By: Leia Ku Cheng Yee, Communications Intern
Phyllis Glazer is an activist featured in People Magazine, the Houston Chronicle, CNN/Time News Magazine’s Earth Day 2000 Special, NBC Dateline, and more. She was the founder of Mothers Organized to Stop Environmental Sins (MOSES), and has been fighting against toxic pollution since the 1990s.
Phyllis was born and raised in Tucson, Arizona. After her father passed away, she decided to fulfill her father’s dream and live in a ranch in Winona, Texas. One day, as she was driving her son to school in Winona, they passed a commercial hazardous waste injection well facility that was surrounded by dark reddish clouds and intense fumes caused by an explosion. “I couldn’t breathe,” she said. In just three days, Glazer had developed multiple health issues — her toenails came off, her nasal septum disappeared, and she felt like the top of her mouth had melted. As long as she lived there, she had throat ulcers and developed asthma, and later found out the whole community had symptoms as well. Glazer and her now-deceased husband also developed brain tumors due to the toxic exposure.
As she advocated for the community, Glazer realized that many regulatory agencies sided with the company instead of the people because the agencies were sending their own waste there. She knew that the regulatory agencies would have no motivation to close it down, so she needed to go bigger.
As a writer and a mother, she reached out to the press, and had corporate attorneys help her to fight the corporation that owned the injection well. With her background in business, her idea was to use the press to drive the facility out of business. “If you don’t have business, you are not in business.” She began to write press releases, and went on a war with the company. Many even referred to it as the “Phyllis Blitz”.
In 1994, Glazer and 30 residents from Winona were sent to Washington, DC by Don Henley to file a Title VI Complaint against the Texas State environmental agency. Henley sat her down with Phil Gramm, the former Congressman from Texas, and Gramm agreed to take the community to the House Armed Services. Two years later, the military contract was torn up.
To help mothers to share their stories in all the hearings, MOSES decided to create “Wasted Babies” to represent the voice of the mothers that have lost their children due to environmental harm. “Wasted Babies” are dolls, made with stockings, button eyes, caps that signify cancer, and booklets attached to each doll that tell the stories of the children. These dolls were given to every Congressman and Senator that Glazer has encountered, including Nancy Pelosi. Frank Lautenberg, former Senator from New Jersey, was particularly helpful when the facility was operating, and aided the community in fighting for the attention of Congress and regulatory agencies.
Glazer learned from chemists and other scientists about the dangers of the injection well. The company had constructed the well improperly, without making adjustments for the Austin chalk the well went through. “An injection well is supposed to be done in one pour, and if it’s done in more than one pour, the cement is going out somewhere” she said. In fact, there was 800 feet of cement casing missing, allowing toxic waste to pour out of the well. The company, Gibraltar Chemical Resources, was then sold to the American Ecology Corporation.
“I was in it to win it”.
Despite the challenges of facing such a large corporation, Glazer and her community prevailed. The toxic waste dump in Winona closed in March of 1997 and sued Glazer, her family’s business, and MOSES under the Civil RICO Statute. Ralph Nader and Oprah Winfrey’s attorney in the Mad Cow case, Chip Babcock, represented her and the other defendants. After two and a half years, Glazer has successfully won the lawsuit.
It was a moment of realization for Glazer when people brought their children with deformities to her ranch. She had never been an activist before, but she knew she couldn’t abandon her community in the struggle. Though she managed to close down the facility in 6 and a half years, she continued fighting the toxic waste for sixteen years total. Her story shows that no matter what powerful interests you’re up against, you can win if you are dedicated to the fight.
Category: Stories of Local Leaders
By: Ruth Rodriguez, Communications Intern
Nina Morgan is a Climate and Environmental Justice Organizer with the Greater-Birmingham Alliance to Stop Pollution (GASP) in Birmingham, Alabama. Morgan fights for communities located near heavy industry that are suffering from pollution-related illnesses like asthma and cancer. These communities have been unlawfully restricted to these unsafe areas due to a history of racially discriminatory zoning laws.
