How a Romanian Recycles
When I was 12, recycling bins showed up outside our trash collection point: two tall, cylindrical bins, one yellow, the other blue. They were surrounded by broken glass and ransacked trash bags. They lasted about a week before they were covered in graffiti. I don’t know if anyone ever used them to recycle, I never saw recycling trucks for them anyway.
If you walk the streets of Brasov today, almost a decade since that day, there are no recycling bins accompanying general waste bins on the walkways. In certain areas of town, most plastic bottles end up on the sidewalk. You step over cigarette buds in most bus stops and the trash bins that are around are usually overflowing. At least in my city in Romania, it seems that the people and the government don’t care. Maybe green living isn’t at the forefront of your mind when you’re in a dying country. After all, why care when there are barely any places to recycle?
I never used to actively recycle. No one I knew did it. There was one collection point in the parking lot of a supermarket. For each bottle you recycled, it would give you some change that you could choose to donate or receive a spending voucher in said supermarket. It reminded me of Germany’s bottle recycling machines. My mum and I went there every few months if we could remember to not throw our bottles in the trash bags.
The West is different
When I moved to the UK, I wasn’t surprised to see all of the recycling bins. This is a first world country after all, the West is different.
I was the first to move into my student flat. In the kitchen there were two big bins, one for cartons and one for plastic bottles and tin cans. I used them when I was in the kitchen, but most of the time I couldn’t be bothered to make the trip from my room to them, so most of my recycled items ended up in my general trash.
Living here, I’ve noticed the differences. People have recycling bins at home, there’s bags you can buy from your local council to sort them out, the trucks come every two weeks. Recycling is available to most people and it’s approachable. Most items have the recycle symbol (or even instructions) on them.
But I also noticed a similarity, a similarity that only changed this year with they declared climate emergency: there were no recycling bins in town. The square was full of general waste bins, Killigrew Street had another two, but no recycling ones. It showed me that maybe the council here thinks similarly to the one in Brasov: money is better spent somewhere else.
Making the change
I accommodated slowly. I wanted to help the fight against pollution, but I wasn’t used to taking time out to separate the plastic from my sandwich box or leave my desk to throw a bottle of coke away in the kitchen.
I don’t remember when I started actively recycling. Sometime in the last two years, my brain wired itself into making me fold the frozen pizza boxes so more cartons would fit in the clear bags. I throw my cans in the ‘metals’ bag and I wash out my bottles before I throw them in their basket (it’s also a very satisfying sound when I throw them in their bin outside Tesco’s and they break).
Due to my living situation now, I take my recycling to their bins personally and sort it there. It’s led to many saved DIY’s for sorting recyclables and a guaranteed weekly night walk. I’m proud that I’m doing my part, as small as it is. The more climate change has come in the news, the more aware I’ve become of my role in the fight. I can’t do much: I’m too selfish to give up meat, too poor to buy the ethically produced ones. My fight is small, but at least I’m doing something.
by Denisa Folea
About The Green Line
The Green Line is part of a third year collaborative project exploring our personal connection with the ongoing climate crisis. Over the next month we will be publishing a variety of pieces from the student community.
Find out more about The Green Line here.