​Authors: Abigail Hogan and Alexander Steinbach, Staff Editors, Vermont Journal of Environmental Law.
 
I.          The history of plastic production
 
Typically, when a new product comes on the scene, it takes several generations to evaluate its use and environmental impact. However, synthetic plastics really only began to take over around 50 years ago, and we’re already seeing a movement to ban, or at least drastically reduce, the material. Why has plastic made such a splash in so little time?

Plastic was originally developed from cellulose, or plant material. But in 1907, the first fully synthetic plastic was created.[1] The difference between these two materials is that plastics made from plant material can actually break down, whereas synthetic plastic will only ever break into smaller pieces.[2] In fact, “EPA reports that ‘every bit of plastic ever made still exists.’”[3] Today, plastic and rubber are formed by polymers consisting of smaller units known as monomers.[4] A vast majority of monomers are produced from petroleum and is therefore non-renewable.[5] Around 4% of the world’s oil consumption is used as raw material in plastic production, and a similar amount is used as energy in the production process.[6] In addition to the use of petroleum, plastic production requires the use of additives.[7] A few chemical additives are: plasticizers, flame retardants, heat and UV stabilizers, biocides, pigments, and extenders.[8] Several common additives are classified as hazardous according to the E.U. regulations and are classified as carcinogenic, mutagenic, harmful for reproductive health, harmful to aquatic life, or having persistent negative impacts on the environment.[9]     

By Max Chaffetz​

Introduction
Since the inception of the Endangered Species Act (ESA) in 1973, roughly 2,300 plant and animal species have been listed as threatened or endangered,[1] but only fifty-three have been officially delisted due to recovery.[2]  That trend is beginning to shift dramatically, however, as many species are now beginning to show signs of recovery after enjoying decades of protection.  Of the fifty-three species delisted since 1973, over half (thirty-six) were delisted in the last ten years alone.[3]  But this wave of recovery has not come without administrative headaches for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS).  While the agency has successfully delisted a record number of species recently, it has also faced a record number of delisting failures.  Since 2008, federal courts have vacated twelve attempts by the FWS to delist various animal species.[4]  In other terms, roughly 25% of the FWS’s attempts to delist a threatened or endangered species in the last ten years have resulted in significant time and resources being diverted from conservation efforts to sunk legal costs. 

Finding the Match in the Haystack Before it Lights Up the West Again: A Call to Congress to Create a Wildfire Commission
 
By Kelly Brantzi*
 
Kelly Brantzi is a 3L at Vermont Law School where she is a Managing Editor on the Vermont Journal of Environmental Law. This post is part of the Environmental Law Review Syndicate.

Introduction

The summer of 2017 set the West on fire, both physically and politically. By early September, the Western states had 65 fires burning at once.[1] As millions of acres burned—along with the U.S. Forest Service’s (USFS) budget—lawmakers gathered in Congress to create a “fire funding fix.”[2] Summer 2018 will likely be no different—even after the celebrated passage of the bipartisan 2018 Omnibus spending bill focused on new budget appropriations for wildfire suppression and prevention.[3] Argued here, the USFS’s budgeting problem represents only one straw in a dry, hot haystack.
​

​​By Wade Foster, J.D. Candidate, University of Virginia, Managing Editor of Virginia Environmental Law Journal
​This post is part of the Environmental Law Review Syndicate.
 
I. Introduction
            On January 31, 2018, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (“EPA”) and U.S. Army Corps of Engineers (“Corps”) finalized a rule delaying implementation of the Obama-era Clean Water Rule until February, 2020.[1] The Clean Water Rule had attempted to clarify the definition of “waters of the United States” and the boundaries of federal jurisdiction under the Clean Water Act (“CWA”).[2] Now, with implementation of the Clean Water Rule delayed, we return to a world where federal jurisdiction under the CWA is governed by the Supreme Court’s fractured opinion in Rapanos v. United States.[3]

By  Sarah L. Fine, J.D. Candidate, Lewis & Clark Law School, Online Journal Editor of Environmental Law.
This post is part of the Environmental Law Review Syndicate.