Morgan and her family have a long history with Alabama. She was raised in the small rural town of Sipsey. It was and is a historic coal mining community located near Mulberry Creek which is a tributary to the Black Warrior River. The mine was always in and out of operation. It was not unusual to feel the ground shaking beneath your feet. As a child, Morgan thought it was exciting to feel the rumbling, but would later understand the consequences, struggles, and stress the rumbling would cause on her family. The stress of surviving while having to deal with a house that is about to fall to the ground was prevalent for her family and those in the community. Panels on the roof would fall and even the foundation would crack. To further the stress, it was common for folks to refuse to drink the tap water in fear that it was contaminated by the nearby mining. Ironically, as a child Morgan would visit the McWane Science Center, not realizing until much older that the same company that owns the science center owns the surface mine in her hometown.
Like many who grew up in small towns, she wanted to get out and experience new things. This led her to attend the University of Alabama at Birmingham where she received a degree in anthropology and sociology. As a college student she was extremely involved in campus activities. She was in the Black Student Awareness Committee and held rallies and began organizing. Morgan moved away from campus organizing when she got involved with the Birmingham chapter of Black Lives Matter where she was surrounded by older, more experienced, radical organizers. She learned how to be an effective grassroots organizer at the community level, and this put her in the trajectory of where she is today. At just 26 years old, she is now the Climate and Environmental Justice Organizer at GASP.
“I kept showing up, kept building relationships, kept getting involved, kept surrounding myself as a young person around other people who knew more than me… [fusion_builder_container hundred_percent=”yes” overflow=”visible”][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][I] developed a kind of community of folks.”
When asked about some of the most effective ways of organizing, Morgan said to speak from experience. She shares how her community has been impacted by pollution, the story of the 35th Avenue Superfund site, and the stories of those who live across the street from the coke plant.
“Telling the stories is really, I think, one of the most important things. I think we’ve seen in just the political arena right now you can throw facts, you can throw numbers at people, but if you don’t kind of tell stories in a way that makes people feel you and where you’re coming from and people’s lived experiences then things don’t change…conversations just don’t cut it with some of these people, and that’s when you kind of have to take direct action and use that to try to amplify the fights on the ground and the things that people are going through and being impacted by, because it polarizes the public and forces a conversation.”
GASP, like many others, struggled to organize during COVID. Organizing heavily depends on face to face interactions. In a unique way of amplifying their voice, working with PANIC and Charlie Powell, they set up the “Right to Breathe” caravans in Birmingham. The caravans were a way to take action and keep the issue alive in a safe way. People who saw the caravan waved and encouraged them to keep fighting. At the end of the caravan there was a drive in rally with speakers and spoken word. Additionally, a caravan went to Montgomery in order to get Governor Kay Ivey to respond to the community’s concerns and to put pressure on her because she has the power to push the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) to put the 35th Avenue site on the National Priorities List. It also connected COVID to environmental justice since the coke plant is emitting pollution during a time where those impacted by air pollution are more likely to die from COVID.
Another way Morgan and GASP helped members of the community last year, and an effort they are continuing this year, was by creating pop-up markets across the street from the coke plant. At the beginning of the COVID crisis in the United States, because of hoarding, many did not have food or cleaning products. The market was used to distribute PPE and make sure people had access to canned goods and fresh produce. The market also served as an information distribution site, a way to stay in contact with members of the community, and a way for neighbors to catch up in a safe way. Although the help that GASP is providing is astounding and goes above and beyond, their work also demonstrates the failure of the city, state, and agencies to help their constituents in a time of need.
GASP, along with the Southern Environmental Law Center, redefined the terms of a consent decree that addresses ABC Coke’s exceeding limits of benzene emissions. Previously, the decree agreed to by the Jefferson County Board of Health (JCBH) and the EPA with the Drummond Company was insufficient. Because of GASP and the Southern Environmental Law Center’s work, the Drummond Company will need to follow a Leak Detection and Repair (LDAR) program. Additionally, the Jefferson County Department of Health (JCDH) will need to issue its share of the civil penalty ($387,500) to be managed by the Community Foundation. The foundation will provide grants for projects benefiting the public health of affected communities. Although this is a win, and people are happy that something is being done to fight back against the polluter, some believe they deserve more.
“People deserve more. You can’t put a price on a life. What value can you put on a plant that is, first of all, polluting in a community and exceeding the levels of emissions that they’re supposed to be polluting under the Clean Air Act…How can you put a price on life?”
Morgan and GASP are going above and beyond to help those in their community live in a better, safer, and cleaner environment.
