America generates 40 million tons of plastic waste a year — and it can't be recycled

America has long had a plastic problem. It's an urgent question — what do we do with the 40 million tons of plastic waste we produce annually? One year of plastic waste is roughly enough to smother the entirety of Manhattan a meter deep, and it has to go somewhere. For years, the answer was simple: Make a lot of it, dump most of it in the landfill, and make the rest of it someone else's problem — the US regularly exported 7 million tons a year to China alone. Some of it was melted into lesser plastic; the rest was incinerated or buried.

But then, in 2018, China cut off plastic imports.

Now, America is coming to terms with a hard truth: Plastic was never designed to be recycled and there's no profitable way to recycle 91% of it. The environmental impacts have been disastrous. About 430 million tons of plastic are produced globally every year, accounting for 14% of global oil demand. The refinement of plastic alone emits up to 235 million tons of greenhouse gases a year. Most of that plastic breaks down into microplastics that make their way into the air, rain, and our bodies. Almost 95% of America's water supply contains plastic fibers.

While the US, the UK, and other European countries responded to China's ban by sending their waste to places like Thailand and Malaysia, those countries then followed China in cutting off waste imports. The message was clear: The Global South would no longer be a dumping ground for the West.

America is now scrambling to find alternatives. One approach peddled by oil corporations like Chevron and Exxon has been to turn plastic into crude oil, which they say extends the life of plastic that would've otherwise ended up in a landfill. As these companies look to replace projected lost revenue from the phasing out of fossil fuels, they're lobbying to blanket the country with 150 plants that specialize in pyrolysis, a form of chemical recycling that melts plastic down into crude oil to be used for fuel and petrochemicals, as well as to make lesser-quality plastics. While advocates champion these facilities for breaking down hard-to-recycle plastics that other recyclers toss aside, critics condemn them for emitting toxic particles, relying heavily on government subsidies, and acting as a greenwashed alternative to addressing the plastic problem.

As they're pitched as an innovation set to bring us a "circular economy" of plastic that allows us to stop making new plastic and just reuse what we have, marketing for pyrolysis and recycling overlooks a glaring fact: Plastic production doubles every 15 to 20 years.

This isn't sustainable, Tim Miller, a vice president at the Ohio plastic-recycling center Royal Paper Stock, told me, adding: "But I don't know how to stop it." Pyrolysis is another sign of America's plastic paralysis.

In the years after World War II, plastic flooded the marketplace as a cheap alternative to otherwise scarce and finite materials. It was hailed as a democratic harbinger of a new, utopian age of capitalism, fueling the subsequent decades of cheap consumerism that became synonymous with the American dream.

"The continuous flow of oil fueled not just cars but an entire culture based on the consumption of new products made of plastics," Susan Freinkel wrote in her book "Plastic: A Toxic Love Story."

Plastic went from being practically nonexistent in 1940 to being consumed at a rate of 30 pounds a person each year by 1960. Just as quickly, it became a target of environmental movements protesting litter, garbage-filled oceans, and landfills brimming with plastic. Oil and chemical companies responded by looking into whether recycling was realistic or, more importantly, profitable. It wasn't. So companies shifted the blame for the pollution onto consumers. The "Crying Indian" commercial, funded by beverage and packaging corporations, aired in 1971, showing a Native American character crying at the sight of litter.

The messaging worked. As companies expanded plastic into every facet of life, recycling became the due diligence needed to sustain our hyperconsumption. We didn't worry about plastic bottles because the recycling truck carried them off to a new life. Companies like Coca-Cola and Nestlé slapped "100% recycled" and "100% recyclable" labels on their packaging to appear sustainable. Just last year, the Plastics Industry Association launched a million-dollar ad campaign, "Recycling Is Real," claiming that it's "not only real, but feasible and economical."

While recycling is real, the vast majority of plastic isn't recycled, mostly due to how expensive it is to clean and sort it effectively. A 2022 report by the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development found only 9% of all plastic ever produced had been recycled; 72% ended up in landfills or the environment. Unlike aluminum or glass, the plastic that can be recycled rarely results in replacing one recycled water bottle with another.

Instead, it's a process of downcycling — turning plastic into lesser plastics like plant containers or bins before they are relegated to a landfill. By downcycling a tiny portion of plastic waste, companies can genuinely reuse a relatively small share of plastic, while convincing consumers that the industry has created a circular economy of infinitely recycled plastic. Never mind that products advertised as being made from recycled plastic are made almost entirely out of new plastic or that almost all the 300 pounds of plastic every American consumes each year (10 times as much as in 1960) ends up in a landfill, in the ocean, or incinerated.

Larry Thomas, a former president of what's now called the Plastics Industry Association, told NPR in 2020: "If the public thinks that recycling is working, then they are not going to be as concerned about the environment." And if they aren't worried about the impact of plastic on the environment, they won't threaten the plastics industry.

Since 2018, the fossil-fuel and plastics industries have faced two harsh realities: Oil is being phased out in favor of clean, renewable energy, and plastic waste can no longer be exported to developing nations in the South. To replace their fuel losses, oil companies are going all in on plastic. The International Energy Agency predicted in 2018 that petrochemical products like plastic would outpace trucks, aviation, and shipping in oil demand by 2050. In a recent report, ExxonMobil predicted that petrochemicals used largely for plastics and fertilizer would account for nearly all of the oil industry's growth by 2050, replacing industrial fuel demand, which is projected to decrease. To keep expanding plastic production, however, it needs to look sustainable.