As the old saying goes, whiskey is for drinking—water is for fighting over.

I. Introduction
The mythic Dead Sea—the highly salinated, low-altitude lake of international interest and importance—is drying up.[1] Although the Jordan Rift Valley, where the Dead Sea is located, is known for frequent droughts, the decline of the Dead Sea is primarily due to human intervention—namely, the diversion of the Jordan River, the main lake source which feeds the Dead Sea,[2] to provide potable water to increasing populations.[3] A water level drop of one meter per year has led the surface area to decrease from 960 km2 to 620 km2 in the last fifty years.[4] Today, the rate of decline is only increasing, giving rise to “extensive environmental degradation and damage to industry and infrastructure and . . . substantial intangible impacts and costs,” with an estimated direct cost to government and industry to be “some $2.9 billion over the next 60 years.”[5]

Despite the lack of stability between the Dead Sea’s three bordering entities—the State of Israel, the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, and the Palestinian Authority—a series of agreements between the groups have sought to address the problem of the disappearing Dead Sea alongside the problem of access to potable water.[6] Facilitated by the World Bank Group, the Red Sea­–Dead Sea Water Conveyance Study investigated the feasibility of reversing the environmental degradation of the Dead Sea by transferring seawater from the Red Sea. By introducing desalination into the transfer process, the hope of the three parties is that the Red Sea­–Dead Sea Water Conveyance will address the environmental degradation of the Dead Sea and the lack of affordable energy and drinking water in the Jordan Rift Valley, while increasing political goodwill and cooperation between the parties.[7]

By Brianna E. Tibett, [1] Administrative Editor
Vermont Journal of Environmental Law
This post is part of the Environmental Law Review Syndicate. Please post any comments on the original, which can be found here.
​
INTRODUCTION
​
The purpose of the Comprehensive Environmental Response, Compensation, and Liability Act (CERCLA) is to facilitate the “timely cleanup of hazardous waste sites and to ensure that the [cleanup costs are] borne by those responsible for the contamination.”[2] The proper application of CERCLA’s two private causes of action is necessary to achieve these goals. When applied properly they encourage private parties to voluntarily cleanup hazardous waste sites, effectively spread the cost of cleanup to the responsible parties, and encourage settlement.

For example, when a private potentially responsible party (PRP) voluntarily cleans up a site before any action regarding the site is commenced the PRP eliminates their exposure to uncertain liability, and avails itself of the “arguably preferred recovery vehicle for a PRP,” the cost recovery action. The private cost recovery action, under § 107(a)(4)(B), allows private parties to seek to recover the costs they incurred in voluntarily cleaning up a contaminated site from PRPs (regardless of their contribution to the site’s contamination).[3] The PRP subject to the § 107(a)(4)(B) cost recovery action, can counterclaim in or bring against multiple other PRPs a § 113(f)(1) contribution action, requiring the equitable apportionment of the response costs.[4] The remedy and the shorter statute of limitations afforded by contribution actions incentivizes PRPs to immediately locate other PRPs and initiate lawsuits sooner.[5]

By Sara Dewey, J.D. Harvard Law School '17,[2] Liz Hanson, M.P.P. Harvard Kennedy School '18,[3] & Claire Horan, J.D. Harvard Law School '18[4]
This post is part of the Environmental Law Review Syndicate. 
 
Introduction

The Farm Bill affects nearly every aspect of agriculture and forestry in the United States. Therefore, its next reauthorization offers an important opportunity to better manage the risks of climate change on farms, forests, and ranches by supporting resilience practices that also offer greenhouse gas (GHG) emission reductions.

Agriculture is vulnerable to the impacts of climate change, including rising temperatures, changes in rainfall and pest migration patterns, extreme weather events, and drought. In addition to being heavily affected by climate change, agriculture is also a significant contributor to climate change. Agricultural practices are responsible for about eight percent of U.S. GHG emissions.[5] Estimates of total food system emissions, which include the CO2 emissions from energy use and transportation, increase the agricultural industry’s proportion of U.S. GHG emissions to between 19 and 29 percent.[6]