“We’re in this together so let’s amplify each other’s stories about environmental injustice, environmental racism, and the failure of the state to protect us.”[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]
By: Ruth Rodriguez, Communications Intern
Charlie Powell, of People Against Neighborhood Industrial Contamination (PANIC) in Birmingham, AL shared his experience as an activist for CHEJ’s Living Room Leadership series. He has been fighting to get his community relocated since 2012 from toxic facilities.
Before moving to Birmingham, Powell was in Phoenix, AZ. Because his father was in the service and traveled, his family could not go with him. Around 1962, after his father was out of the service, the family relocated to Birmingham. Powell was 9 years old. He described life in Alabama at that time as “experimental.” There were dirt roads, and no running water, leaving them to drink out of wells and springs. He recalled that he was not aware of how poor they were because everyone around him was in the same situation.
Birmingham at the time was known as the Steel City of the South. There was an abundance of mills and refineries. The options, careerwise, were to get a job at at a facility, continue on with school, or go into service. Though, no matter what, a job at a facility was always guaranteed because more so than not, family members would also work in those same facilities. Working in these places was hard, dirty, and nasty work, as Charlie describes it. As protection workers would wear a suit, face mask, ear protection, a hard hat, elbow and knee pads, boots, and gloves. Even with all this, you could still get residue all over your face. Often, he would need to go to the doctor and get residue removed from his ears. To this day, Powell has marks on his arms from when he was burned while working. The working environment was so extreme that workers would bring raw chicken for lunch and put it near radiating heat, and by lunch time it would be ready to eat. Though, the chemicals that went into the food were most likely harmful to the workers’ bodies.
“It was a big health risk out there.”
Because the pay was good, and he held jobs that no one else wanted — leading him to never being laid off, Powell continued working at the facility despite harsh conditions. He had a car, motorcycle, and a boat that he never even put in the water. Charlie said, “They was killing me alive, but I had more than I had ever had jumping up coming out of school.” He believes if he were able to do it over again, he would have chosen to go to school in order to preserve his health. Money and job stability was a big incentive to keep working in these facilities, creating more harm than good by polluting workers and the community.
While in a truck with his brother, Powell realized he needed to get out of his current employment and go into truck driving as a safer alternative. After an explosion occurred at the plant that affected and injured many workers, Powell knew it was time to leave. Some of his colleagues that stayed after he left died after retirement as a result from working at the facility. The facility eventually shut down, not as a result of the explosion, but because of the numerous fines it was not able to keep up with. Even though it shut down, there are many facilities still in operation in Northern Birmingham today.
The chemical exposure in the community was intense. You could smell it. You could physically see it at night in what looked like fog but was actually chemicals. Cars had to be washed multiple times a week because of the buildup, and if you waited long enough, you would have to scrape it off. Cows that would graze near the facility would also get contaminated, and the community would drink their milk.
Powell did not realize how bad the contamination was until he started paying attention to the news. He then found out he and his wife were both positive for asbestos. His wife was later diagnosed with cancer twice, colon and liver. She is still battling to this day. Because of this, Powell has a personal vendetta and needs to fight. One day while truck driving, he had a delivery to the facility he previously worked at. He refused to deliver and told his supervisors he would never go back there again.
CHEJ’s own, Lois Gibbs, held a meeting in his community and said they needed a group to fulfill people’s needs. Charlie volunteered to lead the group, and in 2012, his wife came up with the name and PANIC was formed.
“It got silent in the room, and I don’t know why I did that, but I stood up and said that I’d take it on and from that day to this one PANIC was formed.”
After the creation of PANIC, Powell held a meeting with the neighborhood and asked what they wanted and what their needs were. Some wanted relocation and some just wanted compensation. And since then he has been fighting for both.
The soil on his property was 15 times the limit of contamination. It contained chemicals like lead, arsenic, and benzene from the plant. It was said that much of the dirt was actually field dirt placed in people’s lawns for aesthetic purposes such as filling holes. Though, this was not always the case as the contamination on Powell’s property was found in clay. The area where his property is located is known as the 35th Avenue Superfund Site.
