Uncertainty, seismic risks and nuclear regulation

This is a copy of a blog post I wrote today at spot.us to update supporters about my work on a story exploring the seismic dangers that could face the Columbia Generating Station near Richland, Washington. Click here to read more about that story and how you can help make it happen. In more than a week of uncertainty following Japan's largest recorded earthquake, its ensuing tsunami and the still unfathomable specter of a radiological nightmare, the only thing the world has to be certain about is uncertainty itself. We still don't know the fate of the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear plant. We still don't know how many people perished in the original disaster and how many still cling to life. We still don't know how much of the Japanese landscape was contaminated with radioactive material, and we still don't have a clear sense of the sort of recovery Japan faces.

We just don't know.

So, here in the U.S., why are so many officials so quick to express such certainty, and why are journalists so quick to accept government officials' and nuclear industry spokespeople's assurances that yes, we swear, you're really safe here in the U.S.? How can we be assured there really is little chance we will face disasters similar to that Japan now suffers through?.

I'm not referring to concerns about the immediate impacts of a radiation plume. The risk from this specific incident to U.S. citizens seems minimal. Nevertheless, I think we're asking the wrong questions if journalists exploring dangers in the U.S. only consider immediate impacts in our country from the Fukushima Daiichi plant and don't ask how what occurs in Japan to the Japanese people could be instructive for what may happen here. Meanwhile, there's also problematic framing of the discussion.

This morning, for example, NPR's Morning Edition led an interview by Renee Montagne with Georgetown psychologist Robert Dupont,who studies fear. Introducing the piece, Steve Inskeep almost jokingly said "As of now, the death toll from Japan's nuclear emergency stands at zero." Whether there may not have been immediate death, nor lethal doses, it misses the point to only look at the immediate aftermath and not the current risk. Dupont said other than Chernobyl we "don't have bodies piling up." But this isn't just about bodies piling up. It's also about bodies bombarded with radiation, bodies detoriorating over time.

Valerie Brown heartbreakingly reminded us of so much Monday in her  "Pawning the Chernobyl Necklace" on The Phoenix Sun, fusing exquisite prose and detailed research and scientific knowledge to explain exactly how long lasting these impacts can be for an individual, what fear really feels like, and how blind assurances of safety serve no one.

I'm looking at the seismic risks facing the Columbia Generating Station because I just haven't seen people telling the full story. Even if that full story reinforces claims that we are safe, it must be told credibly. I worry a bit that other outlets are exploring this topic, that they'll get to it faster, dispatching salaried, staff reporters to tell it before I can, but then I realize two things: It's a story that can't be told too many times, that must be told in as nuanced a manner as possible; it's also a story that deserves to be told in detail, in depth, and in as explanatory a manner as possible.

Our responsibility as journalists

That question has been rolling around in my brain since I first woke to news last week that officials from Energy Northwest - the company that runs the Columbia Generating Station, the only commercial nuclear plant in the Northwest, had assured the public that the plant is safe from Earthquakes. Officials certainly have to be cautious about panicking the public (especially when an American run on potassium iodide pills could threaten availability for the Japanese most immediately at risk).

So maybe the pressure is on journalists: we need to do a better job - without fear mongering - of asking just what evidence officials are using to justify their claims. How up to date are the seismic studies? What historic data they use? How thoroughly have geologists studied the Columbia Plateau's potential, and how have those studies been integrated into designs at the Columbia Generating Station and the regulations that govern it? It's our job to ask these questions and not to accept "we're safe" as a satisfactory answer, especially when a simple google search - much like the one I performed the day I heard that story - reveals that historic quakes 90 miles away from the plant ahve exceeded its designs in magnitude and that dangers exist.

Simple Google searches, of course, are not enough. That's why I've been poring through significant accident mitigation assessments, emergency management plans, and seismic profiles as I try to identify who I should call first. I always struggle with that when I start working on a story, and I should get over my uncertainty. What I'm finding so far, though, only prompted more questions. For example, the geologic area the plant sits on is one notorious for "bad data" about its seismicity. Again. Uncertainty.

