Inspired by Michael Milstein's Monday piece on water quality, I spent the day trying to figure out whether the problem at the state's Department of Environmental Quality is the money or the mission.
The problem, it turns out, is that too much of the agency's money arrives from the people DEQ regulates, and too much of the agency's mission is dictated by Gov. Ted Kulongoski.
Milstein, an environmental reporter for The Oregonian, wrote about a nifty coincidence: The rule changes that allow for cloudier rivers are partially underwritten by the very companies that aim to muddy the waters.
Along the way, Milstein talked to several environmental groups, which gave me pause: I thought DEQ was the state's environmental group.
Clearly, I'm a rube . . . and far from the only one out there.
"Most people think that's the role of DEQ, to protect the environment," said Matt Blevins at the Oregon Environmental Council. "DEQ doesn't see themselves that way, and that's the crux of the problem.
"They see themselves as carrying out the direction of the Legislature and the governor on environment issues. They aren't there to advocate."
I expected DEQ Director Stephanie Hallock to disagree passionately with Blevins' conclusion. Wrong again.
"The environmental and national resource agenda for the state of Oregon is directed by the governor," Hallock said. "We propose things, but that's the way the system works." What's more, Hallock noted, all DEQ rules must be approved by the Environmental Quality Commission, which is appointed by the governor.
"There are," Hallock sighed, "a lot of constraints in the system."
One constraint, of course, is money. Only 10 percent of the DEQ's budget comes from the state's general fund or the lottery. On the other hand, Hallock said, "We project that 71 percent of the revenue to support our regulatory activities will come from fees paid by the people we regulate."
Hallock recognizes the absurdity of this, not the Legislature or the voters. For three years she has been saying, "If the public is concerned about private sources funding DEQ, they need to ask what the alternatives are."
Because DEQ can't afford to update the rules involving water clarity or turbidity, much less monitor the state's rivers, the pulp and paper mills helped to pay for rule revisions that -- Booya! -- benefit the pulp and paper mills.
Even if DEQ wanted to complain, no one's listening at the Capitol. Because the Democratic-led Senate is Salem's inactive fraternity, the Republican House regularly intimidates DEQ, holding its budget hostage and treating its execs like activist judges.
Said Blevins: "For the last decade, the Republican leadership has said, 'Don't come and tell us what's wrong; we'll tell you what's wrong.' "
The Republicans don't need DEQ's advice. They get all the environmental input they need from the industries the DEQ regulates, many of which turned the Willamette River into a Superfund site in the 1980s.
Kulongoski has the power to counter this environmental retreat. On his Web site, the governor proclaims, "I'm talking about protecting our air, water and land resources from the ravages of industrial pollution and unbridled development. I'm talking about protecting our old-growth forests . . . And I'm talking about protecting our traditional fishing and farming communities."
So he is. And talk is cheap. "He's full of good words," Blevins said. "In terms of bold steps or real changes, there's not a lot anyone can point to."
Thus, DEQ remains underfunded and unmotivated, and the fate of Oregon's environment, like its river waters, gets murkier by the moment.
"The turbidity standard won't by itself result in a river system being destroyed," said Travis Williams at Willamette Riverkeeper, "but it's a piece of the puzzle. If we begin to relax here and there in the assemblage of things, all the progress of the last 30 years will disappear."
Steve Duin: 503-221-8597; Steveduin@aol.com; 1320 S.W. Broadway, Portland, OR 97201
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