Editorial
(Daily
Nebraskan
Editorial Board
University ot Nebraska-Lincoln
Jana Pedersen, Editor, 472 1766
Matt Merck, NewsEditor
• ^
Brandon Loomis, Columnist
John Payne, Entertainment Editor
Damn Fowler, Sports Editor
Brian Shcllito, Art Director
Michelle Paulman, Photo Chief
Industry should listen
1 More effort needed to save environment
A little more than a month has passed since we celebrated
Earth Day 1990.
That Sunday afternoon, individuals joined together in
support of treating the environment more kindly, and at least
for that day, being environmentally conscious was the thing to
do.
But last week proved it takes more than efforts from indi
| viduals to save planet Earth. Two reports, one from the World
I Resources Institute and one from Nebraska Citizen Action,
j prove that industry isn’t doing its share to keep the planet
j livable.
! According to a New York Times article, the World Rc
j sources Institute report reveals that 40 to 50 million acres of
1 trees from tropical forests are cut down each year to be used as
timber or to clear land for agriculture and other development.
That’s an area the size of Washington state. And that’s a 50
percent higher rate of deforestation than was previously calcu
lated by the U.N. Food and Agricultural Organization in 1980.
And in Nebraska, a report from Citizen Action shows that of
i the 122 reporting companies, the top ten polluters create about
73 percent of the stale’s pollution as reported to the Environ
mental Protection Agency. Two of the top five polluters arc
right here in Lincoln, each reporting an excess of one million
f pounds of toxins.
Also, 97 percent of the toxic waste generated in Nebraska
came from manufactures in ten counties, the same counties that
more than half of Nebraskans live in. The pollution from
manufacturers with 10 or more employees in these counties
amounted to more than 24.5 pounds of toxins per person. The
statewide average is 14.14 pounds.
On both the state and global level, industry is failing to
acknowledge the consequences of deforestation and pollution.
The technology to reduce pollutants is available, for a price.
Alternate sources of wood pulp, such as recycling, arc avail
able, for a price. But, if these two studies are any indication,
industry doesn’t seem willing to pay that price.
According to a press release, “Citizen Action is calling for
toxic source reduction as the real solution to pollution in Ne
braska.”
Citizen Action has the right idea. Now if only industry will
listen.
•• Jana Pedersen
for the Daily Nebraskan
IellLr—;__
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C oncept could have worked
Cat disturbs bizarre dream of attempt to create perfect world
Ihave a dream. (Jr at least I had
one, several nights ago. It was
pretty bizarre, even by your stan
dards, so bear with me.
I was at an enormous American
Indian powwow somewhere in Min
nesota. I think it was a week-long
deal celebrating native culture, but
there were also many whiles and blacks
on hand, and, as is often the ease in
my dreams, the festival became a
discussion of societal ethics, labels
and the nature of God or gods.
After some enchanting traditional
dancing, a black man climbed his
folding chair and stood on the red
and-white checkered tablecloth to
address the crowd (we were eating
fried chicken and some other stuff).
He spoke of the wonder and joy that
filled his soul at the sight of hundreds
of seemingly unlike people gathering
on the plains and eating greasy food
in harmony. Many of us were over
come with the feeling that somehow
we were participating in a sort of
modem Thanksgiving. The man on
the table was really making people
feel good. Some of them were sob
bing.
He continued his attempt to raise
everyone’s spirits, suggesting that only
Jesus could bring such a diverse crowd
together and instill in it such a feeling
of brotherly love. This was his mis
take.
At that moment, Minister Louis
Farrakhan usurped the checkered
lectern, speaking on condition of
anonymity. He said that he had a little
something for our beloved Jesus. He
held his left hand skyward and ex
tended the middle finger.
I pondered human existence. Then
Minister Farrakhan said that it was
Jesus or some belief that was the
source of all our troubles in the first
place, and that we really ought to be
like Thorcau, or some of the images
of people and birds that you get in
Robert Frost poems. “Interesting,” I
thought in my dream. Then a white
man leapt upon the table and began
singing “Onward Christian Soldiers."
There was general unrest until some
one revealed several eases of beer on
the back of a pickup, and the crowd
began to mingle.
Seeing Minister Farrakhan stand
ing alone, I seized the opportunity to
approach him and discuss the world.
I remember trying to think of what I
could say without patronizing him or
seeming really ignorant, but it really
wasn’t necessary because our com
mon introduction turned into the en
tire dream.
“I’m Brandon Loomis of Lincoln,
Nebraska, sir,” I dreamed that I said
while shaking his hand.
“Oh? And where were you bom
Mr. Loomis?”
“Watertown, New York, home of
those little tree car air fresheners.
Brandon
Loomis
“Whitefish, Montana,” Minister
Farrakhan answered, though I’m sure
this had more to do with the Discov
ery Channel stuff I had watched that
night than with reality.
“My god, that’s beautiful coun
try,” I dreamily exclaimed.
It went on like that for a while,
with some small talk about lake trout
and about fly-lying techniques. Then
Minister Farrakhan look me by the
shoulder and led me to a pile of lum
ber. We started lashing boards and
plywood together with twine, fash
ioning a makeshift go-cart for two. I
don’t remember what we used for
wheels, but sometimes such details
aren’t necessary in dreams. The re
ally meaningful or ominous dreams
arc always obscure.
I sal on the running board as Min
ister Farrakhan went to gel a two
strokc engine from somewhere (again,
note the obscurity). After installing
this in our carl, wc piled in, and I
asked if wc were going to Whitefish.
He said, “No,” and handed me a
Texaco road map. Wc drove toward
me sunset, ana 1 wokc up.
Now, you’re the psychiatrist, not
me. But I guess I’ll walk you through
this one.
I was at a multi-racial deal — a sort
of melting powwow, as it were --
which people talked nice about, making
things sound great, then chaos ensued
and the Christian soldiers almost
marched as to war until the beer was
unveiled, and I slipped away into the
sunset with Louis Farrakhan not re
ally knowing where I was going.
I reckon we must have been a sort
of 20th century Lewis and Clark,
looking for some promised land anti
using a Texaco road map in lieu of
Sacajawca. We had talked of air fresh
eners and lake trout -- industry and
wide open spaces - the two things
that made this country what it is. We
were look ing for that essence of great
ness, that I i tile spark required to purge
society of the anomalous bad guys. I
have a feeling we were going to Buf
falo, Wyoming, though Crater Lake
might be a nice place for our new
world.
I know that when it came right
down to it, I would have suggested
that our industry be fish leather, an
entirely renewable resource. We proki
bly would have slopped in Dead wood
to acquire some of the fairer sex to
help us work up a proletarian force
for our project.
So l guess that’s it. Louis Farra
khan, a black separatist to the core,
chose me, a white something (though
1 didn’t think to check my skin color
in the dream), to journey with him
and get away from the Christian sol
diers who would undoubtedly kill
anyone unlike them were it not for
potato salad and beer. We were set
ting out to create the perfect world,
and human nature be damned. We
were bringing no beer - an indication
of our confidence level.
I’m pretty sure things would have
worked out if my cat hadn’t stepped
on my face just when she did.
I.oomis Is i senior news-editorial major
und the Summer Dally Nebraskan editorial
columnist.
