Community development is an essential part of creating a more sustainable society. The way that most cities currently operate is not efficient and is generally detrimental to the environment. To change that, city planners, architects, and legislators will scope out spaces that can be re-utilized into something more sustainable. They develop plans to create more walkable cities to reduce the amount of time an average commuter has to spend in a car, or they’ll create larger plots of land for trees and other vegetation to create “green space” in a city.
These are great ideas, but the plans often overlook what is already in front of them. City planners and legislators often tear down what already exists to create green spaces or more walkable cities. By doing so, they discount the residents who live in that community.
The major factor that often goes under looked, or that gets reduced to a small net loss, is the economic impact that “greening” the city will have on the current residents. Too often, those residents are low-income and disproportionately people of color. For example, New York City converted an abandoned subway track into a lovely park for people to walk on, called the High Line. This park includes modern art, plenty of plants and flowers, and an incredible view of the city. However, many parts of the High Line are surrounded by resident housing (as is most of New York City). Any residential housing adjacent to the High Line raised housing values by 35%. The increase displaced current residents and keeps out anyone who cannot meet the new economic norm.
This is the process known as green gentrification. Cities have big aspirations of creating a sustainable community but end up displacing low-income residents. This happens all over the country, but more specifically, it is happening right now in Rochester, New York.
Marketview Heights is a community in Rochester that has existed for generations. Members of the Marketview Heights community want to keep the community’s sense of place and are skeptical about the incoming teardown of Inner Loop North. Sense of place is the attachment that one has to their home and to their community. When there is not a strong connection to the community, people tend to not treat the space very well. Renters who move into the places built in place of the Inner Loop often do not have a strong connection to their community. Residents fear losing this sense of place, especially given what they have already experienced from the Inner Loop East project.
In the place of Inner Loop East, where part of the highway used to run, are towering modernized apartment buildings for renters. It is quite a juxtaposition from the houses just across the river that have been standing for generations. When asked about the change, Suzanna Mayer, of the local Non-profit Hinge Neighborhoods, said, “They got rid of a moat, and built a wall.”
The city of Rochester, New York, has just recently received a substantial grant from the state to tear down another part of the Inner Loop–a highway that has segregated the downtown Rochester community since the 1960s. From the perspective of an observer of the downtown Rochester community, this is a great success. The city of Rochester is achieving its goal of tearing down the eye-sore highway, making downtown Rochester a more walkable city, and creating “. . .safer streets, bike lanes, green spaces, and good paying local construction jobs. . ..” to quote Senator Chuck Schumer when interviewed for the City of Rochester website. This seems like a great environmental win for the city. Some residents of Marketview Heights, the community right down the street from the recent Inner Loop East construction, disagree.
Renters who move into the places built in place of the Inner Loop often do not have a strong connection to their community.
A solution to this inevitable paradox: Consider what the people already living in that community have to say about developing their community. The experts in community development are the people who live there. No one can create a better place for a person when they have no idea of the needs of that person and their community. Take into consideration that there could be more community-building events or what they can do to encourage renters to consider long-term living.
The “wall” that Inner Loop East built was not just a physical, aesthetic divide but a social divide as well. There must be a plan to incorporate the current Marketview Heights community into the new one created by the Inner Loop project; a plan to create opportunities for the people coming into the community and especially opportunities for its current residents. The architects of the Inner Loop project should build upon what is already in the community and listen to the residents’ input and ideas.
image used with public share permission from: ProtectThackerPass.org/resources
While We’re Here: Acknowledging Harm in Federal Green Initiatives
By Ariana Richmond
On day one in office, the new administration canceled climate change initiatives. Executive Order 14154 eliminated the “electric vehicle (EV) mandate,” revoked twelve executive orders addressing the climate crisis, and attempted to override bipartisan climate change legislation. Setting aside the consequences likely to result from an absence of federal leadership, this complete stop is also an opportunity to pause and think about equitable solutions through a Just Transition. To that end, how have green initiatives like electric vehicle goals harmed marginalized communities?
Federal green initiatives—even well-intentioned with environmental justice—too often still come at the expense of historically oppressed communities. Under the Biden administration, there was bipartisan support for clean energy and infrastructure as well as environmental justice—and even for putting them all together.
At the executive level, the Biden administration committed to environmental justice through the Justice40 (J40) Initiative. Through Executive Orders 14008 and 14096, the White House committed 40% of overall benefits from federal clean energy and infrastructure projects to historically disadvantaged communities.
Consistent with this, Congress passed, and President Biden signed into law, two pieces of landmark legislation: the 2021 Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act (commonly known as the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law or BIL) and the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act (IRA). Both laws established infrastructure and clean energy projects that prioritized disadvantaged communities. From this, the Biden administration produced a list of over 500 programs under J40authorized by Congress for climate change and environmental justice. In this way, the federal government committed to a green economy while purporting to serve marginalized communities.
However, some of the clean energy programs directly harm marginalized communities. For example, the BIL and IRA advance electric vehicle (EV) manufacturing, which has harmful local impacts. The IRA alone appropriated $3 billion to the Department of Energy’s Advanced Technology Vehicles Manufacturing Loan Program, and removed the program’s loan cap, to fund direct loans for manufacturing facilities for EV battery critical minerals. Accordingly, the Department of Energy issued a $2.26 billion loan to Lithium Americas, a Canadian company, to build a lithium mining facility at Thacker Pass in northern Nevada. Notably, this is all part of the J40 environmental justice program. Further, both the Biden and previous administration supported the mine, with the Biden administration increasing funding and finalizing the loan.
