In the spring of 2010, on an episode of the radio show “The Story,” I heard the tale of a British couple who lived trash-free. I walked home from my laboratory at the University of Michigan and told my roommate Tim that I thought I could do better – I’d live trash- and recycling-free – and that I’d start soon. “No,” he said. “If you care about this, then you start today.” And just like that, I began an experiment in individual activism in the face of large environmental problems.
The average American produces more than 4 pounds of trash and recyclables per day, about 1,500 pounds per year. In my first year of living trash- and recycling-free, I produced a little more than 7½ pounds of waste, including receipts and miscellaneous paper, a couple of Ruffles chips bags and a few straws, stickers off of fruit, glass milk-bottle caps, a broken Pyrex dish, a broken milk bottle, one beer bottle and one plastic bottle.
In year two, I made it down to 6 pounds – about 0.4 percent of the American average.
To get there, I knew I’d need to change the way I lived, and I’d need some parameters. Everything apart from food scraps (which I’d compost), toothpaste and soap (which were too difficult to recover) and toilet paper would count as trash or recycling. I’d collect my refuse – concert tickets, stickers, plastic tags, packaging, glass, you name it – and not throw it away.
I made a few exceptions. I couldn’t always control other people’s behavior, so junk mail wouldn’t count as my own recycling. I wasn’t going to be a boor and instruct a dinner-party host on how to reduce his or her trash. And if someone gave me a gift – a token offered from the heart – I accepted it. Also, I was working on my aerospace engineering PhD in an experimental combustion lab, and my research required many single-use materials: Mylar, latex gloves, ultra-high molecular weight polyethylene (milk carton material), optical cleaning wipes and so on. If I wanted to conduct quality research and finish my dissertation, I’d have to separate requirements inside the lab from my habits outside it.
I knew this experiment wouldn’t make a profound difference for conservation, but I felt I should do it because I had no excuse not to. Others don’t have the flexibility or the means for this kind of activism. Or they may simply have more immediate concerns. Consumption is so convenient that it is truly invisible and routine. I tried my best not be sanctimonious to people less committed than I.
I had to get creative. When a restaurant furnished a napkin-wrapped fork and knife, I asked the server to exchange them for cutlery without the napkin. I’d remember to say “No straw!” after asking for water and to make sure the veggie burger I ordered didn’t come with a wooden pick holding it together.
I tried to think ahead. I carried a fork, a spoon, a plate and a bowl everywhere I went, just in case a student event served food but provided only plastic to eat with. I did what I had to, and sometimes it was awkward. At a house party (where the red Solo cup is king), I’d saunter into the kitchen, use a glass from the cupboard, and then rinse it and put it back when I was done. Five months into the experiment, after some initial reservations, I gave up toilet paper. Now I do things the way hundreds of millions (including my extended family) in India do – with water and my left hand.
In many ways, though, my life didn’t change much. I had grown up in a humble setting in India, where I was accustomed to consuming as little as possible. Most of my waste came from food packaging, so anything I could do to limit it reduced my trash and recycling significantly.
I bought bread from the bakery, gave up most cheeses and drank milk only when it came in reusable bottles. Even though I seldom bought new gizmos or clothes, I stopped buying them entirely for this project, because I knew creating them, transporting them and selling them at retailers generated plenty of upstream waste.
What began as a one-year experiment ultimately lasted 2½ years. I still have with me the single bag for all 30 months’ worth of trash and recycling.
Karwat is an AAAS science and technology policy fellow at the Department of Energy and a postdoctoral fellow at the University of Michigan.