Meanwhile, I also need to bring myself up to speed on current geology and seismology (why, for example, is horizontal ground shaking a better indicator of a quake's strength than the ricter scale?), nuclear policy (if you thought the alphabet soup of federal agency names was bad, just read a report from the NRC - and hope you have a pot of coffee brewed) and just who would be at risk from a radiological release.

Thank you for your continued support

But I'm ready for the challenge.

We (read journalists) need to do a better job of asking people one simple question "how do you know what you know?" or "how do you justify the claims that you make?" So, if we want to know the risks earthquakes pose to nuclear facilities or any other sensitive area, shouldn't we start with those who have spent their professional lives studying them?

Meanwhile I'm trying to strategize when I'll go to the Tri-Cities to explore the community affected by this. I don't want to do that until I have a better grasp of the issues involved so I can ask better questions, but I want to make sure I spend enough time actually getting to better know the area I'll be reporting on.

It's encouraging to see, however, that even before my first blog post dozens of you indicated you want these kinds of questions to be asked. Thank you so much for making this story a possibility and showing me that I'm asking the kinds of questions you want asked.

However, don't be shy about telling me what more you want to know. What questions about this topic am I missing? what am I being too lazy about? What am I overlooking?

Following a War Correspondent's Footsteps to the Oil Spill

Melville Jacoby sitting on the grounds of the Chungking (Chongqing) Press Hostel in July, 1941.

Two nights ago I tweeted the following: Dreaming of dropping everything to report on the oil spill like an old fashioned war correspondent. Anyone hiring experienced reporters? At first it was a bit of a whim. I've been working on a complex but often dry assignment. During breaks I've read these fascinating — if horrifying — stories about the spill. There are just so many pieces of this story that need to be covered. How could I contribute to that coverage, particularly when the story will have such far reaching impacts on our world?

Then I thought: why not just ask? Who needs help reporting on the spill? Why not offer my services as an experienced reporter who'd be willing to contribute his work, his time, and his energy?

So, who needs help?

Two years ago, when I applied to grad school, I described our shifting environment and its impact on society, politics, economics and culture — let alone life — as perhaps the only great global story. As I did, I had my grandmother's cousin, Melville Jacoby, on my mind.

As I've described before, Melville served as a correspondent in China and Southeast Asia in the 1930s and early 40s. His work appeared in places like Time, Life and the United Press Syndicate at the onset of World War II. Younger than I am now, he was so deeply immersed he reported from the midst of a narrow escape from the Philippines after the Japanese invasion and, during his travels through China, became close to Chiang Kai-Shek. Killed at 25 in an accident in Australia in 1942, he left behind rich accounts of his life in the form of letters, dispatches and photos now in my grandmother's possession.

As I learned from my grandmother about Melville, I realized he played a central role telling stories about one small part of another great, global crisis. Perhaps the war was more romantic than seemingly glacial environmental changes (though really, they aren't so glacial) but both crises are the defining milieus of a particular generation. "Like Melville," I wrote, "I want to chronicle my generation's response to its crisis."

I have some travel credits, some time, and a little cash saved up.

I even have Melville's typewriter.

If that could get me to the Gulf Coast, could there be a floor to sleep on for the minutes I'm not in the field? Who's in need of a collaborator? A researcher? An errand boy? A transcriptionist?

Let's talk. Even if it's not in the field, how can I help?

All Things Not Considered in NPR's Oil Drilling Coverage

Yesterday afternoon President Obama shocked the country when he announced plans to open parts of the Atlantic and Alaskan coasts to oil drilling. Though the Pacific Coast was left untouched, the move could open up huge expanses of ocean elsewhere.

Many environmentalists treated the news as a betrayal and yet another delay in the move away from a fossil fuel economy. Business leaders were generally heartened by the news. Some Republicans expressed cautious optimism about the President's willingness to compromise, though others saw the move as thinly-veiled politics.

News organizations, meanwhile, treated the news as the surprise it was, with banner headlines and lead stories on broadcasts. You can read about the decision many places on the Web. I'd like to discuss, instead, how the news has been covered, particularly by National Public Radio. I believe NPR missed a chance to thoroughly cover the story. Listeners who first learned about the decision during their commutes home yesterday afternoon and on their way to work today, thus, missed a chance to fully understand a decision whose implications may reverberate for decades.

