Cashing in on Color: Economic Boost vs. Environmental Costs

Green water can signify harmful algal blooms and toxic conditions—or, in Chicago’s case, St. Patrick’s Day. The annual dyeing of the Chicago River is more than just a festive tradition—it’s a recurring debate. Not everyone supports introducing an anonymous substance into the river. At first glance, conservationists might seem to be spoiling a beloved cultural event. Yet, with nearly 50,000 spectators gathering on Sunday, March 16, for the 63rd consecutive year, the practice thrives.

If the river flowed directly into Lake Michigan—Chicago’s sole source of drinking water—perhaps more residents would question what exactly is in the dye and how we can be sure it is harmless. Conservation groups have struggled to obtain a definitive answer about the dye’s composition. The Illinois Environmental Protection Agency’s Bureau of Water oversees legal discharges into surface and groundwater across the state. However, obtaining precise information about the dye’s chemical makeup and concentration is as elusive as a four-leaf clover. The agency has generally confirmed that the dye is a non-toxic, food-grade, vegetable-based substance. Still, the sight of plumbers aboard their vessel in what appear to be hazmat suits and life vests presents a contrasting image. Reports over the years have varied on the quantity of dye used, ranging from 40 to 100 pounds. Given the Chicago River’s depth of approximately 21 feet at its deepest point and its 156-mile length—including the North, Main, and South branches—this is a significant amount of additive.

On one hand, this tradition showcases an innovative use of chemistry to boost the local economy. The origin of this practice is quintessentially “Chicago”: the emerald-green river was an unintended consequence of a solution meant to solve another problem. Mayor Richard J. Daley, a proponent of clean water, initially used fluorescent green dye to track illegal pollution. This ingenuity birthed a ritual that has since captivated Chicagoans and tourists alike. The economic impact is substantial—consumer spending surges, with an estimated $5 billion pumped into the American economy over five days. Businesses, particularly those in dining, river cruises, party buses, events, beer crawls, and apparel, benefit significantly from the seasonal influx of visitors.

However, when conservationists oppose the dyeing tradition, it can seem as though they are rejecting not just the practice but also the financial boost, community spirit, and cultural significance it brings. Chicago has long capitalized on its natural resources, public parks, and beaches for revenue. Lollapalooza in Grant Park, for example, has been both a boon and a point of contention among residents, alderpersons, and advocacy groups such as Friends of the Parks. Similarly, the 2019 Mamby on the Beach festival faced opposition from birders and animal rights activists when federally protected piping plovers nested at the event’s planned location. The two-day festival, expected to attract 20,000 visitors, was ultimately canceled, with refunds issued.

Chicago has flirted with other controversial uses of its public spaces. In 2018, the Park District rejected a proposal for an inflatable water park, Aqua X Zone, at Montrose Beach—a location that, interestingly, was also the site of Mamby’s relocation attempt the following year. A comparable floating water park now thrives in Whiting, Indiana. Notably, no proposals surfaced for such attractions on Chicago’s South Side beaches, reflecting an ongoing pattern of selective development.

While the annual dyeing of the river is a relatively recent tradition, it raises an intriguing question: Should similar recognition be extended to other cultural milestones? What if the river were dyed black for Juneteenth? Considering that Jean Baptiste Point DuSable, Chicago’s first non-Indigenous settler, lived at the river’s mouth, such a tribute seems worthy of discussion. After all, the river was dyed blue in honor of the Cubs’ 2016 World Series victory. This begs the question: What is the going rate for polluting a river in the name of tradition and celebration?