The area of the mine, Thacker Pass, Nevada (Peehee Mu’huh), is unceded land. The Numu/Nuwu and Newe Peoples maintain rights to the land. Today, the area borders Oregon, sits atop an extinct volcano, and is likely one of the largest sources of lithium in the U.S. Most importantly, the area is hugely significant to the Indigenous Peoples who have lived there since time immemorial.
Forcibly removed to reservations nearby, at least six federally recognized Tribes of the Numu/Nuwu and Newe People resist the mine site. The Fort McDermitt Paiute and Shoshone Tribe has a 54-square mile reservation that is around 30 miles from the mine. Some of the harm to Tribes from the mine includes: obstructing hunting, fishing, and gathering rights; preventing cultural and religious practices; obstructing the continuation of traditions; and infringing on ancestral land claims—in addition to ecological and environmental harm. There is also an increased risk of violence, including sexual violence against women, historically pervasive among extractive industry practices. Additionally, the land is a sacred burial site since 1865, when U.S. soldiers massacred Numu/Nuwu and Newe Peoples who inhabited the land.
Tribes resisting the mine have sued in federal district court, lost, and lost on appeal at the Ninth Circuit. Under the National Historic Preservation Act and NEPA, the federal government must follow procedural requirements, including Tribal consultation, before approving the project. Additionally, the U.S. government has a trust relationship with Indigenous Nations and must engage in good-faith, nation-to-nation consultation. According to a February 2025 Human Rights Watch report, the construction of the mine also violates Indigenous Peoples’ rights under international law, to obtain free, prior, and informed consent before permitting the mine. Yet, the U.S. government failed to uphold each of these obligations.
In this way, the lithium mine violates the rights of Tribes despite the U.S. government categorizing the project as green and just. This case illustrates how federal green initiatives purporting to advance environmental justice fail to do so. A green economy carried out at the expense of Indigenous Peoples is neither green nor just. It is important to acknowledge this harm now while federal initiatives are stalled. It is equally important to consult directly with environmental justice communities, including Indigenous Peoples, before advancing policies for a green economy.
We Paved Paradise to Put Up with Parking Lots
Angie Kaufman
At first glance, the American parking lot may seem, well, boring; perhaps it’s helpful and convenient at best, benign at worst. However, the effects of parking reach far and wide as it drives urban sprawl, housing shortages, inequitable costs, and spatial injustice. Parking takes up nearly one third of the land in United States cities. This comes out to eight spaces per car, according to some estimates. In San Bernadino, California, parking takes up nearly fifty percent of the central city. Across the country, most land use practices prioritize scarce land and monetary capital for carsover housing. For example, parking spaces in Los Angeles take up more land than housing. As UCLA professor and parking policy specialist Donald Shoup stated, “Zoning requires a home for every car, but ignores homeless people.”
Traditionally, environmental justice refers to the disproportionate placement of industrial hazards in low-income communities and communities of color. But equal access to resources is also a foundational environmental justice principle. Car-centric zoning policies violate this principle by creating spatial injustice, the “[in]equitable allocation of socially valued resources,” like “jobs, political power, social services, environmental goods in space, and the [un]equal opportunities to utilize these resources over time.” A society designed for cars leads the way for sprawl and decentralized resources accessible only by car. Mandated amounts of parking, criminalization of pedestrians, and restrictive zoning laws have silenced urban centers and stripped them of vibrancy and resources. Car-dependence and urban sprawl limit people’s access to necessities like affordable housing and food security while exposing communities to more intense effects of climate change. Thoughtfully reshaping the law to encourage human-scale spaces that prioritize public transit and walkability can ameliorate spatial injustice by improving access to resources, affordable housing, food security, and opportunities in urban communities.
Historically, cars were seen as a status symbol. They were used primarily for sporting and entertainment, so long as you could afford the high cost of purchase and maintenance. Once manufacturers began mass producing cars, American car ownership soared. Today, high costs of purchase and maintenance remain with one crucial difference: cars are no longer a sporting luxury but rather a necessity in the daily lives of many Americans.
Through laws mandating parking minimums and zoning restrictions, corporate lobbying and market forces transformed much of the landscape from an approachable, human-scale model to one designed for cars. For example, the advent of “jaywalking” was originally justified as a way to protect pedestrians; the car lobby criminalized the act in the 1920s. The auto industry funded a propaganda campaign that framed pedestrian victims as responsible for their own death after drivers hit them. Such criminalization “reconstruct[ed] how streets are used, and who they are intended for.” In other words, criminalizing “jaywalking” redefined streets from common spaces for people to gather, shop, and walk to spaces for cars to pass through.
Researchers have recently focused on the deleterious impacts of parking minimums in municipalities. Parking minimums are local laws baked into a municipality’s zoning code that mandate developers include a specified minimum number of parking spaces per new development. As cars increased in popularity, they occupied more curb space and congested streets. As a result, municipalities implemented parking minimums. These parking minimums operate under the guise of ensuring that an adequate number of parking spaces are available for cars. In reality, there are many more parking spaces than needed. Today, it’s common knowledge among parking experts that the numbers are pulled from thin airthrough arbitrary pseudoscience.
Such abundance of free parking encourages more travel by car than would parking that requires a driver to pay directly for it. This creates two inequities. First, more travel by car requires more car infrastructure, like highways from suburban areas into cities. Highways have a prickly history with racial and environmental injustice. Federal programsfacilitated highways expansion to accommodate “white flight” – that is, when White people fled to suburban areas while redlining and disinvestment stranded people of color in urban centers. This displaced low-income communities of color and elevated the risk of industrial expansion, like incinerators, in their neighborhoods. This trend of racial injustice intertwined with highway expansion persists today.
