What's hiding in the water in mining communities?

A quiet environmental crisis is unfolding beneath the surface of what appears to be a still, calm body of water. Locals call it a stormwater retention pond.

More technically, it's an evaporation pond with a  deceptive tranquillity that hides a toxic threat. These ponds are laced with uranium, lead, copper, arsenic, and other heavy metals. In this same water, children swim, livestock drink, and runoff silently leeches into the lives of the surrounding communities.

At first glance, the water may seem clear. But look again, and a sinister palette emerges: rusty orange from uranium, bluish tints indicating heavy metals, green from lead and copper dust, and streaks of white sulphur visible in the soil. Nothing lives in this water—no fish, no insects. It is, quite literally, lifeless.

"This is where kids play. This is where cattle drink," said a local activist. "That means if you eat the meat, it’s contaminated. If you drink the milk, it’s contaminated. This pollution is cycling through our bodies, our food, and our future."

The area, once subject to a hopeful sunflower planting project aimed at soil remediation, was drastically altered when a mining company deepened the ponds, making them not only more hazardous chemically, but physically as well.

“They made it deeper and more dangerous,” the activist added. “And there’s no fence, no signs, nothing to protect our children.”

Using a total dissolved solids (TDS) meter, the activist conducted an on-site test. The World Health Organization recommends that safe drinking water should not exceed 500 parts per million of dissolved solids. This pond? “592 parts per million,” the reading showed. “This water may look clean, but drinking it is a form of slow poisoning.”

Worse yet, the pond is cracking. "If it breaks, it’s going to flood the community down there," he warned, pointing to a visible fracture on the pond's edge. The area is already vulnerable, with little infrastructure to manage a toxic spill. A breach would result in chemical-laden water seeping directly into homes, schools, and farmland.

And this isn’t just theoretical. These are aging, unstable tailings dams without any protective perimeter or warning systems in place. Residents are left to face the looming danger alone.

Communities like these are frequently situated near mining operations but are rarely protected from the long-term environmental impacts. While companies extract profits, locals are left with the residual pollution—polluted air, poisoned soil, and undrinkable water.

In many ways, this crisis mirrors others across the country: communities that bore the economic burden of resource extraction are now bearing its environmental fallout. As one resident asked, “How can we be expected to raise healthy children here when even the water is against us?”

What’s needed is not just awareness, but immediate remediation and accountability. Environmental assessments must be conducted with community input. Protective barriers must be installed. Long-term health monitoring must be provided for those already exposed.

“This isn’t just about saving the water,” the activist concluded. “It’s about saving the people. And right now, we’re being poisoned slowly, quietly, and without consent.”

Until then, the children will keep swimming. The cattle will keep drinking. And a toxic threat will keep growing—just beneath the surface.