Sustainable Mining for Minnesota?

From the reading we've been doing over the past several years, and in light of EPA's recent decision about dropping rules for mining cleanup of pollution, we ask you to consider a few questions.

St. Louis River, downstream of proposed PolyMet mine

Photo by J. Harrington

Even though Minnesota has state financial assurance rules, do they cover the potential of a catastrophic failure like occurred recently at Mount Polley?

Do we want to continue to have mining activities be based on current regulations, or best practices in the mining sector?

How do we get mining companies to recognize the need and value added by going beyond compliance?

Do you know that the United Nations has adopted Sustainable Development Goals and that there's a pilot study of how they relate to mining?

Are you aware that the international mining sector, with the help of major foundations, is exploring how to become more sustainable and have thus better access to financing and markets? (They often go together because of improved risk management.)

We believe there is a better way forward unless we can create a society that doesn't rely on metals. Do you have an open mind about the questions: Where do environmental protection and sustainable development best come together? Does making mining sustainable involve achieving agreement on where mining should NOT be done?

Father’s Memory of a Mexican Mining Camp

Cindy Williams Gutiérrez

Softly, it always began softly.
Then slowly swelled to a wail.
Men’s voices. Maybe seven of them
up on the hill behind the house.
A breeze through the window
stirred the curtains like clouds.
I was five, or six. Around midnight
it would start—such a doleful sound.
They were drinking. It was Saturday
and the mines were closed. Their song
would wake me—their longing.
It was a language I knew,
though I couldn’t make out the words.
But the music—that was theirs.
Some ancient secret. A string of notes
piecing together who they once were.
My twin brother slept soundly.
I was alone with this mystery.
It haunts me even now, this lament
to their gods. If flowers were songs—
if the marigold sang, it would mourn
like this. I imagine them still
sitting on a dark hill chanting
their dirge. Some nights I wake—
I hear them. I don’t remember
my dreams, so I dutifully make
my way to the window.
All I see are clouds and mist.

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