Second, free parking offsets the price of parking spaces – each costing between five and ten thousand dollars for construction alone – to the consumer. For suburbanites driving into the city, this seems fair: without free parking, they would have to pay for it anyway. But for the urbanites that live nearby or used other means of transportation, they must pay the cost for the drivers. Housing developers also pass costs of parking to tenants, adding an average of $225 per month to a tenant’s rent, according to one estimate. That is, if there’s enough land available for developers to build housing in the first place, in accordance with parking minimum laws.
Parking minimums also imperil human health. Providing “free” parking encourages passenger car use, which increases traffic, and puts pedestrians, cyclists, and motorists at higher risk of injury or death by automobile accident. Parking minimums also drive urban sprawl by the nature of needing more space for parking and encouraging developers to opt for tracts of land outside of downtowns, where prices for land run high. This can create food deserts – areas without food options – for low-income communities and communities of color. Alternatively, the urban sprawl effect can create food swamps – areas drowned by unhealthy, fast-food options – when combined with the effect that parking minimums favor national corporations over small businesses. High density of parking also takes up land that could be used for greenspaces, depriving environmental justice communities equal access to nature, in violation of Environmental Justice Principle Number Twelve.
Moreover, parking lots’ impervious surfaces exacerbate the effects of climate change and jeopardize human health. A lack of porous surfaces to absorb flood waters and carbon intensifies flooding and directly correlates with increased temperatures in urban areas. Exhaust from cars similarly exacerbates the urban heat effect. Transportation emissions are the leading contributor of direct greenhouse gas emissions in the United States. Light-duty vehicles, like pickup trucks, and passenger cars account for nearly sixty percent of these emissions. These emissions, contribute to climate change – which strains urban infrastructure – and harm human health.
The abundance of free parking that birthed car culture has robbed municipalities of robust public transportation, walkability, and bikeability – all options that are safer, release fewer emissions, connect people of all income levels to resources, and don’t require parking lots. The costs of parking outlined above are many and don’t even account for the opportunity costs of parking minimums. At the root of it all, parking minimums drive urban sprawl and perpetuate spatial injustice for lower income residents who can’t afford to live in the suburbs – or have been systemically excluded from doing so.
Cities around the United States are beginning to recognize the impacts of parking minimums and remedy their effects by abolishing such laws, instituting parking maximums, and revamping their zoning laws to include multi-use and inclusionary zoning. Reclaiming human-scale places as an equitable climate solution, however, requires keen attention to social justice. While policies that create walkable communities are inherently equitable, they also attract gentrification, the influx of wealthier demographic and development corporations displacing working class communities and communities of color due to an increase in property values. Inoculating communities against gentrification requirescollaboration among community members, grassroots community organizing, inclusionary zoning measures and proactive housing laws. Carefully un-paving parking lots could create an equitable, human-scale paradise accessible to all.
New Jersey’s EJ Law Is Passed, and It Still Might Not Be Enough
by Isabella Marie Nangano
In 2020, the New Jersey State Legislature enacted the Environmental Justice Law, one that its citizens wanted for a long time. The law requires the Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) to consider the environmental impact of a proposed project on the community before approving its permits. This legislation was passed in response to calls from environmental activists for meaningful climate reform, particularly in a state that hosts the largest number of Superfund sites in the country. Governor Murphy expressed hope that the law would shield New Jerseyites from the pollution impacts of superstorms, like Hurricane Sandy, which caused widespread devastation in 2012. However, the law has fallen short of its promise. Despite being regarded as a landmark environmental justice law in this country, it does not fully protect the communities it was designed to serve. For instance, residents of the Ironbound neighborhood in Newark are fighting against constructing a sewage treatment plant which will lead to further pollution in the neighborhood—an outcome the Environmental Justice Law has not prevented.
Ironbound is a multicultural neighborhood rife with pollution. The heavily polluted Passaic River and countless factories border residents’ homes. These residents suffer health consequences from their living conditions, such as higher asthma rates in their children, but are unable to afford housing elsewhere. In theory, the law should be helping prevent further damage to this neighborhood, but it’s not. The state plans to build a new sewage treatment plant in the Ironbound neighborhood. The sewage treatment plant will act as a backstop for other sewage plants in case of future superstorms like Sandy. Hurricane Sandy destroyed New Jersey’s sewage system and raw sewage ran through the streets of Newark. Governor Murphey intends for this new plant to ensure that future storms are never as detrimental as Sandy. The plant is only meant for emergencies, but for one hour every day, the plant will run to ensure that the technology is still operable. The people who live in Ironbound already are impacted daily by factories and the pollution, and the last thing this neighborhood needs is another pollution source.
Ironbound residents have tried to organize against the sewage plant’s construction, but the Department of Environmental Protection conditionally approved the project in July. The plant is allowed to be built as long as it is: 1) only operative in an emergency, 2) incorporates some solar energy, and 3) utilizes high-quality equipment to reduce noise pollution. The conditional approval of this project is what the Environmental Justice Law was made to avoid. The reasoning behind building the sewage plant is to reduce the impacts from climate change-exacerbated storms (superstorms) caused by businesses which will never be a firsthand witness to the consequences of their actions. Those actors and decision-makers whose polluting tendencies created the need for an emergency sewage plant will never have to live next door to that emergency sewage plant. The Ironbound residents cannot afford housing elsewhere and are trapped in a toxic neighborhood.
The new sewage plant in Ironbound is just one example of environmental injustice in a country that has a serious problem with the disproportionate impact of pollution on poor and BIPOC communities. New Jersey appears to have taken one step towards righting these wrongs by passing the Environmental Justice Law, but that step is not enough. The intent that accompanies this law is a just one. However, the enforcement of this law is lacking. Had the Department of Environmental Protection taken a moment to consider the impact on environmental and public health that this new sewage plant would have (per the statute’s requirement) perhaps it would not have approved the project. The Environmental Justice Law is a good law, but if is ever going to live up to its potential, then the Department of Environmental Protection must try to enforce the law.
