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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I’ve been on a long journey that’s taken me around the world for more than two and a half years. Many hosts have provided for me, enabling me to grow and, in some cases, make changes.

I don’t recall the beginning. The first host I remember was an incredibly kind doctor. She spent countless hours caring for others, looking into their eyes, assuring them she would do everything she could for them.

She was so focused on helping others that she didn’t even know she was hosting me. I stayed quiet just long enough to make the jump to a famous American actor who was working in Australia.

He and his wife didn’t enjoy their time with me. They warned the world about me and my extended family.

My next host was a businessman. He had been in a hospital with his son, who had a broken leg. The businessman stayed in the waiting room for hours, trying to do his work but unable to focus because he was so concerned about his boy.

Finally, after hours of surgery, the doctor came out to talk to him and that’s when I found a new host.

This businessman worked hard. Once he discovered his son was safe, he ignored me and my needs.

I developed without anyone noticing me. At one point, I heard someone come looking for me, but I hid just far enough away. I traveled a great distance on a plane with him. Once we were in a new country, I had so many choices.

Realizing it was time to go, I jumped to an elderly bus driver. He was a gentle man. The lighter laugh lines near his eyes looked like waves approaching the shore on his dark chocolate skin.

Before he collapsed into bed the second evening we were together, he seemed to be staring directly at me. In his house, I had a choice of other possible hosts, but decided to hitch a ride with his son.

That one almost cost me my life. His son soon realized I was there, and he stayed away from everyone. I was curled up alone with him. He barely moved for long periods of time, except when he coughed or sat up and sent text messages and emails. One night, when he was finally sleeping, a man came into his room to clean it. That’s when I escaped.

This man didn’t even know he hosted me. He wasn’t stuck in bed, and he didn’t cough. I traveled with him to several events. After other trips, I found an important politician. We took a ride in a helicopter and went to a hospital where doctors provided all kinds of new medicines.

I became like a game of telephone, passing along from one person to the next. And, like a game of telephone, the message changed, as I demanded different things from my host.

I found myself at a concert with a young woman who sang and danced for hours. She looked so vibrant and full of life.

She was a friendly enough host, until I set up camp with her mother. Then, she shouted at me, praying to keep me away. She took me to a hotel, where she seemed to stare at me while she prayed.

When someone delivered food and walked in the room to wait for payment, I made the jump to him. During the day, he was a student with a full and busy life. I didn’t stay long, moving on to his girlfriend, her roommate, and, eventually, to a professor.

I stayed with the professor for over a week. She spent considerable time grading papers, writing at her computer, talking to family members, and taking medicine.

I have made some changes along the way. I don’t travel with as much baggage as I used to. I know people think I’m not as much of a burden as I was in the early days. My most recent host would disagree. He couldn’t talk, had trouble sleeping and was exhausted all the time. I’m getting ready to travel the world again this fall and winter. You can ignore me all you want, but I’m still here, making changes and preparing to find more hosts.

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Frank Melville Memorial Park. Photo by Gene Sprouse

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Last week I wrote about the pleasure of getting away, even for a day, and enjoying the foliage season in lower New England. This time I want to wax rhapsodic (well, in a manner of speaking) about the special places we love here in the neighborhood. 

Do you have such a special place? By which, I mean a place you go when you want to enjoy the beauty of the area, where you can sit and relax and let concerns just melt away for a few minutes. Or where you can go to think out troubles peacefully, deciding what to do next. Or maybe, you just want a bucolic walk.

One such location for me is the Frank Melville Memorial Park, not far from 25A and my office in Setauket, but nicely hidden from view. Opened in 1937 as a memorial to Frank Melville Jr., it was the brainchild of his wife, Jennie MacConnell Melville, and his son, Ward Melville. While it is privately owned, the park is open for the pleasure of the public every day from sunrise to sunset.

So who was Frank Melville, you might ask, and how did it happen that a park is dedicated to him?