National Public Radio rightly decided to lead All Things Considered with Scott Horseley's report on Obama's decision on offshore drilling. As NPR's White House correspondent, Horseley focused primarily on the politics of the announcement. His report included Obama's statements justifying the decision as well as a sound bite from Florida Senator Lindsey Graham expressing what it meant for Republicans. It also included a reaction to the announcement by energy industry analyst Phil Flynn.

Horsely's four minute piece described the decision as one “sure to turn some green energy advocates red” and briefly included two of those advocates' voices: a snippet of a statement from the League of Conservation Voters and part of an interview with National Resources Defense Council President Frances Beinecke. Beinecke expressed her organization's concern about “some of the most sensitive marine environments in the country.”

Missing from NPR's follow-up coverage, though, was significant analysis of the decision from those advocates' perspectives or from other, perhaps more neutral analysts. By contrast, NPR has since devoted much of its coverage to oil industry reaction beyond Flynn's analysis in the initial story.

Immediately following Horseley's report, NPR aired four and a half minutes of discussion between All Things Considered Host Robert Siegel and Ben Cahill, an oil industry analyst from PFC Energy, about what the news meant for the oil business. What NPR didn't do is find someone who could talk about what the decision means for the ocean, for the global environment, and for economies and community health near the proposed drilling areas. Such a source needed not be Beinecke or other environmentalists. A marine scientist, a climatologist, or a geologist could have provided valuable analysis of the decision's implications. If a news outlet wants to consider all things related to a society, it must not only consider that society's business, but its politics, its people, and its natural surroundings. All of those forces and more – business included – shape a society, a country and a world.

Today brought Morning Edition and a story by Scott Finn titled “Environmentalists Question Offshore Drilling Plan.” Despite the headline, the only concern expressed in the three-minute piece came from Kathly Douglas, a St. Petersburg power walker and opponent of oil drilling. I don't think the power of citizen and community voices should be discounted and I'm cautious about which voices we call authoritative, but if Douglas had further background and credibility as an opponent of the drilling, Finn did not present her credentials (A simple Google search shows she's involved with a regional branch of the Sierra Club focused on coastal issues in Florida, though that background wasn't noted by Finn). As it turns out, in a piece advertised as discussing opposition to the drilling, hers was the lone voice expressing such opposition. Finn did include other St. Pete Beach visitors not as concerned as Douglas about the possibility of drilling. He also spoke with David Mica, the executive director of the Florida Petroleum Council, who welcomed the President's decision. In fact, the piece also included the only scientific voice NPR has yet aired reflecting upon this story, the University of South Florida's Al Hine, who countered claims that there might not be enough oil off the Florida coast to justify the drilling.

Yesterday afternoon, Scott Neuman (Apparently only Scotts are reporting this story) wrote an accompanying story for NPR's Web site that more deeply explores this topic. He presented detailed information on government estimates of how much oil and gas might be found off the Atlantic coast. He also introduced Oceana, another environmental organization opposed to the drilling, further described the historical context of the drilling and explained what other obstacles have to be surmounted before drilling can start. Still, that's the limit of NPR's added coverage. While I applaud the network's use of the Web to deepen its coverage, I question how many listeners actually decided to pursue that further coverage. I also wonder why it hasn't used the Web to deepen its analysis (and provide interpretations beyond Cahill's).

Reporters working on tight deadlines are not obligated to devote precisely equal amounts of time to sources on different sides of controversial topics, particularly complex, ongoing discussions that involve many more than two sides. They should, however, strive to do so. Journalists must make far more complicated judgments about how they weigh the voices included in their reporting. They have to take care not to perpetuate the falsely dichotomous conflict narratives so prevalent in contemporary news coverage, but they also have to provide perspectives of comparable authority when covering controversial topics (particularly when they specifically refer to controversy in their stories).

Unless something changes by the time today's All Things Considered airs, which East Coast listeners will have heard by the time this entry posts, the network will have missed its chance to provide a thorough introduction to this very significant news. The same argument could rightly have been made if NPR spoke predominantly with Beinecke and her allies and minimized its exploration of oil industry voices.