Bridging the Gap: Ensuring a Just Transition for Rural Communities in the Clean Energy Revolution
by Olivia Moulton
As we begin transitioning from fossil fuels to renewable energy, we must be mindful of the disproportionate effects that the existing energy system has had on certain communities. In order to meet the 2050 goals set forth by the International Renewable Energy Agency, approximately 37 gigatons of annual CO2 emissions must be cut by 2050. To achieve this goal, there must be substantial improvements in energy efficiency. There are ongoing disparities in energy efficiency in rural communities in America. The importance of improving energy efficiency measures in rural communities is crucial for the clean energy transition.
Rural communities have the highest energy burdens, meaning they spend the highest percentage of their income on energy costs. Rural communities, on average, have earned less than their urban and suburban counterparts. This means that rural residents have less money to spend on energy, driving down demand and disincentivizing utilities from investing in infrastructure. Rural communities also have higher transportation energy burdens than those who live in urban areas. This is because they do not have abundant public transportation options and often have to travel further distances for work, school, and leisure. All rural subgroups can see benefits from even modest energy efficiency improvements.
One program designed to help these rural communities improve their energy efficiency is the Energy Improvements in Rural or Remote Areas (ERA) program. The ERA is funded through the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, and received $1 billion to help expand education, investment, access, and resilience in America’s rural and remote communities. Under the ERA, there is the Cooperative Agreement Funding Opportunity and the Fixed Award Grant Funding Opportunity Announcement. Most projects have been awarded to indigenous tribes in Alaska and the western part of the country, as well as universities who help to develop clean energy projects. This is because many tribes pay almost four times the national average for their utilities, causing them to have a high energy burden.
Another program that is available is the Rural Energy Savings Program (RESP). This program provides loans to rural utilities and other companies who provide energy efficiency loans to qualified consumers to implement durable, cost-effective energy efficiency measures. Eligible applicants under this program include entities that provide retail electric service needs. These loans could help with reluctance to implement energy efficiency programs. By providing the opportunity for a utility to provide the service, it could override some of the reluctance that is seen from customers.
In the same vein as the RESP, there is also the Renewable Energy for America Program (REAP). REAP provides guaranteed loan financing and grant funding to agricultural producers and rural small businesses. 15% of agricultural production costs are energy related, and with the cost of energy rising, using less energy can go a long way. Agricultural producers are among the most energy-intensive businesses, so they would benefit the most from improved energy efficiency measures. REAP would save them money as well as reduce greenhouse gas emissions. By allowing these entities to improve their energy efficiency it can not only bring benefits to those businesses themselves but also to the communities where they are located. Allowing these businesses to cut their energy costs will allow them and their communities to prosper. For example, just switching to more efficient lightbulbs could result in energy savings of $2,658 a year. If this small measure would give farmers an almost $3,000 profit, imagine what larger efficiency measures could do.
Energy efficiency has been noted as a crucial part of the clean energy transition, but ultimately, not enough has been done to remedy energy efficiency defects. Especially in rural areas, where utilities are less likely to focus infrastructure upgrades, sentiments are often against changing the system, and energy burdens are among the highest in the country, these measures are more important than ever. In the transition to clean energy we cannot leave rural communities, often forgotten about or who come secondary to urban centers, behind. The effects that energy efficiency measures could have on these communities could not only help them financially but help to cut down on emissions by using less energy. All people deserve a place in the clean energy transition, and our actions moving forward must be just.
CAFOs: Harming People Now, Later, and Forever
by Aika Mitchell
As early as 1997, the National Bar Association had understood CAFOs to be an environmental justice issue. CAFOs directly endanger members of the local community—the majority of whom are poorer or belong to racial minorities—by polluting the air and spreading disease. Furthermore, CAFOs continue to emit significant amounts of methane, which in turn increases the incidence of climate disasters. These climate disasters differentially affect the same lives who were directly harmed by CAFOs in the first place: poorer communities with less resources to cope with climate disasters, and livestock animals who are left to die and rot when a hurricane blows through. Americans’ continued reliance on CAFOs perpetuates injustice and cruelty, subject to little regulatory oversight.
The Environmental Protection Agency created the term “Concentrated Animal Feeding Operation”, (CAFO) as part of a regulatory scheme for enforcing the Clean Water Act. CAFOs confine a large number of animals for at least 45 days in a given 12-month period. CAFOs dominate agriculture in the United States: in 2017, an estimated 99% of all meat sold in the U.S. came from animals confined in CAFOs. That’s 99% of an enormous industry—retail sales of beef alone represented 143 billion dollars in 2022. The value of broiler chicken sales (i.e. sales of chickens selective bred for maximum meat production) was about 42.6 billion dollars in 2023, and eggs brought in about 17.9 billion dollars in 2023. CAFOs are huge. They are huge in terms of dollars, animals confined, and negative effects on surrounding communities.
While data about CAFOs is hard to obtain because of EPA’s historic lack of oversight and inadequate recordkeeping, there is still evidence of the direct harm CAFOs do. Historically disenfranchised groups are harmed by a frequent proximity to CAFOs. For example, a study of CAFOs in North Carolina suggests that CAFOs tend to be sited in poorer communities with more Black people, increasing their exposure to CAFO-related pollutants. That same study also suggests that CAFO exposure is correlated with cardiovascular and kidney disease. A similar siting trend was observed in Ohio, where Black and Hispanic communities suffered higher exposure. In Pennsylvania, the 8th largest milk producing state, CAFO exposure was correlated with preterm birth; the correlation was stronger in Black mothers. Additionally, there is the everyday burden of living near a pig CAFO. Imagine the stench of thousands of pigs, miserable, covered in feces. Your porch is unusable—there are too many flies. You can’t cook outside because the smell taints everything.