There has been much corruption in Northern Birmingham. In 2017, one of the many people who were corrupt, former State Rep. Oliver Robinson pleaded guilty to conspiracy, bribery, tax evasion, and four counts of fraud. He received $360,000 from Drummond Company and the law firm Balch & Bingham to advocate against the site being put on the National Priorities List (NPL) and the clean up. Powell says the corruption should have been enough proof that the community should be relocated. The money used for the cover up could have been put towards clean up.
In the summer of 2020, community organizers in Birmingham, Alabama, coordinated a series of caravan protests calling for racial and environmental justice at the 35th Avenue Superfund site in North Birmingham. The next step for Powell is to get a response from Governor Kay Ivey to their demands for justice for those living in and near the Superfund site, and getting on the NPL. Powell has been told that getting on the NPL is not going to do any good, but he says to put the site on there anyways and let the community decide for themselves.
By: Ruth Rodriguez, Communications Intern
Pam Kingfisher, an experienced community organizer and advocate for Indigenous Peoples’ rights shared her experience for CHEJ’s Living Room Leadership series. Pam has over 30 years of experience in organizing and policy work, and has led the fight in shutting down 23% of the world’s uranium supply and fighting off unwanted poultry CAFO in her community.
Her father had a similar experience while working on a bomb in Hanford, Washington. In 1943, her father had the decision of going to war or helping build a bomb. He saw this as an opportunity to get out of Oklahoma and receive a better paying job for his family. Her mother and siblings made their way to Washington thereafter. The working conditions her father endured were harsh. As a child Kingfisher realized this and began questioning her world. One question she had was why she, a Cherokee Native, was always surrounded by white people. The other question was the reasoning and implications of the bomb her father was helping to build.
“Asking questions…that is the key of organizing…nobody wants to be an activist, you know, but we are questioning, and we are very curious, and we want to know why, and we keep pulling those threads and pulling that string.”
In 1985 she moved to her grandmother’s allotment land in Oklahoma. There she got involved with the community talking about the uranium facility that was going to deep well inject their waste. Jesse Deerinwater created Native Americans for a Clean Environment (NACE) and stopped the injection well. After, many in the community came to aid her in any way they could. Later, Deerinwater moved on and Kingfisher became the board chair for NACE.
The Sequoyah Fuels Nuclear Plant in Gore, Oklahoma was responsible for bringing in yellowcake uranium from New Mexico and turning it into uranium hexafluoride, used for fuel, and uranium tetrafluoride, used for the shelling of army tanks and bullets. Instead of dealing with toxic waste, known as raffinate and partnering with Monsanto, the facility created fertilizer that was spread onto 10,000 acres. As a result, a “happy cow operation” came about. New cows would need to be brought in every 3 months to replace those who had died. People were also becoming ill. Because of this, Thelma Moton, a local member of the community, created a cancer map of Gore, Oklahoma by going door to door and asking questions.
Because the Nuclear Regulatory Commission (NRC), who conducts facility inspections, had already been sued, Kingfisher and/or her associates were allowed to be on site when the NRC came to inspect the uranium plant. They had standing. Kingfisher said, “Even if you don’t win and it cost a whole lot of money it got us in rooms we never would’ve gotten in to.” During one of the inspections it was noticed that 3-month contract workers with no insurance or tracking were standing in and cleaning uranium tanks. On a Saturday night, an explosion occurred and the plant was not immediately evacuated. Later that same night, 350 people were fired and the plant was closed.
Although the plant was closed, the Cherokee Nation continued to have interest. Their eyes were now on the company conducting the cleanup. The company did not know where to put the waste and tried to get the state to allow them to leave the waste on site. The Cherokee Nation did not allow that and won a case forcing the company to move the waste to Utah.
“This is human health, this is public health. I don’t care what stripe you are. I do care that we all live in this place, and what are we passing on.”
After the plant was shut down and the case was won, Kingfisher knew she had to do something new. She felt exhausted and out of balance. She started working on Native women’s reproductive rights and health, food and agriculture. Kingfisher explained how food, farming, environment, and health were all the same category to her.
In 2017 her community noticed construction near the highway. Then in 2018 they realized the Simmons company out of Arkansas had a sort of poultry monopoly system going on. Workers received all their feed, propane, etc from Simmons. The poultry application was only $10 and they barely had to pay for water. 260 new houses on mega-barns were being created with 20 thousand more chickens in each barn. That is 400 tons of waste per day. The first study over the quantity of water in the local aquifer is currently being conducted. In a win, a megahouse next to an organic farm was shut down and taken off the market in 13 days after the Cherokee Nation bought it for $380 thousand.
