Asbestos legislation: Could it be the end?

A little more than a year after he introduced a bill to limit asbestos claims, the legislation's chief sponsor, Rep. Henry Hyde (R-Ill.), all but conceded it was dead.

Congress Daily, a publication that tracks news on Capitol Hill, reported April 28 that "Hyde appears ready to throw in the towel" on asbestos legislation (H.R. 1283) and that Hyde said he "does not `want to waste time with [the bill] if there is not a possibility of passage.'"

The bill--backed by the U.S. Chamber of Commerce, GAF Corp., and W.R. Grace Co., among others--would set up restrictive federal medical eligibility standards for people suffering from asbestos-related diseases. The bill would not ensure compensation for any victims, no matter how sick.

Chance of passage dimmed after April 4, when Senate Majority Leader Trent Lott (R-Miss.) announced that "the necessary floor time will not be available to act on the Senate asbestos bill (S. 758) this year."

Who would have predicted that the latest version of this legislation (Hyde proposed similar legislation in the previous Congress) would end up on the cutting room floor instead of on the House floor? The difference in this latest battle is the way ATLA members' clients showed Capitol Hill that this was an issue about real people suffering from real diseases.

The timing for the bill's supporters could not have been worse. The asbestos issue was about to explode. Ground zero was Libby, Montana.

Real people, real diseases

Libby, located in the northwestern corner of Montana, is a town of about 2,700 people. As the bill stalled in the Judiciary Committee, a series of articles appeared in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer reporting that at least 192 Libby townspeople had died from asbestos exposure and at least another 375 people had been diagnosed with asbestos-related diseases. The articles were based on materials that had been gleaned from civil actions filed by Libby miners, death certificates, and interviews with family members and physicians.

How could such a small town be stricken so hard?

The answer lay inside the earth at a site called Zonolite Mountain. According to the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, a miner exploring an old mining shaft in the early 1900s came across a substance called vermiculite, which he later named Zonolite.

The miner, who discovered that vermiculite could be heated and expanded to 15 times its original size into lightweight particles, created a mining business in the 1920s that would eventually supply 80 percent of the world's vermiculite. The mineral is used in thousands of products, from insulation to roofing material and soil products for home and garden use.

The problem for Libby residents was that the vermiculite in Zonolite Mountain was laced with a particularly toxic form of asbestos called tremolite.

Over the years, the mining operation, which was purchased by W.R. Grace in 1963, employed about 2,000 people. The workers breathed thick clouds of asbestos-tainted dust and tracked the dust into their homes, poisoning their families. As a result, in addition to those Libby residents who have already died, each month more than a dozen people are diagnosed with some form of asbestos-related lung disease.

For months, lawmakers on Capitol Hill ignored the tragedy unfolding in Libby. Suddenly, however, Montana Sen. Conrad Burns (R) found himself stranded in a minefield--he had joined as a cosponsor of the asbestos bill in late October. Montanans quickly informed him that he was on the wrong side of the issue.

Television advertisements sponsored by the Montana Environmental Information Center and Montanans for Common Sense Mining Laws questioned Sen. Burns's support of a bill that threatened his constituents' access to justice in court. Several Montana newspapers editorialized against Burns.

The story of Libby was so powerful that Burns and House bill cosponsor Rep. Rick Hill (R-Mont.) pulled their names off the bills in March. At the same time, Libby residents were taking their story directly to Washington, D.C.

On March 15, Gayla Benefield, Alice Priest, Robbin Redman, and Lester Skramstad shared their personal stories with all who would listen at a press conference held on Capitol Hill. Benefield's parents died of asbestosis. She helped found the Lincoln County Asbestos Victims Relief Organization. Priest, who now permanently relies on supplemental oxygen, is dying of asbestosis. Her husband brought asbestos dust home on his clothes, as did Redman's father. Skramstad worked at the Libby vermiculite mine and mill from 1959 to 1961. He was diagnosed with asbestosis in 1995. His wife, son, and daughter have also been diagnosed with the disease.

Disqualification

If the asbestos legislation had passed, Priest, Redman, and Skramstad--though sick and dying--would be disqualified from entering the proposed federal compensation system because of the bill's medical criteria.

The appearance of these Libby residents --whose message was reinforced days later by asbestos victims who came to D.C. from Virginia--sparked a new round of newspaper editorials against the bill. Articles detailed how residents in various states were affected by asbestos-laden vermiculite that was shipped from Libby to processing sites all around the country.

As Skramstad, who has a life expectancy of three to eight years, toured Capitol Hill the day of the press conference, he said to a companion, "Just take as many pictures as you can, because we'll never be here again."

Town scourge

Miners breathed thick clouds of asbestos-tainted dust and tracked the dust into their homes, poisoning their families.

Kristin Loiacono is media relations coordinator for ATLA.