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No Plastic
(By Suzzane Heckman)
I lived for almost a decade in Santa Cruz, California, a political
correctness capital of the WORLD, and emerged still shaving my legs. I did admire
the organic-Indian-cotton-wearing women with be-ringed toes sticking out of their
Birkenstocks, who threw away their makeup and still looked great, but I never quite
managed it myself.
Nowadays, however, it is the "normal" lifestyle that
seems to me infinitely more unusual than the African village dance classes and organic
coffee shops of Santa Cruz. Our "normal" lifestyle is trashing the planet:
We're so busy and self-conscious that we go out shopping every spare moment to buy,
buy, buy "convenient" products packaged in plastic, and then bagged in
more plastic, creating in our wake mountains of trash.
Many of these products are for the kitchen, but that's another
column. Today, I'm talking about bodies. Cosmetic corporations in rich countries
have convinced us that our bodies are a source of shame -- unless sanitized and disguised
with this or that chemical solution packaged, of course, in plastic containers. In
Japan, where the bath has been one of the highlights of the day for eons, this message
of shame is especially weird. Where else are people cleaner and, traditionally at
least, comfortable with nakedness and their own bodies?
As our grandmothers could tell us, women dealt with their periods
long before plastic was invented.
However for women (or womyn, as they say in Santa Cruz)
one aspect of our bodies has pretty much always been considered shameful in every
culture: perfectly ordinary MENSTRUATION. These days it must be hidden with secret
little squares of plastic-wrapped, paper-and-plastic pads, which are often perfumed.
So that every month we gals cosy up close to bleach and other fine chemicals. These
sometimes include dioxins, a family of toxins linked to cancer and reproductive problems.
As our grandmothers could tell us, women dealt with their periods
long before plastic was invented. There are a number of U.S. mail-order companies
making flannel snap-on pads, which are comfortable and easy to rinse out, soak, wash,
dry and re-use, just like women did for centuries. They really don't add too much
more to your laundry, and your neighbors won't know what they are when hanging on
your line, and they come in outrageous colors if you want. Now I know that you're
probably thinking this is gross, but consider: in the U.S. alone, women throw 12
billion pads and 7 billion tampons into the sewage systems and landfills each year.
One company, Glad Rags, will send you a free brochure which should answer any of
your questions [(503) 282-0436], or you can write to P.O. Box 12751, Portland, OR
97212 USA.
Now whether you're a womyn or a man, as you go through your
day, just begin to be aware of how many "personal" plastic products you
use. Try not using some of them. But don't fret if you can't reach the earth muffin
ideal right away. This summer I switched from my plastic underarm deodorant stick
to talcum powder packaged in cardboard. As a result, there were a few unpleasant
moments when I realized WHO was emitting that NATURAL odor.
So begin with easy changes. Start by stocking up on a half
dozen ¥100 and ¥180 washable cotton bags from Topos or Daiei supermarkets.
Keep several stuffed in your backpack and sitting by your front door. Groceries,
beer, clothes, books, toothpaste, or anything else you buy can be bagged in them.
Just quickly tell the cashiers "Fukuro o kekko desu," or "No thank
you for a bag" as they reach for the plastic. Americans use 70 billion disposable
shopping bags a year, an average of 1,200 per year for a family of four. I can't
imagine Japan is far behind.
The Body Shop, a British chain, presents some fun alternatives
to the plastic addiction. If you buy shampoo, conditioner or some body gels there,
you can take back the plastic containers for infinite refills. (Scrub the white label
off first, otherwise they'll do it for you, and you'll have to stand around waiting.)
It's easiest to buy several different kinds, so you won't run out all at once. Prices
are about average for shampoo here.
Containers that can't be refilled can be returned to their
recycling bin under the counter. There are some sensible products like natural hair
brushes, and you may sample all their exotic scents while you're there. Refilling
containers may seem like a lot of hassle as you go in there, but think of it this
way: you're helping launch a retail trend. You can find it in the Tenjin Core building
and in Hakata station.
What about all those other containers crowding the drug store
shelves? "Feminine hygiene" sprays and douches? DON'T get me and the womyn
started -- see a doctor. Aerosol cans of air freshener? Here, with so much incense
and potpourri available! Mouthwash? If you lightly brush the bacteria off your tongue
with your tooth brush, it might help more.
Here's something I've learned the expensive way: don't shop
for make-up when you're feeling a little un-made-up. Sales ladies will shine a spotlight
on your face, hold up a magnifying mirror, and you'll end up walking out with a bunch
of useless "wrinkle creams" and drying and moisturizing lotions and "gifts"
for having bought so much -- all of it in plastic containers -- most of which you
will never use.
MINI TIP: If you suspect someone -- even a school or temple or a hospital--
near your home or work is burning plastic because the smoke smells funny, don't let
yourself become a dioxin experiment. That smoke wafting in your windows could well
contain carcinogens. Call the city's Air Quality and Noise Control Section at 711-4285
(in Japanese) and ask them to talk to the unwitting culprit. Such burning is not
illegal, surprisingly, but the city will treat it as a courtesy issue. The city also
burns trash in its massive incinerators, but does it at such high temperatures that
dioxins tend to break down.
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