Like many idealistic undergraduate students, I came to UW-Madison with the vague but admirable goal of saving the world. Wisely realizing that I probably wouldn’t be able to save all of the world, I decided to focus on just saving the environment.
Early on, it was clear that this would be no simple task. In freshman environmental studies classes, I watched with distress as pie charts and bar graphs flashed before my eyes, detailing the ecological horrors we were bringing upon ourselves. There’s no more room for garbage! The land in sinking from groundwater depletion! We’re going to run out of oil in less than 100 years! Florida is drowning!
The statistics were terrifying and motivating. Something had to be done, and I had to be to one to do it.
My first step towards saving the planet was to pick up an environmental engineering major. Not only did this degree allow me to keep with my engineering studies (as if I had just suffered through calculus two for nothing), it had the word “environmental” in the title—automatic earth-saving points.
After that, I started to unplug my toaster, and I replaced my light bulbs with compact fluorescents. Next, I dusted off the old Schwinn and learned to navigate the streets of Madison by bicycle. I also splurged on reusable shopping bags from Trader Joe’s and an aluminum water bottle from Whole Foods. I even tried becoming a vegetarian, but failed on the second day when my roommate pointed out that the sausage on the pizza I was eating was, in fact, a pork product.
But time has worn on, and despite my best efforts, Earth continues to roar towards destruction at hyper speed. Every time I flip on the news there’s either a new Nevada-sized chunk breaking off the Arctic Ice Shelf or a family of whooping cranes being displaced by suburban land development in Texas. Watching these bulletins, I’ve slowly realized that even if everyone did care, and even if everyone reused their shopping bags and changed their light bulbs, it still wouldn’t be enough to save the planet.
So what would be enough? What would we have to do to save the planet?
This past fall, I listened to a lecture on the importance of liquid biofuels for both national security and the environment. When asked about those who criticized the use of ethanol, the lecturer laughed and said, “Do you know how those people suggest we save the environment? They suggest we cut down the population and start from scratch. To them, it’s the only way.”
The audience chuckled a bit; I’m almost positive no one in that auditorium was ready to sacrifice himself for the Arctic Ice Shelf. But theoretically, I thought, that is just about the only way we completely can fix this mess. How do we expect to purify our air and earth and water if we keep consuming ever-waning resources and producing disposable junk?
Realistically, however, very few of us are willing to give up our hot showers, microwavable meals and insulated homes. The aforementioned ethanol opponents might be correct when they we have to start from scratch. But let’s be real. That’s simply not going to happen.
This, I’ve realized, is where engineering comes in. It turns out that my first step towards saving the planet—picking up that environmental engineering degree—was also the most important. Engineers tend to be realistic people; we understand the feasibility (or lack thereof) of any given idea. Destroying the current infrastructure and eliminating a large fraction of the human population? Not very feasible. Using science and technology to improve on our current practices? Definitely feasible.
Obviously, engineering isn’t quite synonymous with saving the earth. As a friend once joked of my major, “Isn’t environmental engineering an oxymoron?” He’s kind of right; development, by nature, takes its toll on the planet. Sustainable engineering, then, becomes a compromise—a compromise between the needs of the present and the fate of the future. It’s the textbook definition of sustainability, and like never before we have the need—and the knowledge—to make it happen.