Mere proximity to a CAFO harms people, but CAFOs are also nefarious contributors to climate change—the effects of which are borne overwhelmingly by poor and minority communities. Methane is a greenhouse gas that traps heat more effectively than carbon dioxide. CAFOs are significant methane emitters through their manure.
A 2021 EPA report demonstrated that low income, minority, undereducated, and elderly people are disproportionately affected by climate change compared to people outside those groups. For example, Black Americans are 40% more likely than non-Black Americans to live in places where climate change-induced extreme temperatures will cause death. Low income Americans or those with no high school diploma are 25% more likely to live in places where projected higher temperatures will cause losses in labor hours. The Fifth National Climate Assessment (NCA5) paints a similarly bleak picture. Low income and minority neighborhoods tend to be less resilient to the effects of climate change. Low income neighborhoods suffer from hotter surface temperatures (up to 12 degrees hotter during a heatwave), which can cause a slew of severe health problems. Throughout the country, Black communities are predicted to suffer more flood damages than other racial groups. The NCA5 attributes this differential impact to past discriminatory practices such as redlining. Thus, climate change continues to reinforce climate-resilience disparities between class and racial groups.
Despite the tremendous harm that CAFOs do, the federal government does not effectively regulate methane emissions from CAFOs. The EPA had promulgated a rule exempting smaller farms from mandatory air emissions reporting requirements back in 2008. Then, the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals vacated that rule in the case Waterkeeper Alliance v. EPA in 2017. In response, Congress stepped in and passed the Fair Agricultural Reporting Method Act (“FARM Act”), which exempted CAFOs from needing to report their air emissions from manure to the EPA. While Congress has impeded the public’s awareness of the true extent of CAFOs’ emissions, the EPA has acknowledged, that greenhouse gas emissions (including methane emissions) have risen sharply with the proliferation of CAFOs between 1990 and 2017.
Greenhouse gases are major drivers of global climate change. Global climate change tends to disproportionately affect poor and minority communities. Nearly 20 years ago, the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization wrote “Livestock’s Long Shadow”, which warned that the “livestock sector” is “one of the top two or three most significant contributors to the most serious environmental problems.” We did not heed that warning: livestock still contribute significantly to global greenhouse gas emissions. CAFOs remain a neglected opportunity to mitigate climate change harms.
Though the sheer size and influence of the animal agriculture industry makes change difficult, there are multiple possible avenues. Citizens can pressure state legislatures to regulate CAFOs more strictly. Oregon can celebrate a victory here: in the 2023 legislative session, a new law prohibiting CAFOs from getting discharge permits in groundwater management areas was signed into law. This was a hard-earned win, and it was only possible because of a collective effort by organizations and community stakeholders. Similarly, building just policies for broadly transitioning away from industrial animal consumption can get ahead of the common concerns (e.g. how to transition when some people absolutely rely on industrial animal agriculture to survive.)
Another legislative strategy for reducing CAFO-caused harms is pushing legislators to refine right to farm laws so that they don’t protect CAFOs. This may allow private citizens to bring common law nuisance claims against CAFOs, hopefully suing them into better behavior. A less monumental—but perhaps more critical—strategy would be changing consumption patterns. Whether your priorities are environmental justice, climate change, animal welfare, or something else altogether, personally choosing to consume less animal products is an important way to oppose CAFOs, a highly entrenched industry that inflicts tremendous amounts of harm.
Hurricane Helene and Appalachia: The Climate Disaster Built on Environmental Injustice
by Savannah Collins
Hurricane Helene
On September 26th and 27th of 2024, Hurricane Helene barreled through the Appalachian Mountains. Dropping over 18 inches of rain in many mountainous areas, communication lines are still down and entire sections of roads and highways have been washed away. Following days of prior rainfall, the already saturated soil could not take anymore.
As of this writing, Hurricane Helene is the deadliest hurricane to strike the mainland U.S. since Hurricane Katrina. At least 227 people are reported dead across six states with hundreds more reported missing. At least 72 people are dead in Buncombe County, NC, alone. Due to the extremely isolated nature of these mountainous homes, search and rescue efforts are still underway to locate some of the community’s most vulnerable members. Asheville is projecting that drinking water will not be restored for weeks. President Biden has declared the majority of western North Carolina as a federal disaster area, making FEMA assistance available to those who meet the requirements.
FEMA’s disaster assistance will help people get back on their feet in the short-term, but there must be a focus on rebuilding for long-term climate resilience based on what works for the affected communities. While donating helps, more physical effort on the ground and federal investments are needed to get this historically underinvested and exploited area back on its feet.
Why Appalachia is an Environmental Justice Area
The devastating storm and resulting flooding are the direct effects of climate change. Appalachia has been at the root of exploitation for well over a century and is now at the “nexus of the climate crisis.”Beginning in the 1700s and ramping up with railroad expansion in the 1800s, Appalachia and the Appalachian people have been exploited for their natural resources and physical labor for generations. Environmental justice and labor issues are deeply intertwined in Appalachia. From coal mining to fracking for natural gas, the physical impacts on the people of Appalachia are growing and compounding.
