In a corner of the factory, there are neatly lined, large, clear bags of green liquid with gas bubbling through them. Olofsson has come to show me what separates the Degerhamn factory from the competition: they’ve figured out how to actually use the waste gases coming out of the chimney. Over the past 130 years, the cement factory has consumed huge amounts of limestone, leaving behind a flat piece of land, about 1 km (0.6 miles) in each direction, without a single tree in the expanse.Īll of these processes are fairly typical for a cement factory. Groves of tall trees and farms flank the dirt road, which leads to a vast, barren landscape. Just like that, the factory came back from the brink.īefore I can get a close look at the Degerhamn factory, Urban Kristoffersen, the plant’s quality manager, suggests we drive to the nearby limestone quarry. The premium low-alkali product, used for building bridges or tunnels that traverse bodies of seawater, could be sold at higher prices. The relatively small amounts of sodium and potassium found in Degerhamn’s limestone mean the cement produced there can be sold as “low-alkali”-known to last longer in ocean water because it can withstand the corrosive effects of salty H 2O. But then Heidelberg scientists found a niche use for Degerhamn’s cement: underwater construction. Its aging equipment was increasing maintenance costs, and newer Swedish cement factories also owned by Heidelberg were more efficient and cheaper for the company to operate. In the 1990s, the Degerhamn factory was on the verge of being shut down. Most of Degerhamn’s 300 or so residents are either directly employed or indirectly supported by the cement plant on its northern border. For a global conglomerate like Heidelberg, it makes sense to invest today in technology it will need to stay profitable tomorrow.ĭegerhamn is one of hundreds of villages and towns situated on Sweden’s long Baltic Sea coastline. Countries around the world are increasingly looking to put a price on emissions so they can deliver on their Paris-agreement promises. At that point, it will be much cheaper for Heidelberg to implement technology to “capture” the carbon dioxide released in the chemical process than to pay a hefty tax on it. In a few years, those discounts could disappear because the EU is beginning to recognize that the scheme’s price on emissions is too low and its members, including Sweden, are thinking of ways they can increase the price if the EU doesn’t. Heavy industries like steel and cement pay less than $10 per ton, because, as part of the EU’s emissions trading scheme, they can circumvent certain national taxes. Sweden already has one of the world’s highest carbon taxes at about $150 per ton of carbon dioxide, but only power companies pay the full whack. In Sweden, the drive to achieve the zero-emissions goal will most likely come in the form of taxation. (Heidelberg has already reduced emissions from its cement by 24% compared to 1990 levels.) None of the world’s other top-10 cement makers have set a zero-emissions goal. Heidelberg Cement, the world’s fourth-largest cement maker, founded in Germany and operating 160 plants in 60 countries, has committed to producing cement with net-zero emissions by 2030 in its Northern European factories and embraced the ambition for remaining factories worldwide. Though other cement makers have also set goals towards becoming greener, the ones set by Heidelberg Cement, which owns the Degerhamn factory, are the most ambitious. Now that nearly all the countries hosting cement factories have made commitments towards the Paris climate agreement, these facilities have no choice but to move towards sustainability in order to meet local regulations. They’re part of a 130-year-old cement factory in the otherwise angelic village of Degerhamn, on a sliver of land between the Baltic Sea to the east, and the Kalmar Strait to the west, beyond which lies mainland Sweden. I know we’ve arrived when two massive red chimneys appear on the horizon, spitting globs of white smoke into the sky. We’re driving to one of last places in Sweden to catch up with the country’s green ambitions to reduce emissions. On June 15, the bill became the Climate Act and the Scandinavian country is now legally bound to deliver on that goal. In February, the country’s green party introduced a bill that would commit the country to reaching net-zero emissions of greenhouse gases by 2045. That’s nothing compared to, say, the US, where two thirds of electricity are fossil-fuel derived.īut for Sweden, even that’s not good enough. It’s a chilly April morning in Kalmar county in southern Sweden, and as we drive past pastel-colored wooden houses separated by acres of farmland, Martin Olofsson, a researcher at Linnaeus University, tells me that only 5% of the electricity Swedes consume comes from burning fossil fuels.
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