In France, zero-waste experiments tackle a tough problem: People's habits

Local initiatives in Roubaix and Nouvelle-Aquitaine try different strategies for waste reduction — and behavior change.

This story is co-published with The Guardian and supported by The Heinrich Böll Foundation.

Andrée Nieuwjaer, a 67-year-old resident of Roubaix, France, is what one might call a frugal shopper. In fact, her fridge is full of produce that she got for free. Over the summer, she ate peaches, plums, carrots, zucchinis, turnips, endives — all manner of fruits and vegetables that local grocers didn’t want to sell, whether because of some aesthetic imperfection or because they were slightly overripe.

What Nieuwjaer couldn’t eat right away, she preserved — as fig marmalade, apricot jam, pickles. Reaching into the depths of her refrigerator in September, past a jar of diced beets that she’d preserved in vinegar, she tapped a container of chopped pineapple whose shelf life she’d extended with lemon juice: “It’ll last all month!” she exclaimed. Just a few inches away, two loaves of bread that a nearby school was going to get rid of lay in a glass baking dish, reconstituted as bread pudding. A third loaf was in a jar in the cupboard, transformed into bread crumbs that Nieuwjaer planned to sprinkle on a veggie casserole.

With everything she’d stocked up, Nieuwjaer was all set on groceries for the next few months. “I’m going to eat for free all winter,” she said in French, beaming.

Nieuwjaer is part of a worldwide movement known in French as zéro déchet, or zero-waste. The central idea is simple: Stop generating so much garbage, and reap the many intertwined social, economic, and environmental benefits. Rescuing trash-bound produce, for example, stops food waste that can release potent greenhouse gases in a landfill. Making your own shampoo, deodorant, and other beauty products reduces the need for disposable plastic bottles — plus, it tends to use safer ingredients, meaning less danger for fish and other wildlife.

But Nieuwjaer didn’t just one day decide to join the movement; she was drawn into it as part of a local government experiment in waste management. In 2015, the city of Roubaix launched a campaign to reduce litter by teaching 100 families — including Nieuwjaer’s — strategies for cutting their waste in half. Similar efforts may soon be repeated across France as cities and regions begin striving to meet (and exceed) the country’s ambitious waste-reduction goals. At the heart of their efforts is a fundamental question: How do you get citizens to change their behavior?

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