but there is a plan of redemption, I am sure."  I would drive by the refinery that is building up, taking over the fields of our genetically engineered corn and soy beans, pushing it's way nearly on top of the grocery store which is conveniently close to the new highway (easy for the trucks) and I'd think, "oh, there must be hope, let's just look the other way." But, now I look the other way and there is a street named after a lawyer that is now in prison, 2 new credit union buildings and 2 new car dealerships.  I sadly whisper with great assurance, "we are fucked."

I use to breath easy when I would get to this point but now the air is getting a little thicker.  I use to think there was a plan but I just didn't get the memo (still a plan, nonetheless).  Now I am beginning to think that there is no plan, the supposed memo was just something we told ourselves so we could sleep at night.  There is real danger and no one is doing anything about it.  The plants are dying, people are dying, and no amount of money is going to undo the death that is happening all around us.

(Although it may help with medical bills) Alton Telegraph: Man Sues Refinery

And now for my first ACTION:

Feel pain.  Let the pins and needles come.  Take a good look around, acknowledge the life and the death.  Allow the blood to return to the numb parts.  It hurts... but you can't expect any movement from a body that is still asleep.

The Forming of a Crustacean

I was a pretty normal kid.  I listened to my teachers, I listened to my T.V. and I sometimes listened at church.  I never showed any particular giftedness in grade school or high school, I maintained A’s and B’s with an occasional C and focused mainly on the more social aspects of school.  During the first few years of high school I set myself on the business track, interested in learning “business” because in my mind that equated to a particular look and lifestyle.  The subject matter however was of less interest to me, economics, accounting, business law… these were courses I needed to go through to become a business person yet, I never studied to learn, only to pass.  In doing this I was never challenged or very challenging.  I accepted the status quo, trusting people with power to make decision and trusting their decisions were the right ones.  With the big questions and decisions off my mind, I was left to wrestle simpler matters like, how to portray significance among my peers.

I was a cheerleader from the time I was 12 until I was 17 and graduated high school.  During the last two years of high school I was captain of the cheerleading squad and my senior year, pep club president.  I spent many a Friday nights chanting “We are awesome, we are mean, we’re the mighty Shell machine!”  School spirit was my deepest conviction. 

After high school I attended college and graduated in a short 3 years from a university not far away from my home town (University’s slogan: Home away from home, close to home.)  I graduated with a bachelor’s in Business Administration, a.k.a., I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but making runs to Starbucks in black heels and a fancy suit on my way to an important meeting was an image on which I was willing to spend $20,000 trying to create.  Much to my surprise, after one year of lattes and meetings, I was ready to do something different with my life; the picture that had once looked so attractive had a very different feeling on the backside of it that I hadn’t expected.  Working in a cubical for the world’s 2^nd largest retailer wasn’t for me.  I packed my bags and my Bible and I headed to a rough neighborhood in Philadelphia to live a drastically different life. 

I lived in Philadelphia for three years.  Most of my time was spent at a non-profit school that served Cambodian children.  I was involved in a number of other non-profit organizations that provided a modest income.  I shared a house with 3-5 other people and our space was located in the more neglected parts of the city.  I was encouraged by many mentors and friends to engage in my experience and ask questions, always ask questions.  In Philadelphia I began to have many veils lifted, uncovering racism, sexism, earth-hate, abuses of power, and much other terrorism.  I also experienced much life, love, friendship, family and beauty.  It was an awakening of sorts, a growing out of “you’re too young to understand”.   I began to re-examine, I began to live my life.

Being a lover of my family, I moved back home to Southern Illinois.  I married a comrade from my time in Philadelphia and started a new chapter of life in a slower-paced place.  However, it wasn’t long before my new eyes caught sight of the refinery, and I again began to ask questions.  How did I grow up next to a refinery and never think twice of its implications?  Why am I the only one asking questions?

Go Shells!

I grew up near a small village called Roxana in Southern Illinois.  During my school years, I attended Roxana District’s grade school, junior high school and senior high school all located within a couple blocks of my parents' house.  I spent most of my summers swimming at the Roxana Community Pool and playing softball in the high school diamonds.  As with most childhoods, everything that has been and continues to be is called normal.  So, although it had much to offer to the rest of the world, its most notable (and noticeable) contribution was the oil refinery located at the edge the football field --- normal.  And, as I reached high school, cheering for our mascot the “shells” and referring to our mighty mascot’s dominion as “shell country” was also completely normal.  It wasn’t until this member of the Honors Society graduated college and returned to her high school track that she realized how abnormal it was to have an oil company for a school’s rallying cry. (During my four years at the high school we didn’t have a live mascot, but then again, we did have a refinery tank painted with our school colors… maybe that counts?)