Plastic-free July about changing habits

The first plastic-free July was organized in 2011 in Perth, Australia. Forty participants took up the challenge to “choose to refuse” plastic purchases. Within a decade, the campaign grew into a movement with global reach. Last July, according to organizers, 140 million participants in 190 countries collectively reduced plastic waste by a whopping 2.1 million tons.

It’s not surprising such a movement should originate Down Under. The custodians of the Great Barrier Reef may have an especially vivid grasp of the value – and fragility – of marine ecosystems. Home to thousands of species of fish, mollusks, corals, birds and marine animals, the reef alone contributes $6.4 billion and 39,000 direct jobs to the national economy.

Climate change and coral bleaching are serious threats to this diverse ecosystem, but it is also significantly impacted by plain old garbage. More than 80 per cent of marine debris found in the reef is plastic, according to the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park Authority. The top three culprits are cigarette butts, plastic bags and single-use plastic bottles.

These are common offenders on beaches and waterways the world over. Plastic debris kills and ensnares marine life, smothers corals, and is mistaken for food. It breaks down into microplastics, which work their way up the food chain. According to the Minderoo Foundation, single-use plastics comprise more than a third of plastics produced every year; 98 per cent are manufactured from fossil fuels.

Canadian coasts are better known for glaciers than our coral reefs. Nevertheless, we are custodians of the world’s longest coastline, as well as 20 per cent of the world’s surface freshwater. It is incumbent on us to clean up our act.

Monday’s long-awaited federal ban of single-use plastics is notable not only for phasing out the sale of six straight-to-waste products within Canada, but prohibiting their export. Manufacturers cannot push this problem downstream.

It’s been three years since Prime Minister Justin Trudeau announced the ban, standing before the gently rippling waters of Lake Hertel in Mont-st-hilaire, Quebec. Changes would take effect “as early as 2021,” he pledged.

Then, the pandemic hit. The trajectory of consumer behaviour avoiding single-use plastics abruptly changed course. For a time, reusable bags weren’t welcome in grocery stores. Reusable mugs weren’t welcome in coffee shops. Bulk food stores suspended programs allowing shoppers to fill their own reusable containers. Newfoundland delayed a provincial plan to phase out plastic bags.

We discovered just about anything could be delivered by Amazon, bafflingly overpackaged in nesting boxes and plastic air pillows. Ordering takeout was elevated to the level of civic responsibility – helping to keep local restaurants afloat – even if it created a mountain of Styrofoam trash. The use of public transit cratered. Disposable masks became a new, ubiquitous piece of trash, littering the areas outside grocery stores and other buildings.

It’s amazing how quickly we sidelined our focus on the environment, when our survival was threatened, as if the environment and our survival were not inextricably entwined.

New federal regulations affect less than five per cent of plastics produced and consumed in this country, Greenpeace Canada has pointed out. They may eliminate 22,000 tons of plastic pollution over bthe next decade, as the government has estimated, but they are not going to eliminate the problem of plastic waste.

Nevertheless, by targeting items we can eliminate with a little mindfulness — carrying reusable bags and cutlery, choosing a paper straw or ordering beverages without a lid — perhaps they can win back the momentum that was lost during the pandemic.

Like plastic-free July, the ban’s power lies not just in reducing overall waste, but helping consumers demand more from retailers, and from ourselves.