The ethical oil problem is not in the tarsands; it’s in how we think

HAMILTON SPECTATOR: January 26, 2012 

I pull into a gas station for a fill up — traffic is at a standstill anyway. I brace myself against the cold wind, lug the nozzle from the pump, and unscrew the gas cap. Gasoline rushes down the tank’s gullet — and cash out of my wallet. The little monster sure is thirsty considering it sits idle 95 per cent of the time while costing me $10,000 a year.

Instead of descending down this well-worn mental path, I scan my brain for more positive thoughts. I recall federal Environment Minister Peter Kent branding the tarsands “ethical oil.” This puts a smile on my face. I’m not supporting some evil Middle Eastern dictator — I’m doing my part to make the world a better place. Sure some of Ontario’s oil still comes from overseas but much more of it now comes from our great western tarsands and its benevolent Chinese, European and North American investors.

I inhale deeply. The gas fumes that a moment ago annoyed me now hint at the scent of a different type of oil — marching ever-eastward through pipelines traversing field and mountain of this vast land to refineries in Ontario — and of justice.

The numbers clicking upwards on the pump now take on a patriotic hum. I’m not a hapless consumer shivering in the cold; I’m a brave sentinel standing on guard for our homeland …

I drift into a daydream that transports me to the sunny tarsands of Alberta.

Caribou, bears and moose roam peacefully across Alberta’s rugged terrain — occasionally looking up to see grazing petro multinationals with whom they share the bounty of the earth. The oil here doesn’t leave the ground under pressure like it does in ruthless, democracy-challenged nations — no, this oil is liberated from the ground when massive areas of land burdened by forests, wetlands and wildlife habitat are cleared — courageous work aided by generous taxpayer subsidies. Huge pits are then opened to the skies; tarsands scooped up in giant buckets, cradled on the backs of massive trucks and carefully delivered to upgrading plants.

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Fresh water from underground sources or mountain- and glacier-fed rivers is then heated using clean natural gas from our great northern regions to form a pleasant bath where the sand offers up its golden lubricant. I grin happily: Is this the recipe for extracting oil, or for making organic beer?

The water used in the process is so appreciated by the petro giants that they have started reusing it before dumping it, along with unneeded remnants, into gigantic tailings ponds so beautiful that migratory birds must constantly be discouraged from plunging into them.

Newer techniques pump steam — water superheated with clean natural gas — underground to warm the trapped bitumen, allowing it to flow into accommodating pipes and then to the welcoming arms of the oil barons. My SUV’s tailpipe completes this virtuous pathway by sending the combusted fuel to the heavens for a long afterlife.

To produce the 100 litres of gas my SUV needs for a fill-up will take more than a barrel of synthetic crude from the tarsands, enough water to fill my bath tub up to five times, natural gas in an amount sufficient to heat my home for a few days or more, and various landscape adjustments. These generous inputs lead some people to call the tarsands “dirty oil.” I call it a bargain.

I begin to wonder: If this is “ethical oil,” won’t it also produce “ethical emissions” — perhaps distributing the pain of climate change equally among rich and poor, with climate-induced tornadoes and hurricanes side-stepping trailer parks or the huts of the poor along coastal areas in favour of the higher ground and sturdy homes of oil CEOs, lawyers and bankers who better comprehend the rewards of tarsands development.

I puff out my chest and look skyward: “Our tarsands, our land, our booming economy …” I stop myself and chuckle, remembering the sensitivities of some Western politicians and the adverse impact of the rising dollar on our manufacturing jobs. I’m in a good mood now — feeling the glow of moral superiority — and keen to share the good will of this season. “Your tarsands, your profits, our …”

I am jolted out of my reverie by the screeching brakes of a car pulling into the gas station and narrowly avoiding a cyclist. People in a passing bus crane their necks to see the commotion. I drive off comforted by my pleasant thoughts. At least for Canada, the way forward is clear.