Kingfisher cites how important gatherings like conferences are. From conferences, people are able to learn from each other, about different tactics that worked in other places, and network with people and groups like CHEJ. Additionally, garnering attention to the impacted people from her community was important in her fight. People affected by the uranium facility and poultry operation would be put on TV to speak on their negative experiences. Whether it was the family of the little girl that almost died from E.coli that came from a chicken house, or the grandfather talking about how his family was not able to have a birthday party due to too many feathers being in the pool. Cultivating your press and showing things that everyone “gets” and can relate to is important.
“The community can lead it even if there’s not a community when you begin, you create that community by being very inclusive and listening.”
By: Ruth Rodriguez, Communications Intern
Jerry Ensminger, a U.S Marine Corps veteran who led the fight for justice at Camp Lejeune, a military base in North Carolina where severe water contamination went unaddressed and unresolved for over 30 years, shared his experience for CHEJ’s Living Room Leadership series.
Raised in Pennsylvania on a dairy farm, Ensminger joked that he joined the Marine Corps because he needed a break from the farm life. In actuality, he joined in 1969 after his brother, who had volunteered for the draft to obtain the GI Bill after service, was wounded 78 times in the front of his body and lost the top left corner of his brain.
Ensminger had two daughters, the second, named Janey, was conceived at Camp Lejeune. She was born in Parris Island and then the family moved back to Camp Lejeune. For a while, Janey had a severe case of strep throat. Ensminger then noticed she had red spots all over her torso. When she was taken to the hospital he found out that the spots were petechiae, caused by broken blood vessels below the skin. He then was informed that his daughter had leukemia after her bone marrow was tested. Janey Ensminger passed on September 24, 1985.
Ensminger retired in 1994. In 1997, while getting ready for dinner, he heard a report about the Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry’s public health assessment for Camp Lejeune. It found that drinking water contamination took place in Camp Lejeune from 1968 to 1985 and was suspected to have caused different types of birth defects and childhood cancer, specifically leukemia. Ensminger said the dates were incorrect and the contamination went further back. When he initially heard the news he thought only of Janey, but then remembered all those who lived on the base and were now all over the world and did not hear the local news. The only reason Ensminger found out was because he stayed in the area after his retirement. He said he almost felt physically ill from what was going on. He faithfully served for 24 and a half years and was betrayed, but he turned his sense of betrayal into astounding work.
“There were hundreds of thousands if not over a million people out there that’s had that same nagging question, ‘what happened to me’, ‘what happened to my loved one’, and I made it my mission to give them a possible answer to that nagging question, and that set me in motion.”
Volatile organic compounds (VOC) trichloroethylene (TCE), perchloroethylene (PCE), vinyl chloride, and benzene were among the contaminants found in the drinking water. These sourced from leaking storage tanks, dumping into the ground, dry cleaning, and industrial activities. It took Ensminger from 1997 to 2004 to get a major news outlet to take the Camp Lejeune story. The story was finally published by The Washington Post in 2004 titled, “Tainted Water in the Land of Semper Fi.”
Ensminger testified 9 different times to Congress from that point until August 2012 when President Barack Obama signed the Janey Ensminger Act. The Act established a connection between the illnesses associated with the water contamination at Camp Lejeune and allowed dependents to apply for Veterans Affair health care in relation to exposure.
“It’s not easy and if you only go into it half hearted they’re gonna beat you.”
The Department of Defense holds that they will pay to clean up the contamination, because they are required to, but will not be held liable to pay any person for damages caused by the contamination. The Supreme Court upheld this notion. In response, Ensminger introduced the Camp Lejeune Justice Act to overturn the ruling.
“The only way you’re gonna punish them, whether it’s industry or the Department of Defense, any polluter…is in their pocket.”
To learn more about the toxic water at Camp Lejeune, visit The Few, The Proud, The Forgotten.
By: Ruth Rodriguez, Communications Intern
“I’m hoping this bill can pave the way for a tidal wave of bills like this across the country.”
Maria Lopez-Nuñez, Deputy Director, Organizing and Advocacy of Ironbound Community Corporation (ICC) in Newark, Jersey shared her experience as one of the leaders that helped pass S232, the strongest environmental justice law in the United States. Signed by Governor Murphy in New Jersey, the law protects overburdened communities by requiring the New Jersey Department of Environmental Protection to evaluate permits based on cumulative impacts of pollution.
