For nearly a week last fall, a massive plume of chlorine-contaminated smoke poured into metro Atlanta skies from a manufacturing facility in Conyers. Seventeen thousand people were evacuated. The entire population of Rockdale County—nearly 100,000 people—was ordered to shelter in place, and an interstate highway was shut down. Twenty-five miles away in the city of Atlanta, my daughter-in-law smelled the chlorine in the air and wondered if it was safe to take my five-week-old grandson outside.
A fire had ignited early on a Sunday morning in late September at a pool and spa chemical company near Interstate 20: the major east-west connector between Atlanta and Augusta. Toxic acid stored at the BioLab facility (trichloroisocyanuric or trichlor) had come into contact with water from a (likely faulty) sprinkler system. The volatile reaction resulted in billowing clouds of thick, black smoke that posed a threat to visibility and public health, including respiratory problems, skin irritations, and long-term conditions such as lung and heart disease.
The fire was contained fairly quickly, but reignited mid-day and was then brought back under control later in the afternoon. As the wind shifted over subsequent days, the chemical plume “banked down” and moved throughout Rockdale County and into eastern portions of the city of Atlanta. Mayor Andre Dickens advised city residents to take precautions and reduce outdoor activities.
A review of BioLab’s track record of environmental and safety violations is alarming, but there’s a larger story to be told. Local, state, and federal agencies too often fail to hold businesses accountable for their actions, allowing them to dodge reasonable requirements to safeguard the general public, property, and the environment.
Definition of A Bad Actor
The disaster that closed areas in metro Atlanta last fall marks at least the fourth significant incident at the Conyers BioLab plant over two decades—in addition to multiple working condition violations, fines, and federal investigations in Georgia and Louisiana. Despite these repeated failures, the company has faced minimal consequences, revealing systemic issues with government oversight of facilities handling dangerous materials.
In 2004, an explosion at BioLab produced a thick gray plume of toxic smoke that shut down Interstate 20 and forced hundreds of residents to evacuate their homes. In 2010, a fire at the facility caused a chlorine cloud that led to the closing of nearby roads. Five years later, six county firefighters were injured while fighting a BioLab fire that erupted in chemical pallets stored outside. In 2020, yet another chemical fire broke out in a warehouse; nine firefighters were hospitalized for chemical inhalation. Last February, the state notified the company that it was violating federal hazardous waste disposal laws. And, then, there was the fire and chemical reaction that began this past September.
Demands from local residents, state leaders, and environmental groups to shut down the BioLab facility permanently came within days of the recent incident, as they have after each of the previous disasters. They are also requesting information about the poor incident response among agencies and the county’s decision to shutter its local emergency planning committee five years ago. Under pressure, Rockdale’s commissioners have filed a federal lawsuit. The Georgia Conservation Voters Education Fund launched the Shut Down BioLab Coalition to hold the company accountable.
Corporate Capture?
With such an abysmal record, why has BioLab’s business license not been revoked by the Rockdale County Commission? In operation for more than fifty years, the company is one of the county’s biggest employers and has enjoyed a close relationship with local leaders, according to news reports. A few years ago, BioLab received a 10-year property tax break for a new facility, among other incentives.
Why has the Georgia Environmental Protection Division (EPD) not revoked BioLab’s permits? Environmental attorneys say the EPD director has the authority to take whatever measures necessary to protect public health, including permit revocation. Why hasn’t this happened? Some observers point to the Georgia code, which says EPD “shall” issue permits to applicants and note this language presents an impediment to stronger state action; others believe it offers a convenient excuse for regulators to allow bad actor corporations to continue operating. As governors love to remind us: Georgia is the “top state” for doing business in the country.
Why has the U.S. EPA not heeded the repeated recommendations of the U.S. Chemical Safety Board over two decades and put the disinfectant trichlor on the federal list of reactive chemicals that require additional risk-management plans? Have all these government agencies been “captured” by the very companies they are charged with regulating?
The Georgia Legislature
Last winter, the Georgia Legislature considered a bill proposed by Rep. Rick Townsend (R-Brunswick), which would have allowed EPD to investigate the environmental and other records of permit applicants for previous poor behavior; the information could be extremely useful in guiding the agency’s decisions on permit issuance, conditions, reissuance, or revocation. Many other states have enacted similar bad actor laws, including Florida. HB 1169 would have simply amended Georgia law to say EPD “may” issue permits, rather than “shall.”
At a natural resources subcommittee meeting held on February 15, 2024, lobbyists for the chemical and pulp and paper industries invoked their usual complaints: unintended consequences for their corporate clients, force majeure (violations caused by “acts of God”), problems with allowing regulatory discretion, uncertainty about the proclivities of future EPD leaders, different environmental standards in other states, and weather. The bill died.
The 2025 session of the Georgia Legislature begins on January 13. It is possible that Rep. Townsend or others will again introduce bad actor legislation—that they will work to safeguard the people of Georgia and their homes, instead of corporate profits. In this season of hope, I am cautiously, but not overly, optimistic.