Frank Melville Jr. started by selling shoes to the residents from his sailboat on a fixed schedule, as he and his family of wife and small children circumnavigated Long Island. Eventually, he founded the Thom McAn brand with J. Franklin McElwain, a New Hampshire shoe manufacturer, exactly one hundred years ago. Their first retail shoe store in New York, selling a few simple styles at a low fixed price, then expanded to hundreds of stores across the US, becoming the largest footwear retailer in the country with 1400 stores. The brand name was eventually bought by Sears 86 years later. 

As they grew wealthy, the Melvilles, who lived in Manhattan, bought a second home for themselves in Old Field, and became increasingly philanthropic, donating local land for community benefit, including what is now the campus for Stony Brook University. And it was Ward Melville, who visualized and created Stony Brook Village in 1941, the first outdoor mall in the country, and to this day, a fun daytime destination.

When I walk through the park, which surrounds the duck pond with leafy and varied greenery now changing colors, I marvel at the generosity and vision of the Melville family in fashioning such a jewel for anyone who wishes to enjoy its paved path, picture postcard views and many benches. It is such a place of respite for those of us who work just around the corner and those who come with their dogs from farther away. 

Dogs are welcome, as long as their owners pick up after them. We sat on one of the benches last Saturday and called out, “Hello, Dog,” to the various pooches as they walked by with their owners. The dogs immediately veered over for a pat, and sometimes the owners lingered for a chat. 

It was quite a social affair on a beautiful fall afternoon for dogs and people.

One of the people we met as we strolled along was Anita Lago, an energetic woman from Stony Brook who discovered the pond and the park eight years ago and has been coming over to enjoy the swans regularly since then. When she was found cleaning out the stray fishing lines and other detritus that might enmesh the fowl, she was offered a pail and a rake by the foundation that oversees the park and invited to be official. And so, she can be found at water’s edge, when she is not at her full-time job, a hard-working volunteer helping to keep the pond clean and the swans and other fowl safe.

The Frank Melville Memorial Park is supported by donations from a grateful public. It’s that kind of place, one that brings out the best in all of us as it gifts to us all year round.

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Election Day is less than two weeks away, and now is the time for citizens to begin researching their ballots.

When we vote, we are not merely selecting a “D” or “R.” Our representatives are living, breathing creatures with all of the features of ordinary citizens. They possess personality traits, character flaws, preferences, opinions and persuasions. 

In these last few weeks, we must uncover these traits and determine whether they align with our values. Today, it is not enough to show up to the polls and vote. Here in Suffolk County, we find numerous examples of the popular will being subverted to advance the interests of a powerful few. 

Take judicial elections, for example. Party leaders hold enormous power concerning our judges. Through a sequence of dealmaking and compromises — most of which happen behind closed doors and away from the public eye — the party leaders line up all county judgeships through cross-endorsements well before the election.

To receive a judgeship and the sweet $185,000 to $211,000 salary that comes with it, our “elected” judges do what they must. They answer to their superiors, who are the political bosses awarding them their seats of power and cushy salaries. Meanwhile, the ordinary citizens — those paying these salaries — get left behind and forgotten.

If we do not research our ballots thoroughly, then our only options this November are those handpicked by the party chieftains. An uninformed citizenry only reinforces this broken electoral system, rendering our elected officials less accountable to the people with each passing election.

A functional, vibrant democracy requires that citizens take an active, rather than passive, role in the electoral process. We must take a deeper plunge into the candidates on our ballots. Who are these people? What are their professional backgrounds? If elected, how will they advance our values and interests?

It is time for the people to take back the reins of power. Let not the political bosses pull our strings as they do the puppets they try to plant in office. 

If we want politicians to be accountable to us, we must give our votes much more weight. Blindly voting down a ballot is as pointless and unproductive as not voting at all, especially since ballots also include candidates who have not actively campaigned. No person, regardless of party affiliation, is entitled to our vote.