Born in Honduras, Lopez-Nuñez moved to New Jersey when she was 3 years old. She later earned a degree in philosophy. Her entry to environmental justice work was through social justice and began at ICC in 2014.
The Ironbound neighborhood in Newark, the largest city in New Jersey, is situated among the state’s largest incinerator, 2 power plants, a railroad, a port, and a river that is the longest superfund site in the nation. Lopez-Nuñez describes the neighborhood as a “toxic soup.”
Pushed by ICC, New Jersey Environmental Justice Alliance, and Clean Water Action of New Jersey for 12 years, a new and groundbreaking environmental justice bill was signed into law in September. Originally, the state’s Department of Environmental Protection claimed that they did not have the jurisdiction to deny permits based on cumulative impacts. Every factory and industry was viewed as an individual in the permitting process. When each individual goes up to their limit, the combination of their pollution and waste falls upon the community. The Environmental Justice law, also referred to as Cumulative Impacts, protects overburdened communities by mandating that the Department of Environmental Protection “SHALL DENY” a permit to an industry that adds burden to the neighborhood. An impacted community is measured by Census block and defined as 40 percent people of color, OR 40 percent monolingual, non-english speaking, OR 35 percent low income. The definition was designed to be inclusive and protect people of color and low income white communities. If a new facility is planning to settle in an environmental justice/impacted community, a review on cumulative impacts is triggered. Renewals and expansions receive conditions on their permits to lower emissions and pollution. Lopez-Nuñez says, “I’m looking forward to that first denial under the bill, that will be our historic moment come true.”
“I’m hoping that other people can build on this…they always ask you who else has done it…you can go and say that this bill in New Jersey has ‘shall deny’ as the premise.”
The law is not currently in effect, but is in its rulemaking process. During this period, industry begins lobbying to create loopholes in the legislation. Lopez-Nuñez says that the hardest part of the journey now is to influence the bureaucrats. She found that using tangible things like the way the air smells was effective in community organizing, and stresses that the community needs to lead and negotiate for themselves. Community members are trained to participate in stakeholder meetings. She said that, “It’s not about intelligence, it’s just about a little determination.”
“At the heart it’s about community organizing and making sure we’re all connected…fight together against the forces that would really just bury us.”
By: Ruth Rodriguez, Communications Intern
Roxanne Groff, a formidable activist with 20 years of experience as an elected official in Athens County, Ohio, shared her experience for CHEJ’s Living Room Leadership Series.
Originally from Toledo, Groff made her way to Athens, Ohio for college in 1967 where her activism began. There, she began protesting the Vietnam War and recognized many things needed to change. From that moment on, Groff states, she “couldn’t stop” because there was always something new to fight.
“Anger pushes people to do a lot of pretty effective things.”
After protesting a coal mine that would threaten local water and air, Groff thought of how much she could do as a politician. Humorously, what motivated Groff to go to board meetings was the need for her road to be fixed. Eventually, a trustee asked Groff why she did not run for a seat on the board. In a turn of events, she ran and defeated the trustee in 1979, beginning her political career at 29 years old.
“If you really care how things work you’re going to find out, and I did.”
Her active involvement in the political arena, including the State Trustee Association, led to her position on the Board of County Commissioners. This was a means into state legislative work. She served 3 terms and then ran for Township Trustee which led to almost 20 years in office. As a result of her work in politics she, to this day, can get in contact with members of the government. She stresses the importance of not adapting yourself or the issues you are fighting for. Because of her refusal to conform, many current members of the government remember her as someone who always stood up and was passionate about what she believed in.
“You fight for everything that comes up that is going to protect the people.”
Groff stresses the importance of direct action. Putting decision makers into uncomfortable situations forces them to think. Although, sitting face-to-face with anyone is difficult during COVID-19. That being said, Groff will keep fighting.
“There’s too much to do…I don’t have any reason to stop.”
By: Ruth Rodriguez, Communications Intern
Esther Portillo, Interim Executive Director of the Center for Community Action and Environmental Justice (CCAEJ) in Jurupa Valley, CA, shared her experience as an activist for CHEJ’s Living Room Leadership Series. Portillo has organized and empowered communities of color across the nation and now is leading CCAEJ’s grassroots efforts to bring environmental justice to the Inland Empire.
