Florida Burns Its Trash For Energy. And Now It Wants To Use Climate Funds To Expand
Source: Fast Company, Talib Visram
Photo: A large crane moves waste as garbage trucks deliver trash into a concrete receiving pit at a waste-to-energy facility in Pompano Beach, Florida, 2009. (Daniel Acker/Bloomberg/Getty Images)
Some argue incineration is better than a landfill—but environmentalists say it’s a toxic way to deal with trash.
On a Sunday in February last year, a trash incineration facility in Doral, Florida, near Miami, caught fire, producing black smoke and an off-putting odor. Less than half a mile from the nearest home, it affected local residents—more than a third of whom live below the poverty line—who reported health problems from rashes to burning eyes.
Trash incineration has been around for more than a century as a way to dispose of waste and generate energy at the same time. Though it’s relatively uncommon in the U.S., it is prevalent in Florida, which plans to expand its current operations, partly with Inflation Reduction Act (IRA) tax credits. Proponents say it’s an environmentally responsible way to deal with excess trash. Critics say it’s the exact opposite.
There are about 75 trash incinerators, or waste-to-energy (WTE) facilities, in the U.S. Florida has the largest share, with 10 incinerators combusting about 8% of its waste. They proliferated in the 1980s and 1990s, following a bill that mandated counties consider the system as a waste management solution. Eight of the facilities are run by counties; two are privately operated.
Florida is highly populated—and welcomes about 1,200 new Floridians everyday. “When you have more people, you have more garbage,” says Joe Kilsheimer, executive director of the Florida Waste-to-Energy Coalition, a group that streamlines communications around WTE. About half are in South Florida, which is especially densely populated, and the water table is high, making it a tough environment for landfills.
Trash arrives at the facilities and is sometimes shredded down before it enters a chamber, where it’s combusted. That produces steam, which drives a turbine to power homes and businesses.
Incinerators in the U.S. make about 1% of the total energy production. Kilsheimer says that’s not its main purpose. “It’s not an energy solution,” he says. “It’s a solid waste reduction solution.” But the energy is a nice-to-have, and is viewed as renewable because garbage is essentially endless.
Kilsheimer argues that it’s a relatively environmentally responsible way to deal with trash. “Combustion does produce carbon dioxide, no question about that,” he says. But the other option, landfills, releases methane, which is 28 times more potent at heating the Earth than CO2.
The method is popular in some of the world’s most eco-conscious areas. New York is the only other state with 10 incinerators, and it’s common in Europe, which has about 500. Denmark has 23 facilities—including one with a ski slope on the exterior.
But opponents of the practice say it’s actively bad for the environment. “It is the dirtiest way to produce energy,” says Bradley Marshall, a Tallahassee-based senior attorney with Earthjustice, an environmental law nonprofit. Studies have shown it emits more greenhouse gases per unit of energy than coal plants.
“It should never be classified as renewable,” says Aditi Varshneya, U.S.-Canada membership coordinator at Global Alliance for Incinerator Alternatives (GAIA), “because it releases a high amount of greenhouse gases and requires a steady supply of nonrenewable materials to burn.”
Though the EPA has required plants to update their systems to create less air pollution, they still release numerous toxic substances, such as mercury and lead—dioxins known to cause cancer—and forever chemicals. One study suggested the practice could be contributing to issues including cancers, heart and lung diseases, and miscarriages, though it’s hard to find proof of direct causation.
The health issues became clearer when the three-week fire broke out at the Doral plant, which was run by Covanta, a company with about 40 plants nationwide. Residents reported issues including rashes, allergies, and difficulty breathing. Some reported black smoke, and a “horrendous” smell that stopped them from walking in the park or relaxing in the backyard.
Earthjustice helped file a civil rights discrimination lawsuit against the EPA, claiming the plant was permitted to be built in an area with a population of 93% people of color. This is common; about 80% of U.S. plants are built in minority communities. (Kilsheimer says, in many cases, they were built decades ago in industrial areas, before they became residential hubs—though, in many cases, subsidized housing in the U.S. has been intentionally built in such areas.)
Whatever the case, in Florida, these plants are likely to grow. In 2022, Governor Ron DeSantis signed a law that would allow municipalities to apply for grants to construct more facilities. Some counties have already proposed expanding operations, including Miami-Dade, and four or five others are planning new builds.
Some may use IRA funds to expand, in particular those tax credits put aside for renewable and alternative fuels. If they’re found eligible for those credits, “it has the potential to codify false and greenwashed definitions,” Varshneya says. Waste incineration is also expensive in general, costing four times more than solar or wind, which she says uses more taxpayer dollars, and diverts them away from “true renewable energy projects.”
Kilsheimer says the reality is that society has to deal with trash, and incineration is ultimately better than landfills. “As a society, we don’t think about garbage after we throw it away,” he says.
But both sides agree we should be working on throwing away less, and recycling a lot more. Varshneya says municipalities have to do more to get to zero waste, including implementing composting policies. “I don’t think it’s fair to pit landfilling and incineration together as the only option,” she says.