Next week, TBR News Media will release its election supplement. Read through those articles, and get to know your prospective representatives. Let us break away from the party masters. Let the age of the uninformed voter die a sudden, unceremonious death.

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

In tougher days before our son had a driver’s license and I had to pick him up from school, I brought the dog in the car. I’d see my son walking from school, head down, shoulders slumped, with the equivalent of a teenage angst enveloping him.

He’d get to the car, ready to throw himself into the seat next to me, to tell me his day was “fine” or that he “didn’t want to talk about anything,” and then he’d see the dog, wagging and prancing in the back seat and he was helpless against such charm and unbridled joy.

Our dog would throw his head into his hands, letting our son know that anything and everything our son did, particularly when he pet our dog’s ears, was welcome and appreciated.

While I know many people love puppies, with their fluffy fur and their playful demeanor, I have become increasingly attached and fond of our dog as he has aged.

And, as my wife has said, the feeling appears to be mutual.

When he was younger, our dog rarely came when I called him. He seemed fine with my petting him, but he didn’t go out of his way to get up from a comfortable nap.

But, then, something happened in the last year. Maybe it’s because we’ve traveled to visit family and friends for weddings and we haven’t taken him on each of our trips, or because he suddenly figured out that I feed him, provide water and take him for his necessary walks.

Whatever the case, he’s as happy to see me as I am to see him. At the same time, he’s become increasingly sensitive to the stress I’m feeling. When I get off the phone after an exasperating call with a customer service representative, he comes wagging over as if to say, “Yeah, that was annoying, but you’ll be fine and I’m still incredibly soft. Don’t you want to check?”

Recently, I contracted COVID-19. My wife, who hasn’t been feeling too well herself, took incredible care of me, picking up food and medicine while I shivered in bed and struggled to swallow through the razor blades dangling in the back of my throat.

In addition to the necessary and helpful support from my wife and brothers, I received encouragement from our dog, who seemed to recognize something was amiss. He came to the side of the bed and leaned his head into my hand. He put his paw up near my arm as well, wagging cautiously and looking into my eyes.

He reminded me of our dog from my childhood. Also, a golden retriever, our earlier dog raced to the kitchen door to be let out (yes, that was a different time). He used to return when he was ready and after he’d visited the neighbors and tended to his physical needs.

In my junior year of high school, I developed a migraine that limited my ability to see and gave me a horrific headache. At the same time, all physical contact was uncomfortable, from my friend touching my hand to guide me to the nurse to my mother escorting me to the car.

When I returned home, I lay in a dark room, miserable under the searing pain. The dog, who wasn’t used to having me home during the day, stayed in my room all day. He didn’t move or make a sound and, more amazingly, he never tried to touch my hand.

He finally went outside after I got up and felt better. He stood guard all those years ago, just as our pets do now, protecting us against strangers and offering support in our lowest and most emotionally vulnerable moments.

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The last few days marked National School Bus Safety and National Teen Driver Safety weeks. The lessons and tips organizations shared during these respective periods are vital to remember all year.

School bus laws seem easy for drivers to understand when they are behind the easy-to-spot, yellow vehicle. However, confusion seems to ensue when it is situated elsewhere on the road. If a driver is in the vicinity of a school bus with its red lights flashing and its “stop” sign extended, it means to stop and wait. This applies not only when a driver is behind the school bus but also when it’s on the opposite side of the road, whether it be on a two-way street, divided highway or multiple-lane roadway. The rules also apply in parking lots and school grounds.

In New York, respecting the law can mean saving anywhere from $250 to $1,000 in fines, avoiding jail time, having points on a license or its being revoked. Most important of all, stopping when seeing a school bus saves children’s lives.

When those children grow up and are ready to learn how to drive, there is a lot to take in, and safe driving behaviors should be of the utmost importance. Parents need to have meaningful conversations with their children about making sure seat belts are used and traffic laws are followed.