Even if there is substantive follow-up of the story this evening, the damage has been done. NPR has already framed the decision in audiences' minds without providing thorough analysis or context.

Mt. Wilson Observed

"Two firefighters die." Each thick black letter blazes through the scratchy grime of the plexiglass newspaper rack. They ignite my attention. They singe my mind even after I pass, as I board a 754 Rapid at Wilshire and Vermont and as I disembark in Los Feliz. They smolder as I walk to the library, where I'll fret and worry over personal concerns. As I wonder about my future, as my life goes on, as I deconstruct my own life and construct meaningless little tragedies out of what I find, a real tragedy sinks in.

It began as something of a triviality. Its faint scent that first day offered an occasion for a weak joke about smog, that easy target in Los Angeles.

The week moved on. The smoke rose over the horizon. The chatter rose. First slight concern on Twitter, then brief updates on hourly radio news updates, until the full force of the conflagration took shape in 16 thick, charred letters across the top of the Los Angeles Times.

My watery eyes. The orange shadows on the building across the courtyard from my apartment. The mountains of pyrocumulus clouds I've seen from the shores of Venice to the seats of a Blue Line train as it headed south toward Long Beach and every inch in between. The dry, inescapable heat. Layers of reality settled upon my skin alongside the caked, salty remnants of my sweat.

By today, the Station Fire in the San Gabriel Mountains has become nationwide news, as have a number of other blazes. Among the news: the fire's march on Mt. Wilson, where flames threatened broadcast transmitters and a historic observatory, a complex essential to the history of modern science. The observatory holds special meaning for me. In late April I visited the observatory as I closed out my time at USC's Annenberg School for Communications. K.C. Cole took my fellow science writing students and me to the observatory. We marvelled at the spot where Edwin Hubble learned our Milky Way was not the universe's only galaxy and discovered crucial evidence of the Big Bang. We wondered where Albert Einstein may have set foot during a visit. We fantasized about joining one of the viewing parties often hosted at the observatory. We thrilled that, a century later, the observatory still contributes to our unfolding understanding of the universe we inhabit.

That day, I took a few pictures of the observatory, a few of which accompany this post. It's not particularly stunning photography, but I've thought of the site often throughout the past few days and thought I'd share some selections of what I saw during my visit. Featuring Hubble's locker, old equipment that seems like it came from a 60's sci-fi show and the massive structure housing the 100-inch Hooker telescope — just one of the observatory's telescopes — the pictures evoke my memories of that visit and my awe at both the human drive for knowledge and our industrious nature.

That visit meant something else to me too. I recall stepping out of a friend's car after parking outside one of the telescopes. The air was chilly and crisp, even though it was nearly May, and I smiled when I saw a patch of snow, the first snow I had seen in person in more than two years. The scent of pine needles danced around me, intoxicated me, lured my mind to the great outdoors. It was a scent I missed, a familiar scent that reminded me of home, even though home, in a literal sense, sat on a suburban street in Ventura devoid of pine trees. It was a reminder of the Earth, this unimaginable, expansive place we wander through every second.

And this landscape had special meaning. Four years earlier — minus a month or so — I joined friends for a camping trip in these same mountains to celebrate a friend's 25th birthday. It was one of those memorable trips where the lines between friends and family blur, a trip that offered another sense of home. That trip to the observatory was my first time back to that wilderness. This week, when I saw the smoke, even before I learned the observatory was threatened, I thought of the camp site my friends had found. Of the creek we hiked upon and the rope swing from which some of them launched into a frigid creek. Of the children in our group playing among pine cones. Of acoustic music around the campfire. Of comfortable smiles. Of the contentment of nature.

As important as the landscape and the history is, I know two families have been shattered by the loss of the firefighters who perished, and I realize there are at least dozens more whose lives have been permanently changed by the loss of their homes. I'll treasure those men's sacrifice fighting to save this place that, in just two short slivers of time, meant so much to me.

For the moment, whatever the observatory's fate, however the fire progresses, I'll remember that small speck of wondrous land high above the undulating ribbons of concrete and plaster and electric light expanding outward from this corner of the universe we call home.