CCAEJ works to improve the social and natural environment by expanding indigenous leadership, organizing communities through the use of campaigns, and creating a framework of community power for safer, healthier, toxic free places to live, work, learn and play.
Portillo began organizing in the early 2000s after graduating college. The history of racism and the demographic shift of where she grew up influenced her interest. Because affordable housing was no longer viable in places like Los Angeles, there was a displacement of people of color who moved to the Inland Empire, a region in Southern California.
“It’s definitely an environmental racism issue as well.”
Currently, CCAEJ is fighting against land use and warehouse development. The warehouse industry has been effective in rezoning previous residential areas and making them industrial zones. The industrial warehouse complex in the Inland Empire spans 500 million square feet and 20 million square feet are added every year, making it the largest warehouse district in the world. Additionally, air quality has worsened as a result of the use of warehouse diesel trucks. Diesel releases harmful particulate matter into the air, reducing air quality. Because of the growth of the industrial complex in the Inland Empire, Portillo stated the area is becoming like an “inland port.”
The effects of pollution in the Inland Empire can be seen through slow lung growth in children and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Portillo said, “Community members have literally passed away from the impacts of all this pollution.” She called it a sort of state of emergency.
“It is like a life and death situation for folks.”
Portillo explains that the way to be most effective is to “organize the folks that are directly affected by these policies.” These people are usually women of color, and it is necessary for community members to develop the policies they want. Litigation, change of land use strategy and planning, and community organizing are essential for enacting change in the Inland Empire.
By: Ruth Rodriguez, Communications Intern
Rebecca Jim, Founder and Executive Director of Local Environmental Action Demanded (LEAD) Agency, Inc, shared her experience as an activist for CHEJ’s Living Room Leadership Series. Jim shared about her community’s fight for environmental justice of the Tar Creek area, one of the largest and most polluted Superfund sites in the United States.
LEAD works to raise environmental concerns in Northeast Oklahoma, take action against environmental hazards that harm the community, conduct workshops and seminars, and strengthen efforts by partnerships in Oklahoma and the nation.
Jim is a member of the Cherokee Nation. Many native tribes were forced to move into land located in Northeastern Oklahoma in Ottawa County. The land was then discovered to be rich in lead and zinc, consequently, leading to the mining and extraction of the area beginning around the early 1900’s. Her environmental work began when, as a school counselor, she became aware of her students’ concerns for their environment. Although the area is no longer in production, what remains has dangerous consequences for the community. Debris and rubble is contaminated with heavy metals such as lead and zinc.
The Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) is in charge of issuing mining leases and suggested that tribal land owners use the waste as a resource and form of income. In effect, poisonous residue was transported throughout the county and used for gravel, asphalt, foundations, driveways, roads, etc. In 1994, it was discovered that 35 percent of children living on the site had high concentrations of lead in their blood. This led the EPA to sample soil in high-access areas (HAA) and discover high concentrations of heavy metals. The EPA began excavations to clean up HAAs and even residential properties. The cleanup continues to this day.
“It is a legacy that I really wouldn’t have wished on anyone.”
The site has struggled with funding. With the help of CHEJ, LEAD has been fighting for the reauthorization of the Superfund. Jim stated that they are a “broke Superfund” and are “at the will of Congress” for any financing. Jim believes money and science can solve the site’s problems.
Funding is not the only financial issue. The BIA allowed mining leases for individuals to mine on tribal lands, but later dealt those individuals incompetent to deal with their wealth, therefore, many never received their earnings.
“The more you look at our site, the deeper the environmental injustice is.”
Still, Jim has hope for justice. If the creek is able to get cleaned up, they can clean the rest of the site.
“What we’re hoping to do is give hope…we can make this place a safer place to live.”
By: Leija Helling, Communications Intern
When landmen first arrived in Arlington, Texas, offering royalties and signing bonuses, everyone was talking about the money. But Ranjana Bhandari saw through the propaganda and refused to sign her mineral rights away. Since this first act of resistance, Ranjana’s fight against fracking has grown into an organized effort across her city through the group Livable Arlington, where she brings residents together to oppose fracking expansion. “Fighting fossil fuels in Texas is a pretty hard job,” she says. But her persistence is paying off. In a Living Room Leadership interview with CHEJ, Ranjana shared stories about urban fracking, corrupted local politics, how she started a community organization, and how her group has found success in an area largely controlled by Republicans to whom fossil fuels hold an almost mythical importance.