The repercussions of distracted driving, such as loud music, goofing around with friends and checking text messages, must also be brought up. Parents can lead by example by ensuring when their teens are behind the wheel, they avoid bad driving habits, especially when other young people are in the car.

One of the most important conversations parents can have with their children is that if using alcohol or drugs at a party, make sure to have a designated driver, sleep over or use Uber or Lyft. While the use of these apps has increased, providing rides when needed, some still insist on getting behind the wheel after drinking. With the holidays around the corner, incidents of people too impaired to drive will inevitably increase. A car can always be retrieved from where it was left the night before, but a life can never be replaced.

With the cooler weather here, there is another traffic safety reminder for people of all ages to heed. It’s the beginning of mating season for deer, also known as rutting season. The animals can run out on the road without warning. Usually when a driver sees one, there may be another or a few right behind the first, especially around dusk. When one is spotted, proceed with caution — and respect deer-crossing warning signs.

Dangers on our roadways seem to be increasing every day, but with a little bit of education and care, we can make our roads safer for all.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

My grandmother was a worrier. 

Even she, however, would have had a hard time worrying about other major challenges, problems and threats during the worst of the COVID-19 pandemic.

That, it turns out, was also true for the world during COVID when it came to discussions about the threat from climate change.

In a recent study published in the prestigious journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, Oleg Smirnov, associate professor in the Department of Political Science at Stony Brook University, examined the level of concern on Twitter about climate change during 2020 and 2021 and compared those numbers to 2019, the last year before COVID.

According to the pool of finite worry, which Princeton professor of Psychology Elke Weber developed, environmental and climate concerns decline amid worries about other major threats.

Smirnov found that the total number of tweets that mention climate change dropped to 5.6 million in 2020 and 5.3 million in 2021, from 8 million in 2019. This, Smirnov points out, occurred despite an increase in Twitter users, more climate disasters and more climate news in 2021.

“The psychological foundation tell us that people may only really respond to one threat at a time,” Smirnov said in an interview. The anxiety and the reaction to that threat may be limited because it requires major energy.

“Maybe, for biological reasons, [people] put all their energy into responding to the most immediate threat,” Smirnov added.

By tracking daily tweets and various measures of COVID cases, Smirnov found on a finer scale as well that discussions of climate change diminished amid higher infections and mortality.

For every thousand new COVID-19 cases in the United States, climate change tweets decreased by about 40.5 tweets per day. Every thousand new deaths resulted in 3,308 fewer climate tweets.

While Smirnov understood the need to focus on the pandemic, he suggested a lack of concern about climate change could disrupt efforts to protect the planet

“This has profound implications,” Smirnov said. “Without a focus on climate change, without an emphasis on its importance, there is less urgency and less pressure on politicians to do something about it.”

Even in better times, climate change efforts are “fragile,” he said, which adds to the uncertainty about the ability to address the challenge adequately.

Indeed, even the sentiment analysis, in which Smirnov reviewed the emotional content of words used to describe climate change and the threat to the planet and humanity, became less negative during the worst of the pandemic.

When asked about the possibility that climate change concerns might have declined during COVID in part because the carbon footprint declined amid travel restrictions and slowdowns in industrial production, Smirnov likened such an approach to short-term fasting or extreme dieting.

While spending a few days on these extreme diets can reduce a person’s weight over the course of days, such an approach provides “no substantial improvement in your health” longer term, he said.

So, what about now, as concerns about the pandemic abate, people have stopped wearing masks and schools and stadiums are full?

Smirnov plans to continue to collect Twitter data for the remainder of this year, to see whether a return to normalcy brings the focus back to the threat from climate change.

As for his own experience, Smirnov recognized that climate change took a back burner amid the worst of the pandemic.

“My attention certainly was hijacked by COVID-19, despite the fact that climate change is part of my work,” Smirnov said. In April of 2020, Smirnov recalled worrying about where his family would find food instead of thinking about greenhouse gases and rising sea levels.

