They buried the truth, blamed the victims, and walked away clean.
The Dickerson incinerator was supposed to be shut down years ago. That’s what Montgomery County residents were promised—loud and clear—when County Executive Marc Elrich campaigned in 2018. But instead of retiring the aging facility, the county is now spending over $57 million just to keep it running. Repairs, upgrades, ductwork replacements—taxpayer money is being poured into a plant that residents say is slowly making them sick.
People in the nearby town of Dickerson have been raising alarms for years. They’ve reported foul smells, headaches, respiratory problems, and cancer clusters that seem too common to be coincidental. Still, the county keeps kicking the can down the road, claiming there’s no backup plan for the trash. The incinerator burns about 600,000 tons of waste every year—and chokes the surrounding air with it. Officials know. They’ve known for decades. But instead of investing in clean solutions, they’re patching up a toxic relic—and leaving residents to pay the price.
1. The Dickerson incinerator was supposed to be shut down years ago.
In 2018, County Executive Marc Elrich ran on a promise to shut down the Dickerson incinerator for good. The plant had already drawn criticism for its emissions and outdated technology, and advocates believed its closure was finally within reach. Dana Munro writes in The Washington Post that Montgomery County extended its contract with Reworld Montgomery, keeping the incinerator open through 2031 despite earlier promises to shut it down.
Officials now claim there’s no alternative. They say the county’s waste management system can’t function without the incinerator and that they need more time to develop a solution. But time is exactly what the community has run out of. Residents near the plant continue to deal with the health consequences while political will to shut it down evaporates. What was once framed as an environmental win has quietly morphed into an expensive stall tactic, funded by the very people who are breathing the fallout.
2. The county’s “solution” is a massive taxpayer-funded repair plan.
Scott Broom reports for WUSA9 that Montgomery County is spending more than $57 million to keep the Dickerson incinerator running through 2031, despite longstanding calls for its closure. That money will go toward replacing eroded ductwork, maintaining outdated systems, and keeping the plant operational for at least six more years. It’s a staggering investment in a dying technology that many say should have been decommissioned long ago.
Meanwhile, residents are stuck paying for their own exposure. There are no community health funds, no buyouts, no investments in cleaner infrastructure.
The county’s reasoning? They claim there’s no plan B—no other way to handle the trash. But experts and environmental groups argue that the real problem is a lack of urgency. Other cities have transitioned away from incineration with far fewer resources. Dickerson’s continued operation isn’t about feasibility—it’s about political convenience and a refusal to face the consequences of delay.
3. Residents near the plant are getting sick—and no one’s helping.
People who live near the incinerator have been raising concerns for years. They’ve reported headaches, chronic respiratory issues, mysterious rashes, and unusually high rates of cancer. Some households have lost multiple pets within short time spans. According to members of the Sugarloaf Citizens’ Association, no full-scale health impact assessment has been done to evaluate the risks posed by the Dickerson incinerator.
Instead, residents are left to gather their own data, fund their own doctor visits, and connect dots that officials refuse to acknowledge. The absence of formal investigation allows the county to keep denying a link. But the community knows what changed and when. The air smells different. Their bodies feel different. And every year that passes without answers reinforces the suspicion that no one in power wants to find them.
4. State regulators have failed to act—again and again.
The Maryland Department of the Environment has had every opportunity to hold the Dickerson plant accountable. It has reviewed emissions data, received citizen complaints, and renewed operating permits again and again. Even when pollutant levels exceeded safe thresholds, the agency opted for leniency instead of enforcement.
Residents say it’s more than neglect—it’s complicity. Regulators seem more interested in protecting industrial continuity than protecting public health. Fines, if they happen at all, are small and quickly absorbed. Warnings lead to delay, not closure. And when environmental groups push for stronger oversight, the agency responds with silence or vague timelines. The regulatory system isn’t broken—it’s functioning exactly as designed: to appear responsive while doing nothing substantial.