“Fighting fossil fuels in Texas is a pretty hard job,” Ranjana says, yet she has proven it’s possible.
Since 2005 when the fossil fuel industry set its sights on the Barnett shale, a reservoir of natural gas that sits below the city of Arlington, local officials have supported the industry in siting urban fracking wells near neighborhoods, parks, hospitals, and schools throughout the city. Urban drilling has become a popular method since the discovery of horizontal drilling, which allows drillers to access reservoirs of gas under built-up areas. Today the 100-square-mile city of Arlington is home to nearly 400 wells, many as close as 300 feet from homes and schools.
Drilling companies sold fracking to Ranjana’s community as a safe way to achieve energy independence back before much was written about the health risks of fracking. But the truth is that fracking uses a slew of toxic chemicals, many of which can have serious health impacts. The process involves pumping 4 million gallons of water, sand, and a mixture of chemicals underground at high pressures. A salty toxic waste called brine comes back out, often along with radioactive materials from deep underground. The risk of emissions of toxic volatiles like benzene and methane is high. Accidents are not uncommon either.
“When you breathe this stuff, it’s not diluted. It’s not occasional. It’s a continuous onslaught.”
Further, the companies did not deliver on the mailbox money they promised. Residents were told they would get royalty checks of a few hundred dollars every quarter for the next 40 years if they signed off on urban fracking, but according to Ranjana, most barely got $10 per quarter. Not only that, but the costs were never counted or even acknowledged. “The accounting was incomplete by design,” Ranjana, whose background is in economics, explains. Losses in property value, property damage, and health care costs were not accounted for. Asthma, for example, costs around $3300 per year to treat. And that’s not to mention the impending climate crisis, which is expected to wipe out at least 5% of the global economy in the coming decades.
Ranjana was the mother of a five-year-old at the time drilling arrived in Arlington, and knew someone needed to speak up for the community’s children, whose health is especially vulnerable to toxic chemicals. She started going to city council meetings along with a few others in an effort to oppose well permits, but their lone voices were easily ignored by officials. Ranjana had no background in community organizing, but knowing that an organization with a structure and a body of supporters would amplify their voice, she decided she should take a stab at it. “Individuals, however heroic, cannot carry the same weight as an organization,” she says. In 2015, she brought together a group of Arlington residents in her kitchen, mostly mothers and grandmothers, united in their conviction to be a voice for the children whose interests they felt were going unrepresented.
Amazingly, under Ranjana’s leadership, Livable Arlington has found ways reach across the aisle and unite the community around human concerns despite Texan commitment to the fossil fuel industry. Reflecting on a huge 2017 win against an injection well that would have threatened the drinking water of half a million Arlinton residents, Ranjana shared the key to her success: messaging. “We never mentioned drilling,” she says. “We talked about water: what our children are drinking, a universal value.”
“You can love fossil fuels, you can buy all the propaganda, but you still don’t want to poison your children.”
By keeping their focus immediate and local, on children and not the climate, the group was able to find common ground within an increasingly polarized political climate. Optics helped too. “It’s hard for people to demonize you or argue with you when you get 80 women worried about their children lined up at a public hearing.” To be clear, though, concern for children was more than just an organizing strategy for Ranjana. “I did this as a parent,” she says.
Ranjana also told the story of a recent win against the permitting of wells by a preschool in a predominantly Black and Latinx neighborhood of Arlington. The area had the highest rates of COVID-19 infections in Arlington at the time. Livable Arlington was able to convince the city council to oppose the permits by highlighting the link between pollution and higher COVID-19 mortality. Where environmental racism issues intersect with a racialized pandemic, the disproportionate impact of barriers to health on poor minority communities becomes far too clear to ignore, she explains.”I hope we remember the things we’ve learned about how inequitable our country is,” Ranjana says. “Who bears the burden of keeping us going, who has the least protection, and who pollution impacts the most.” How can we do so?
“Hold grown-ups’ feet to the fire, speak truth to power, pin the blame where it lies.”