In the present, Smirnov remains concerned about the kind of tipping points and climate inertia that threatens the future.

Ever the worrier, my grandmother might be relieved enough by the less virulent form of the virus and the availability of vaccines and treatment to return to worrying about the threat climate change poses.

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Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

It was time to get away, even for a day, and when better than on foliage weekend! So Saturday, we took the ferry to Connecticut and started up Route 8 to get to the Berkshires and the seasonal colors. Were we too late in the fall? Shortly after we left Bridgeport, our choice of time and place were confirmed. It was a perfect autumn day, sunny, bright, soft breeze, balmy even, and the colors burst upon us, the reds, oranges, yellows mixed with a still significant amount of green as we began to drive through the hills. No, we were not too late.

We had been concerned, too, about the effects of the summer’s drought on the leaves. We needn’t have worried. Perhaps, it wasn’t the most dramatic foliage we had ever witnessed, some trees were already bare, but it was brilliant enough to excite our eyes. We whooped around every bend in the road that presented us with a new palette of hills and color. 

The timing of foliage season has altered somewhat over the past few years. Climate change has impacted peak leaf peeping by extending the warmer weather that keeps trees green. Hence the optimal viewing time has also been delayed. This year, according to records, seems like it will clock in as the fifth warmest. So it turned out that our urge for an outing was right on.

Where to go?

The Store

While it was possible just to drive slowly, drinking in the scenery, it was also fun to have a destination in mind. We left the highway, or rather it left us as it ended in Winsted, incidentally, my dad’s birthplace, and we started on a local road that eventually led us to Southfield, the home of a long-ago college roommate with whom we had lost contact. She, and her family, as we discovered, no longer lived there, but that didn’t stop us from enjoying the tiny town. Yes, it was one of those “blink and you will miss it” villages, but we didn’t blink. We parked and had lunch at The Store, a delightful coffee, pastry and sandwich shop with tables inside as well as out front. Happily installed in one corner of the patio with a turkey and avocado sandwich and a generous slice of chocolate-banana bread, to be washed down with ambrosial coffee, we chatted up the couple at the adjoining table, who were smiling at us.

In fact, it was the kind of day that prompted everyone to smile. There we were, amid glorious leafage, basking in ideal temperature and bright sunlight in the peaceful countryside. They told us their names, Paul and Julia, and that they were from Westchester County and celebrating their anniversary. For the first time, they were at leisure to do that because their two children, a son and a daughter, were at college. She was a psychologist, he worked in finance, and they had left their responsibilities behind to stay at the historic inn in the next village for the weekend.

They were fun to talk to, as was every other person who went by, walking their dogs. We asked each one if they knew the roommate’s family, but just about each one apologized and explained that they had only moved there 20 years ago. What a coincidence, we thought. They had all come more or less at the same time. It wasn’t until the next day that we realized what had happened those two decades ago: 9/11 happened. If one wanted to escape from a city to a safe and bucolic place, here was one such location. Perhaps that was what brought them there.

We stayed in the area, driving around, enjoying the typical New England white clapboard church with its distinctive steeple, the inn and the village common along with glorious Nature. Then, as night fell, we had dinner at the inn before returning home.

The next day, I felt as if I had been aired out.

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Metro photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I have never been as happy to hear a Madonna song as I was this weekend.

Let me back up. My family and I attended our second familial wedding of the last three months. This one was a destination wedding in Ithaca, New York.

Stepping out of the rental car at the hotel on campus, I realized I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, as shorts, a T-shirt and a sweatshirt weren’t sufficient for the cooler upstate air.

In the hours before the ceremony on Saturday, my son, brother-in-law, his grown sons and I threw a tiny gift shop Nerf ball around on the baseball field, while surrounded by a visual collage of multi-colored foliage. That tiny football was probably the best $7.50 I’ve ever spent at a wedding.

With the wedding in the hotel, we only had to push an elevator button to get to the correct floor.