Furthermore, the area is deeply rural and often does not receive investments in their infrastructure from the federal government. As seen in 2022 with major flooding in eastern Kentucky, the area’s mountainous topography and supposedly reclaimed mining sites have made flooding significantly worse. The infrastructure in this area actually brings more problems than solutions. In fact, a 2019 project found areas in central Appalachia with increased flood risks actually overlapped with landscapes damaged by mining operations.
Additionally, most Appalachian households lack access to broadband, making filling out FEMA forms online nearly impossible. According to the FEMA website, an unreliable internet connection will likely cause issues with completing the application, potentially slowing down disaster assistance. When an area is already isolated, as is the case in many hollers in Appalachia, receiving aid requires getting past many hurdles. In the past week, there have been reports of individuals delivering supplies and aid via horseback and mules because the devastated roadways are too dangerous for vehicles. Even with this isolation and distance from the coast, climate change exacerbated storms are still hitting Appalachia.
Not only have companies physically plundered the land for coal, oil, and natural gas, but now communities like Asheville and Weaverville are directly facing the consequences. Without a more honest and focused plan on the part of the federal government, Appalachia is likely to continue to suffer at the hands of climate change built on the exploited, undervalued labor of their ancestors.
Call to Action
Legislation must be geared toward physically rebuilding these areas for long-term resilience. Organizations like Appalachian Voices, Appalachians for Appalachia, and POWHR Coalition have already been doing the work, but they need more federal funding and support. Senators and Representatives for the area should consider the long-term for their constituents and stop catering to extractive industries that reap all the physical benefits without rebuilding the community. Funding from historic environmental legislation, such as the Inflation Reduction Act, should be used to build back Appalachia for the almost certain natural disaster-filled future.
The Beacon Blog: Consider It Briefed
Houston’s Lax Zoning Practices Are Poisoning Its People
By Savannah Collins, Staff Editor for the Vermont Journal of Environmental Law
May 3, 2024
In an era where everyone is presently facing the impacts of climate change, some communities have been actively and systematically poisoned for decades. Houston, TX, stands out for the impacts of its laissez-faire zoning attitude. Houston allows industrial facilities to be located beside residential areas and schools. Due to this land use mixing, exposure to Superfund sites has increased. According to the Climate Vulnerability Index, the Fifth Ward of Houston is more vulnerable than 99% of the nation. This vulnerability comes from historic disinvestment that has culminated in measurable harm to the community. And people’s health has continuously taken a hit.
Houston’s lack of zoning controls has made it a hub of environmental justice issues. There are laws governing permitting and the like, but not for land use. Therefore, industry has been able to build wherever they choose. Combined with a history of redlining, communities that are mostly Black and Latinx are suffering. In the Greater Fifth Ward, where the population is majority Black and Latinx, the levels of pollution and pollution-related illnesses are well above average. A study done by the Environmental Defense Fund found some neighborhoods had levels of pollution equivalent to major highways in the city.
The Greater Fifth Ward is in the 99th percentile in its proximity to a Superfund site. There are over twenty-one state and federal Superfund Sites in the Houston city limits. Twenty-nine percent of the city’s concrete batch plants and 51% of the metal recycling facilities are within a half mile of at least one school or childcare center. In the Greater Fifth Ward, there are at least two elementary schools and two parks.
One of these parks is located quite close to the Union Pacific Rail lines. The City of Houston is suing the Union Pacific Railroad for creosote pollution in the Greater Fifth Ward. Notably, the railroad being sued subsumed the railroad that was in place in the 1940s, located beside this historically redlined community. There is a perpetual offloading of pollution from these railroads. A recent study by the Houston Health Department found toxic dust and soil on properties in the area. Additionally, there is a Title VI investigation by the Department of Justice into the illegal dumping activities in the city of Houston. This community is vulnerable on multiple fronts, dating back to its founding.
It would be hard to move these companies that have been in place for almost 100 years without greater aid from municipal government and organizations. The economic impact could be great, but the benefits to the people of the Fifth Ward would be greater. Despite the steep barrier, there are solutions available.
There is extensive mapping of the Superfund sites in the area. Noting where to put housing is critical to not further expose people to the current pollution levels. Furthermore, providing stipends to move out of the area would be beneficial for the community considering the level of poverty and the level of income. Without a more fluid source of funding, it is extremely difficult to move to protect their health.
With the Biden Administration highlighting environmental justice as a major factor in agency decisions, there is great potential for funding to shift nationally. The Justice40 Initiative is funneling funds out nationally and providing opportunities for community organizations to make these changes. One of the regional centers in charge of dispersing funds is the Deep South Center for Environmental Justice. They have provided an interactive resource guide for community organizations explaining Justice40 funding. There is also a database of available Justice40 money available, which is searchable by state and region. While these are preexisting federal programs not specifically focused on frontline communities, there is movement to make such programs work for frontline communities going forward. Hopefully, Houston’s people will be able to live in a healthier environment through these hardworking efforts.
The Beacon Blog: Consider It Briefed
Is a Lack of Data the Reason for Alaska’s Lack of Environmental Justice Legislation?
By Kari Millstein, Staff Editor for the Vermont Journal of Environmental Law
May 3, 2024
Alaska does not have any environmental justice laws or policies, despite the growing threat of climate change and the detrimental effects of big extraction and industrial projects on small, rural communities. To convince policymakers that these types of laws and policies are necessary, advocates need access to data about the most affected communities in the state. There are tools built to indicate the need for environmental justice action. Still, they are not very reliable when it comes to Alaska, because accurate data about small, widespread, rural communities is hard and expensive to collect. Collecting independent, accurate data to improve mapping tools like the Climate Vulnerability Index (CVI) is a necessary step toward more effective advocacy for Alaska’s most environmentally vulnerable communities.
