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With all of this news, it's worth remembering for a moment how we got here.
Like so many consequential discoveries, the useful properties of per - and polyfluoroalkyl substances were found accidentally — in this case, by 27-year-old scientist Roy J. Plunkett in 1938. Plunkett was actually trying to solve another problem of things poisoning people — his first assignment working for DuPont was to look into chlorofluorocarbon refrigerants (CFCs), which researchers hoped could replace refrigerants like sulfur dioxide and ammonia that were hazardous for homeowners and food industry workers alike. (CFCs would of course turn out to have their own problems.)
In the course of that research, Plunkett stumbled upon what would later be the basis for Teflon. The white, waxy substance was kind of miraculous: chemically inert, it was resistant to corrosion and heat, and its very low surface friction also made it resistant to sticking to things, including water and oil. As a fusion of carbon and fluorine atoms, it was also nearly impossible to break up (hence the "forever" part).
At first the substance was expensive to produce, and was not widely used outside of industry. But as production costs decreased, PFAS began showing up in the consumer marketplace: first in the 1950s, in Teflon pans, and then in, well, basically everything, from raincoats to dental floss and bike lube.
It wasn't long before evidence emerged that PFAS might be toxic. 3M, the company manufacturing the chemicals (which they called "C8"), knew as early as 1950 that they built up in the blood of mice. A 1963 company manual deemed them "toxic," and in the 1980s 3M reassigned women from working with them for fear of risks to a developing fetus. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, DuPont and 3M studies found elevated cancer rates among workers.
But it wasn't until the early 2000s that evidence of the destructive nature made its way to the public, after cattle on a farm in West Virginia, following DuPont's purchase of nearby land for a waste dump, began vomiting blood and growing tumors. The family who owned the cattle, the Tennants, sued DuPont and eventually settled.
But the attorney representing the family, Rob Bilott, couldn't rest. Using the information he'd obtained during the Tennant case, Bilott sent a 972 page letter (including more than 130 exhibits) to a number of regulatory authorities, including Christie Whitman, then-administrator of the EPA.
The letter alleged that the company had known for years that excessive exposure to C8 was toxic and carcinogenic, and that, despite promises to the contrary, had dumped thousands of tons of sludge filled with the stuff into a landfill near to the grazing grounds for the Tennants' cattle.
The letter eventually led to DuPont settling with the EPA in 2005 for $16.5 million. The company was not required to admit liability. It's worth reading these excellent stories, which discuss the farm, the legal case and its aftermath, if you haven't already: "The Teflon Toxin," "Welcome to Beautiful Parkersburg, West Virginia," and "The Lawyer Who Became DuPont’s Worst Nightmare." Bilott also wrote a book, Exposure, about his two decades working on the issue.
Bilott's letter was important not only because it exposed the risks of PFAS, but also because it "lifted the curtain on a whole new theater,’’ Harry Deitzler, a lawyer in West Virginia who works with Bilott, told the New York Times in 2016. ‘‘Before that letter, corporations could rely upon the public misperception that if a chemical was dangerous, it was regulated.’’
The Toxic Substances Control Act of 1976 was the first bill "ever written anywhere in the world to attempt to regulate toxic chemicals," said physician Lynn R. Goldman, speaking to a roundtable group at the Institute of Medicine in 2014. Despite that groundbreaking law, the US takes a relatively hands-off approach to chemical regulation compared to some nations. Under the TSCA, the burden is on the EPA, rather than the company, to show the chemical might pose risks to the public.
"We have to make a case for toxicity or exposure," Wendy Cleland-Hamnett, then-director of the EPA's Office of Pollution Prevention and Toxics, told the group.
This has often meant states have taken on the task of regulating certain chemicals on their own. In the case of PFAS, Minnesota was one of the first to begin investigating and issuing guidelines, all the way back in 2002. A number of other states, including California, New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Washington and, in recent years, Maine, have since followed suit.
But it's not always easy. As The Bangor Daily News reported in June, Maine's attempts to gather data on companies which Maine manufacturers are using PFAS and discharging it as waste have been stymied by a federal loophole that appears to allow facilities to evade reporting. (If you're overwhelmed by the regulation Maine has passed recently on PFAS, I find this tracker by Pierce Atwood to be helpful in keeping tabs on things.)
It's also difficult to regulate something that's already in just about everything, which often means the source of the pollution isn't clear. Officials in Fryeburg, for instance, told WGME13 on Monday that they have no idea how forever chemicals ended up in one of the town wells, which showed PFAS levels of 33 parts per trillion.
The nearest sludge site is a mile away, Maine Water Spokesman Dan Meaney told the news channel, and the town will need to do more investigating to pinpoint the source. "If [pinpointing it is] possible at all."
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