Lady Bird Johnson, we miss you. And we need you as much as was the case more than a half century ago. 

For those of more recent vintage (an ever-expanding share of the population), Lady Bird Johnson was America’s First Lady as her husband President Lyndon Johnson presided over the country during much of the tumultuous 1960s.  

As First Lady, Mrs. Johnson’s major cause was to spotlight the country’s propensity for litter and to inspire an effort to clean up the mess that was our streets and highways. 

A major television and billboard ad campaign followed with the tag line, “Please, please, don’t be a litterbug, ‘cause every litter bit hurts.” The line may not go down in advertising annals on par with “Just do it” or “Just say no.” But America’s roadsides looked far different and infinitely better after this campaign. It is at least arguable that Lady Bird Johnson’s anti-litter effort was the most effective project ever led by a first lady. 

Now jump ahead to the current day, nearly 53 years after the Johnsons departed the White House, political casualties of the national rift over the Vietnam War. 

Our roadways and waterways – along with our alleys, parks, railroad beds, campsites, vacant lots and so much more – are again a mess. Our throwaway mentality and instinct for disposing of most anything and everything then and there seem back at full throttle.   

This is a problem of values and morals as much as it is one of rules and penalties. Instead of an ethic of “leave no trace,” too many among us take the approach of “why bother” and “who cares.” As political alienation and cultural detachment have ramped up, a commitment to the beauty, tidiness and upkeep of our land has gone by the wayside. 

One can see the problem driving cross town on any major thoroughfare. Walk or bicycle Denver’s magnificent Highline Canal and observe what has been left by the side of the trail or thrown in the ditch. Take a stroll on the 16th Street Mall, supposedly Denver’s centerpiece, and take stock of the scattered trash. Park at any trailhead and look around. Drive any country road and be dejected.  

By no means is this an issue specific to Colorado. In fact, our state might be marginally better than many others on the litter quotient. But pull out of the San Francisco airport and head south on Highway 101. To peer at the roadside mess, even amidst the wealth of Silicon Valley , is to think you might have been transplanted to a developing country. 

On our COVID-cautionary, cross-country RV trip last winter, omnipresent litter was the common denominator through red states from Missouri to North Carolina to Alabama and blue states from Pennsylvania to Maryland to Virginia. This willful disregard has nothing to do with our usual dividing lines. 

Keep America Beautiful, the national nonprofit that has led this battle for six decades, recently completed an inventory of the nation’s litter problem, the first of its kind in a dozen years. Findings indicate that there are nearly 50 billion pieces of litter among our roadways and waterways, a significant percentage of which are more than four inches in size. 

That comes to 152 items of litter strewn across the land for every American man, woman and child. 

Of particular relevance at the moment, that sad total includes over 207 million pieces of PPE (personal protective equipment). It would appear we have added masks to that list of what we so casually discard. Along with gloves, wipes and all the rest. 

Nineteen percent of all litter is made of plastic. We know how well that decomposes.  

Have we become so consumed with instant gratification that we cannot put that plastic wrapper in our pocket to properly dispose of later? So disdainful of natural beauty and the next person walking that trail that we think nothing of leaving that beer can or broken bottle? So in our own bubble that we mindlessly roll down the car window to pitch out an empty cigarette pack or fast-food container? 

The problem is attitudinal and any solution will need to be attitudinal as well. But allow me to suggest three steps that might prod along such a shift. 

First up, it is time for a new incarnation of Lady Bird Johnson and another concerted movement to put this issue back on the national radar. All these years later, we can call it remedial litter awareness. 

Next, while the idea of shaming has its limits, I would suggest that it can also have its uses. Cameras are ubiquitous in this age. Between social media and local publications, we can call out some who display blatant bad manners in their littering. How about a rogue’s gallery of litter louts? 

Lastly, let some local governments turn this into one of those revenue sources they love so much. Instead of speed traps that often have more to do with public coffers than traffic safety, how about litter traps? Post some cops to pull over those defiling the roadway and then make an expensive example out of them. Win-win. 

Our national mountain of litter did not accumulate in a day. Nor will it disappear anytime soon. But it is time we turned a corner by spotlighting the behavior and again changing public norms. 

All the while, we should have Woody Guthrie’s folk ballad, “This Land Is Your Land,” playing loudly in our ears. 

Eric Sondermann is a Colorado-based independent political commentator. He writes regularly for ColoradoPolitics and the Denver Gazette. Reach him at EWS@EricSondermann.com; follow him at @EricSondermann