The EPA now recognizes the right of all communities to environmental justice, or “the same degree of protection from environmental and health hazards.” Environmental justice is not a new concept, but it is a growing concern due to the urgency of climate change. Many states are now adopting their own laws and policies regarding environmental justice. Though Alaska has many small, remote, largely indigenous communities that are vulnerable to climate change and exploitation by resource extraction companies and other industrial projects, it does not have any such laws.
The CVI is a new mapping tool that compiles data from over 180 indicators to illustrate the vulnerability of specific areas across the United States to climate change and other environmental harm. This tool provides actionable data that advocates and legislators can use to create new policies to address environmental justice and climate change in vulnerable communities. Much of the CVI’s information comes from census data. This makes sense because the federal government already uses census data to determine how much federal funding flows into the state, in addition to congressional seats, voter redistricting, and more. The CVI further analyzes this information so that federal and state agencies can make more informed decisions about protecting the most vulnerable communities.
Unfortunately, not all census data collected is accurate. The U.S. Census Bureau annually conducts surveys with small sample sizes in areas with low population density, which causes a high margin of error for individual communities in the area. Additionally, Alaska is particularly difficult to count accurately because of the extreme isolation of many communities. Many factors compound this difficulty. Alaska has an abundance of seasonal workers and military. This means that population counts may vary dramatically depending on the time of year they take place. Also, much of rural Alaska is still without reliable cell service and/or internet connection, traditional mailing addresses, and year-round accessibility. Fiercely independent rural communities, and especially Alaska Native communities often do not trust the government’s motives for collecting their data. Though these sentiments are not completely without merit, especially given the history of colonization and disenfranchisement of Indigenous populations, they do contribute to less accurate census data. For these reasons and many others, it is difficult for the CVI to accurately represent the depth of vulnerability of many communities.
To show state policymakers that environmental justice policies are necessary, advocates need access to reliable, independently collected data. Mapping tools provide agencies, advocates, and legislators with an approachable method for combining environmental and demographic factors from publicly available datasets. This allows for quick analysis of multiple factors that impact communities. “Better understanding of the intersections between growing climate risks and pre-existing, long-term health, social, environmental, and economic conditions is critical to effectively building climate resilience for everyone and deploying targeted adaptation efforts.” This issue is of increasing importance, as Alaska experiences increasing impacts of climate change on its largely rural population.
This proposal will have many legitimate critiques. For one thing, Alaska’s lack of legislative red tape for large corporations results in some very lucrative deals for the state. Implementing new environmental justice requirements that must be met before projects are approved would add complications to this process, and inevitably invite pushback both from the state and from interested corporations.
Another major criticism of this proposal is that plenty of rural Alaskan communities do not want the government or outside organizations to have their information, regardless of whether it would result in more public funding. Any data collection must be done openly and with the support of the community, if at all. Researchers must remember that the point of collecting this data is to have statistical support to push for a statewide environmental justice policy. Increased data collection and accuracy of information for vulnerable communities around the state is not a solution in and of itself. It is a means to achieving a strong, protective, statewide policy. It does not take the place of advocacy for Indigenous sovereignty or more environmentally protective approaches to private land use and regulation.
Improving the accuracy of data for tools like the CVI would allow them to reasonably be implemented in Alaska. Then advocates and legislators can use the CVI to support the argument for laws and policy addressing environmental justice in the state. Climate change makes the need for these policies not only a matter of justice but also one of urgency.
The Beacon Blog: Trail Notes
An Environmental Justice Attorney’s Journey: Trail Notes with Professor Mia Montoya Hammersley
By Kate Keener, Staff Editor for the Vermont Journal of Environmental Law
May 3, 2024
Will you please tell me about your upbringing and relationship with the environment?
I was lucky to grow up with great access to the outdoors. I don’t think I realized—until I was older and had moved away—the beautiful relationship I had with the land. My family is from southern New Mexico, and when I was young, I spent a lot of time there with them. But I grew up in Flagstaff, Arizona. Flagstaff is in this beautiful pine forest beneath an amazing mountain that is sacred to a lot of tribes. Many of the places I lived were within walking distance of national forest land.
As a kid, I had freedom to go and spend time outside, to go and explore. And my parents were outdoor educators, so I grew up backpacking and taking family river trips. My relationship with the land has been special, and I knew it was special, but when I was young, I didn’t realize how many people don’t have that same access.
What inspired you to pursue your master’s degree and law degree?
I started undergrad at Lewis and Clark college in Portland, Washington. While I was there, I was involved with Sierra Club’s Beyond Coal Campaign. After freshman year, I serendipitously transferred to a tiny international university in Switzerland. I was the first person in my immediate family to go to Europe and had never been before—it was very much a leap of faith.
Something that drew me to the school was that each semester every student—as part of their tuition and curriculum—went on a two-week academic travel trip led by a professor. I visited lots of places I wouldn’t have been comfortable traveling by myself and learned about many different places and cultures. The topic of my first academic travel was “The Environmental and Historical Significance of the Rhine River.” We hiked to the Rheinwaldhorn Glacier in the Swiss Alps and followed the river by boat and bus all the way to the Port of Rotterdam, where the river meets the ocean.
The Port of Rotterdam is Europe’s largest port. We drove through a part of the port which comprised of several square miles of coal being imported into Europe. After being part of the Beyond Coal Campaign, just seeing that was like: wow. I felt like I hadn’t made a dent! It was like nothing I’d ever seen before or since. It’s a memory that has stayed with me: seeing these huge, raw piles of coal that were going to be distributed throughout Europe. It was overwhelming as a young student and activist. I think they’re importing a lot less coal now, ten years later, so that’s good!