5. Environmental justice groups have been ignored for decades.
Local activists have shown up at town halls. They’ve filed petitions, met with councilmembers, written op-eds, and organized their neighbors. All over the country, groups like the Sugarloaf Citizens’ Association and the Montgomery County Sierra Club have been speaking out about similar issues since the 1990s. Yet after decades of advocacy, little has changed—and many say they’ve been deliberately sidelined. Their concerns are dismissed as emotional. Their data is called anecdotal. Even when backed by scientists and public health experts, their warnings are met with deflections.
Officials promise to “look into it” and then move on. These residents aren’t wealthy, and their community isn’t politically powerful. And that’s precisely why they’ve been ignored. In a more affluent ZIP code, the incinerator would have been shuttered long ago. But in Dickerson, the burden of proof always falls on the people getting hurt.
6. The trash crisis is being used as an excuse for inaction.
County officials keep pointing to the growing volume of waste as a reason the incinerator can’t be shut down. They say there’s nowhere else for the trash to go and no system ready to handle the load. But critics argue this “trash crisis” is a problem of the county’s own making.
For years, they delayed planning alternative waste infrastructure—composting facilities, better recycling systems, anaerobic digesters—and now they’re claiming the lack of those systems justifies keeping a toxic plant open. This cycle of delay and blame has left the public with no good options. Every time the conversation turns toward closure, officials return to the same excuse: “We’re not ready.” But readiness requires action, and Montgomery County hasn’t taken it. Environmental groups say the crisis is real—but it’s being used as a smokescreen to protect the status quo. And the longer it continues, the more expensive—and dangerous—it becomes.
7. No air monitoring is happening near the homes.
Despite years of complaints and medical concerns, the county has never implemented comprehensive air quality monitoring around Dickerson. There are no publicly available, real-time readings for pollutants like dioxins or particulate matter near the neighborhoods that are most exposed.
Instead, officials rely on state-level data from distant monitoring stations that don’t reflect the true on-the-ground conditions residents face. This lack of localized monitoring creates plausible deniability.
If you don’t measure it, you don’t have to acknowledge it. Meanwhile, people living within a few miles of the plant are breathing air that smells acrid, causes burning eyes, and sets off asthma attacks. They’ve asked for monitoring again and again, only to be told it’s too expensive or not a priority. But how can you protect public health if you’re not even measuring the risks?
8. The county’s own advisory boards have raised red flags.
Montgomery County’s environmental advisory committees aren’t made up of radicals. They include policy experts, scientists, and public health professionals who work closely with government agencies. And even they have repeatedly expressed concern about the incinerator’s continued operation. In meeting notes and public comments, they’ve called for phased shutdowns, pilot programs, and urgent investment in waste alternatives.
Yet their warnings often go nowhere. Their reports get shelved, their recommendations trimmed down, and their conclusions diluted in bureaucratic language. The county asks for their guidance, then routinely ignores it. This isn’t just a failure of politics—it’s a failure of governance. When your own experts are waving red flags, and your response is to look away, you’re not managing a crisis—you’re enabling one.
9. Some officials are quietly trying to extend the plant’s life even further.
Publicly, county leaders say the plant will shut down in 2031. But behind closed doors, some officials are already preparing for the possibility of another extension. The justification? Financial efficiency, trash volume, lack of alternatives—the same talking points that have kept the plant alive this long. Internal memos have floated options ranging from rebuilding to renegotiating long-term contracts.
If these efforts succeed, it would mean decades more of incineration, pollution, and health concerns for nearby residents. And it would signal to the public that promises mean nothing. Communities were told this plant was temporary.
Then they were told it would close. If they’re told that again, why would they believe it? The quiet efforts to extend operations prove that without loud, organized pressure, this story will keep repeating itself.
10. No one has been held accountable for the damage.
The Dickerson plant has operated for nearly 30 years with little oversight and even less accountability. In that time, thousands of tons of trash have been burned, toxic ash has been produced, and families nearby have reported lasting health effects.
Yet no one has resigned. No one has been fired. No agency has admitted failure. No company has been held responsible. The cost of this failure is being paid by the public—not just in dollars, but in trust, health, and quality of life. And unless someone is forced to answer for what’s happened here, the harm will keep compounding. Accountability isn’t just about punishment—it’s about making sure this never happens again. And right now, there’s no sign of that on the horizon.