The bride and groom exchanged vows that they hadn’t previously shared with each other. Not too surprisingly after dating for close to a decade, the vows included many of the same references to things they each enjoyed about their time together, including dancing in the kitchen while making dinners, watching TV shows together during college, and running to the clock tower and back.

During the cocktail hour, I excused myself from my social circle to go to the bathroom, where I overheard the first of two unusual restroom conversations. The groom and his young cousin were chatting.

“You know the secret to a successful marriage?” the young man asked, eager to share the accelerated wisdom he’d accrued during his short life.

“What’s that?” the groom asked gamely.

“Separate vacations,” the sage young man suggested.

“Hmm, well,” the groom continued, “thanks so much for coming. I appreciate it.”

“My mom said my grandparents would have wanted us to come, so we came,” the unfiltered young man added.

Fortunately, neither of them could hear me inhale sharply.

Listening to the toasts and comments from the parents of the bride and groom, each side seemed to think the new member of the family would help soothe their partner. Perhaps, that says something about the way the bride and groom interact with their parents?

After dinner and before the music started, I returned to the restroom. This time, a man was standing at the sink, washing his hands.

“Out of respect for the gentleman who just walked in, I’m going to end our conversation about poop,” he said to a friend in the stall.

“Oh, uh, I’ll be leaving soon,” I offered, not wanting to interrupt.

“It’s okay,” he added. “We were done.”

Returning to the ballroom, I raced to the dance floor once the music started. My wife, children and I love to dance, with each of us smiling and shimmying as we jump, sway and sing the lyrics of the music. Somehow, our daughter knows the words to just about every song at most of these events, singing and shouting them to her cousin’s girlfriend, who has the same encyclopedic knowledge of modern music. I chime in with the chorus, while our son glides around, often with his arms in the air.

And here’s where Madonna came in. After bending my knees and swaying to numerous rap songs I had never heard before, I was thrilled to hear the familiar intro to a Madonna hit.

Buoyed by throwback sounds from an earlier decade, I threw myself around the floor, crooning for all I was worth.

When the rap songs returned, I scanned the floor and saw the bride, groom and their friends sharing their euphoria for the moment and for their familiar music. While Frank Sinatra never made an appearance, the happy couple were clearly doing it their way.

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By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

This message is for older people who are reading this column and may get COVID-19. The information may save your life. It may have saved mine.

Especially for older people, COVID is a deadly virus. What defines older? Let’s say, beyond 50. Now there is a medicine that dramatically reduces severity and possible death from this virus, but many Americans are not taking it. Its name is Paxlovid.

“Never really in recent history for a respiratory virus can I think of an anti-viral medication being as effective, demonstrated in scientific literature, as what Paxlovid has shown,” stated Dr. Rebecca Wang, an infectious disease specialist at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center, when interviewed by The New York Times.

Both random trials and data from electronic health records have shown this medicine to be effective, particularly among older patients. The medicine works by inhibiting the virus’s replication once it invades the body. Its underuse is already associated with thousands of preventable deaths, according to Dr. Robert Wachter, chair of the medicine department at the University of California, San Francisco.

“A large chunk of deaths are preventable right now with Paxlovid alone,” Dr. Ashish Jha, the White House COVID response coordinator told David Leonhardt of The New York Times. He predicted that if every American 50 and above with COVID received a course of either Paxlovid or monoclonal antibodies, daily deaths might fall to about 50 per day, from about 400 per day.

So why aren’t people taking the medicine?

For one reason, Paxlovid, which is taken twice a day for five days, does leave a metallic taste in the mouth. So I found that by eating half a banana after each dose, I got rid of the unwelcome taste. I also got the benefit of a banana a day, which is a healthy and nutritious fruit containing fiber and some essential vitamins and minerals.

Another possible reason is the association of Paxlovid with “rebound,” a second session of the disease which can occur a week to a month after the end of the first round. Experts don’t know what causes the rebound. A rebound is possible even if the patient never used Paxlovid. And even if he or she did, perhaps a longer duration of the drug is necessary for some patients than the five days currently administered.