Through my travels and studies in Switzerland I realized I was best equipped to help with environmental issues in my own community. So, after graduating I returned home and completed a master’s in water policy at the University of Arizona. While completing my master’s, I took some classes at the law school, including a water law course. I felt law had so much potential to create positive impact.
Will you tell me about the work you’ve done around land and water rights?
I’ve typically worked at the intersection between Indian law and environmental law. Indian law is what grounds me. If we think about power dynamics in this country, everything comes back to control of land and resources.
My initial interest in law school was water focused. Coming out of my water policy graduate program, I was excited to be able to work on water settlements for two different tribes in Arizona. I was the tribes’ official counsel in the Gila River Adjudication, which is one of the state-run water adjudications in Arizona. It’s been ongoing since the 70s. It’s a very slow and arduous process for tribes. But securing water rights is one of the most important ways that tribes can build climate change resiliency. It felt meaningful to be part of that work.
What is a water adjudication?
Basically, the court examines who has water rights within each individual watershed. The Gila Watershed, for example, has several sub-tributaries. Every person who has water rights in each designated sub-watershed must appear—at some point—in the state adjudication. Tribes and municipalities, anyone who is a water rights holder in the particular sub-watershed, has to appear and adjudicate their water rights. There’s an Act, the McCarran Amendment, that waived sovereign immunity for federal reserved water rights, including tribal water rights, and allowed them to be administered and adjudicated under state law. Tribes are often the largest and most senior water rights holders in these adjudications, so the stakes are high for them. Water law is so technical and fascinating and infuriating!
Will you tell me about joyful aspects of your schooling or law career?
Many joyful moments have stemmed from the relationships I’ve created through my work, both with clients and co-workers. One thing I’m proud of: When I was in law school, my school didn’t have funding for students who accept unpaid public interest positions over the summer. I went out of state for my first summer to intern for an environmental organization and had to take out extra loans to make that happen. So, when summer ended, me, my now-partner, and another one of our good friends founded an organization that fundraises to provide summer stipends to students who want to pursue social justice or public interest work. That org has continued, and they have a fundraiser every year. Last year we were able to establish an endowment.
Will you tell me about your first months as Environmental Justice Clinic Director?
Coming from New Mexico, I was really enamored with the landscape of Vermont and was just getting used to the new setting. I was impressed with the students and how excited you all are. There’s so much alignment of values at this school, interest in social justice, and students really want to use their legal careers to make the world a better place. It’s nice to reconnect with that energy and remember why I started on this path. And it’s exciting to build upon the EJ legacy at VLGS and connect with clients and continue the good work that’s already begun.
What do you think about environmental justice and whether we’re making progress?
I think there is change more than anything. Many critical race theorists I admire talk about the danger of subscribing to this idea that there has been continuous progress. When considering the daily experiences of those most impacted, I’m not sure how much has improved over the past couple decades. In terms of resources and awareness, though, I have seen change and improvements even in the last ten years.
Environmental justice is a difficult field for many reasons. Our wins often aren’t big and splashy like you might see in other fields of law. Our wins are often small things like making clients or community members feel empowered, being able to assist with storytelling, or helping people navigate a system that intimidates them.
It’s been important for me not to define my career based on external-facing wins and to focus more on the relationships and the day-to-day ways the work can change people’s lives for the better.
What advice do you have for people interested in collaborating with communities that have been disproportionately harmed?
I would encourage everyone in legal practice to take time to understand how their own lived experiences can affect the relationships they build with their clients. If we come from a more privileged position, that comes up when building relationships with communities who have experienced a lot of harm. This work is deeply personal and requires self-reflection. I encourage everyone to explore the frameworks of community lawyering, movement lawyering, and trauma-informed lawyering for frameworks to navigate these dynamics.
Did your introduction to EJ occur all-at-once in a specific occurrence or organically over time?
It was an organic process over time. My family in New Mexico comes from a community that was heavily impacted by the Trinity Nuclear Test of 1945. My grandparents were children when the bomb was detonated. Their community was about 45 miles from the blast site and has a high cancer rate and other ongoing impacts from radiation exposure. We lost my grandfather to pancreatic cancer when I was a teenager. I wish I had had more time to talk with him about his life and his experiences.
I gradually began to put the pieces together and understood that what my family and community had experienced were connected to things I was learning about in school and seeing in other contexts.
Were there any notable shifts in how you think about or approach EJ work?
During law school, I thought that I would do higher profile litigation. After having a wide variety of experiences in different workplaces, I realized there are many different roles for lawyers. Different communities need different things. Now, I strive to be a lawyer who is on tap, rather than on top, and to build an ongoing partnership and relationship with my clients—rather than simply coming in at a moment of crisis.
Are there any other thoughts you’d like to share, Mia?
Right now, I know a lot of people and students struggle with feeling hopeful in this area of law and feeling hopeful in the world. I came of age during the Obama presidency years where the message we received was that progress was this constant, inevitable destiny. And then the 2016 election happened when I was a 2L. I graduated into a legal environment that was very different than I was anticipating. It was an intense space to step into.
Something I draw on for my work is—you often hear Native people refer to seven generations—the concept that everything we do now, we do it for the next seven generations. For me, trying to keep that idea and longevity in mind is helpful for maintaining hopefulness. My people also traditionally have had several world-ending events occur already. For me, it’s helpful to remember that change is inevitable, and even when it feels like everything is falling apart, it’s a special time to be alive as well.
Fiction Recommendation:
The Hummingbird’s Daughter by Luis Alberto Urrea.
Non-fiction Recommendations:
Malcolm X’s autobiography; all of Vine Deloria’s writings; How We Show Up by Mia Birdsong.