Akron, Ohio, which hosts about one-quarter of the country's polymer companies, is ground zero for this push. Designated by the Biden administration as the only "tech hub" in Ohio, the city has received tens of millions of dollars from the CHIPS Act, which it hopes to use to create a circular economy around plastic.

In 2012, Alterra Energy opened America's first large-scale plastic-pyrolysis facility. According to its website, Alterra converts "plastics back into their original building blocks to produce new plastics and other valuable products." The crude oil produced by the Akron facility is shipped to petrochemical companies around the globe to be purified and made into new plastics. But it's unclear how effective this process is.

A study published in 2023 by researchers at the National Renewable Energy Laboratory found that the economic and environmental impact of turning pyrolysis oil back into plastic was actually far worse than it was to make brand-new plastic. As a result, they said, pyrolysis oil is "typically reintegrated into the petrochemical industry where only a small fraction is used for closed-loop recycling."

"It has had, let's say, limited success," Miller, the Royal Paper Stock vice president, said about pyrolysis. "No one yet in the United States that I know of is just cranking in plastic and pumping out oil." He pointed to a pyrolysis facility in Oregon that just announced it would shut down after tens of millions of dollars in losses.

Residents in Akron are split on the impacts of the Alterra facility. On the one hand, pyrolysis melts plastic to be reused instead of sending it to the landfill or incinerator. On the other, it emits cancerous pollutants such as mercury, benzene, and arsenic, and props up the very fossil-fuel companies that are driving the climate crisis.

"Akron's going for 'the green city on the hill,'" Kelley Sayre, a fourth-generation Akron resident, told me, "but it's really 'the greenwashing city.'"

Vicky Abou-Ghalioum, the lead petrochemicals organizer of Buckeye Environmental Network, has been working with Akron residents concerned about the environmental and health impacts of chemical recycling, but it's proved challenging in a city ruled by polymers. "People are afraid to talk about plastic," she told me. Her organization has been pushing the EPA to address the influx of planned pyrolysis facilities in Ohio, arguing that they're bad for the environment and people, and aren't even profitable.

In a statement to Business Insider, Alterra Energy said its Akron facility is profitable and diverts over 100,000 pounds of plastic each day from landfills. "We operate in a heavily regulated industry and are in compliance with those requirements," the company said in response to concerns about toxic emissions. It also said one of its customers uses Alterra's oil product exclusively for making new plastic.

Despite the problems of pyrolysis, many manufacturers hail it as a sustainable miracle. Companies such as Eastman Chemical Co. see chemical recycling as the solution to recycling or composting 50% of their plastic packaging by 2025, and the American Chemistry Council claims the growing industry is necessary for fostering what it calls "plastics circularity." But these companies face an uphill battle. Former Mayor Mike Bloomberg of New York City launched an $85 million campaign in 2022 to stop over 120 proposed petrochemical facilities. "Petrochemical plants poison our air and water — killing Americans and harming the health of entire communities," Bloomberg said in a statement.

In the plastic-recycling industry, pyrolysis is seen as a well funded but failing experiment. A 2023 report by Beyond Plastics and the International Pollutants Elimination Network found that the 11 pyrolysis facilities in operation in the US required massive public subsidies, most couldn't operate at full capacity, and only two of the plants sold the crude oil to be used exclusively for plastic production. Most of it was sold to make fuels and chemicals. Based on their findings, they argued that pyrolysis was ultimately "a public relations distraction to prevent plastic regulation and prop up the profits of the petrochemical/plastics industry."

Though the conundrum of plastic grows more dire by the day, there are signs of hope. In early 2022, the UN adopted a resolution that could send shock waves throughout the entire plastic-disposing world. Heads of state, environment ministers, and UN representatives agreed to end all plastic pollution with a legally binding international plastic treaty to be officially adopted later this year. "Plastic pollution has grown into an epidemic," Espen Barth Eide, Norway's then-minister for climate and the environment, said in the announcement. "With today's resolution we are officially on track for a cure."

The resolution would establish an agreement addressing plastic at every level, from production to recycling, in an attempt to reduce plastic pollution worldwide. Organizations such as the international coalition Break Free From Plastic have said that cutting the production of plastic has to be on the table. "The oil and gas industry sees plastic as its primary growth market and is investing billions of dollars in new and expanded facilities," the organization wrote in a 2022 statement. The group recommended bans on single-use plastics, a plastic tax, and regulations that prioritize plastics that can be recycled.

"Reduction in the production of plastic is entirely possible," Abou-Ghalioum of Buckeye Environmental Network told me. She pointed to the more than 500 cities and 12 states that have banned plastic bags, reducing the number of bags used by the billions. "It's talked about how we rely on plastic for so many things, and it just feels like a marketing ploy to make us reluctant to shift away from it," she said. "We had everything we ever needed before plastic."

The tough reality is that the 9.5 billion tons of plastic with us will be here for hundreds of years. But how many millions of more tons are added will be determined by the types of solutions we arrive at today.

Taylor Dorrell is a writer and photographer based in Columbus, Ohio.