Research has shown that out of sample of 568,000 patients, 0.016% over 50 who used Paxlovid died. For a similar cohort of patients who did not use the drug, the death rate was four times higher or 0.070. But only 25% of patients eligible to receive the drug actually took it, even though it is available and free.

Thanks to my son, Daniel Dunaief, who has spoken with two infectious disease experts, we also have some local reaction to the drug. Dr. Andrew Handel, pediatric infectious disease physician at Stony Brook Children’s Hospital, commented, “Hesitancy to take Paxlovid seems to fall in line with the general ‘COVID fatigue.’  COVID is clearly less lethal now than during prior surges, thanks in large part to vaccinations, but it still causes some hospitalizations. Those at highest risk of severe disease, particularly those who are unvaccinated, benefit from antiviral treatment if they are infected.”

Dr. David Galinkin, infectious disease expert at St. Charles Hospital, said, “The media has overblown this rebound experience. In the literature, about 10% of cases [have a rebound.] Like any other medication, people that could really benefit from Paxlovid [should consider it.] … We are still seeing people dying from this.”

Perhaps more doctors could be better informed about this drug. Additional information and encouragement are needed from the White House, and a lot more public announcements should be placed in the media to reach people. As has been the case throughout these last two-and-one-half COVID years, instructions have been changing, adjusted as the scientific and medical professions learn more about this pathogen. Proper treatment is still a work in progress.

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Nuclear power. Pixabay photo

The nuclear industry will see major growth thanks to the recently passed Inflation Reduction Act, and Long Island communities must again resist calls to go nuclear.

Among other incentives, the new federal law gives tax credits to utility companies that invest in new nuclear plants. While this may benefit other places around the country, such as West Virginia’s coal economy, it will do no good for Long Island.

The decommissioned Shoreham Nuclear Power Plant, still standing today, is a living relic of Long Island’s long-standing opposition to nuclear power. At the time of its construction, the plant saw intense local resistance for various reasons. 

While efforts to oppose Shoreham proved successful, we know that bad ideas die hard. While nuclear energy sees a renaissance nationwide, let us remember why we are a nuclear-free zone.

Anyone driving on the LIE at rush hour understands the glaring logistical hurdles of evacuating Long Island during a potential nuclear meltdown. It can take hours to get off the Island on any given day of the week. Our mass transit network is outdated and already incapable of supporting this overdeveloped and highly congested regional economy. 

In an age of more frequent and intense hurricanes, a nuclear meltdown appears ever more plausible. Swift and successful evacuation seems unlikely, if not impossible. For these reasons, adding nuclear infrastructure would be an existential threat to the health and safety of Long Island residents. 

Properly treating and disposing of radioactive material remains an unsettled science. Ridding ourselves of this toxic waste would put a greater strain on our already cluttered roads, highways, tunnels and bridges, further complicating evacuation efforts.

Finally, while we acknowledge that nuclear energy vastly outperforms wind and solar technologies, we should continue exploring these cleaner, safer alternatives. We should limit our carbon footprint and reduce fossil fuel consumption where possible, but we should do so responsibly. Reintroducing nuclear power to Long Island merely swaps one environmental hazard for another, endangering our citizens needlessly.

The apparent ties between our electric service provider and the nuclear industry should give Long Islanders unease, especially since the Long Island Power Authority maintains an 18% stake in the Oswego-based Nine Mile Point Nuclear Station. 

History tells us that powerful and monied interests may try to score a quick profit, even at the expense of ordinary folk. In time, some here on Long Island may seek to use the newly available nuclear energy subsidies. We must not let them. 

Long Island has never been — and never will be — a safe venue for nuclear energy. We must remember the example of Shoreham, how generations of Long Islanders have fought to keep our island nuclear free. Let us continue their work.

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