Biden has a Plan for Environmental Justice: Can We Make it Work?
As we approach the 51st anniversary of Earth Day, the U.S. stands poised to implement a paradigm-shifting set of policies that put significant weight and resources toward addressing environmental and climate threats and ensuring that no community gets left behind in the process. During his first week in office, President Joe Biden signed an executive order establishing the Justice40 initiative, which among other actions, stipulates that 40% of the benefits from federal investments related to environmental, climate and economic recovery be directed to disadvantaged communities, especially those most affected by pollution and environmental hazards. But if history has taught us anything about the complicated work of addressing humans’ impact on the environment, it is that well-intended policies can have unintended consequences, especially for communities of color. In this sense, Earth Day serves as a cautionary tale.
On April 22, 1970, the world’s first Earth Day brought 20 million Americans — roughly 10% of the population — out into the streets to protest a deteriorating environment and to demand action. That day was a game changer. It led to the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and to a set of landmark environmental laws, including the Clean Air Act of 1970, the Clean Water Act, the Endangered Species Act, and the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA). It would be impossible to overstate — or quantify — all of the ways that these acts have improved the collective ecological and human health of our country. And yet, over time, they also backfired on low-income neighborhoods and communities of color.
In an effort to embrace transparency and public participation, the NEPA created mechanisms for members of the public to participate in federal decisions affecting the environment. Communities could also sue the federal government for not following proper NEPA procedures. But meaningful participation — let alone legal actions — required time, money, and political cache. As a result, “Not in My Backyard” (NIMBY) became the rallying cry of affluent, white communities as they blocked polluting facilities from their neighborhoods. In most cases, the solution was what sociologist, Robert Bullard calls “PIBBY,” or “Put it in Black People’s Backyards.”
In New York City, residents of Greenwich Village in lower Manhattan successfully blocked the building of a large medical waste incinerator in the late 1980s. In 1992, the same facility opened in the South Bronx’s Port Morris neighborhood, where the majority of the population was low-income and Hispanic or African American. About a decade later and not too far away from Port Morris, New York City broke ground on a water filtration plant in Norwood, another low-income section of the Bronx populated primarily by people of color. In this case, the city originally proposed putting the plant on a city-owned property in Westchester County, but when nearby residents protested, city officials moved the site to Norwood.
Clean Air legislation intensified the (already heavy) environmental burdens carried by these communities in other ways as well. In 1979, the EPA successfully sued New York City for violating the Clean Water Act and allowing millions of gallons of raw sewage to flow untreated into the Hudson River. To meet court-ordered deadlines, the city fast-tracked the design of a new sewage treatment plant in West Harlem, a predominately low income, African-American neighborhood. Six years after the plant’s opening, the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation found multiple violations at the plant, and representatives of the West Harlem community successfully sued the city charging that the ongoing foul and noxious odors emitting from North River constituted a private and public nuisance.
Justice40 seeks to redress such historic and ongoing inequities. In addition, the Biden Administration has charged the White House Environmental Justice Interagency Council with foregrounding environmental justice in the work of all government agencies. Clearly, the Administration has set out on a well-intentioned path toward a more sustainable and just future, and Justice40 has great potential to take us there. Lest we move backwards instead of forwards, those charged with implementing it will need to look out for some critical pitfalls.
Biden’s order strives to create a carbon pollution-free power sector by 2035, and he has put a full menu of alternatives on the table. However, some of these options, including carbon capture, biomass and waste-to-energy, have generated considerable heat. In 2019, 626 environmental groups from across the globe signed onto a letter. Among other things, the groups vowed to “vigorously oppose” any legislation promoting such technologies, given that they have been shown to perpetuate the use of fossil fuels, generate toxic emissions and contribute to climate change.
In fact, a lot of so-called “green” facilities make for noxious and noisy neighbors, and if Justice40 classes such facilities as “benefits,” it could end up saddling disadvantaged neighborhoods with a whole new slate of unwanted — and hazardous — environmental burdens. In February 2021, for example, the California Department of Toxic Substances Control agreed to a $4.1 million settlement with a metal recycling facility in West Oakland, a predominately low income, Hispanic and African-American area. The agency also ordered the recycling facility to stop releasing hazardous waste into the community.
On the flip side, some of the benefits distributed by Justice40 are likely to be actual green spaces, which are vital to the health of low income, urban neighborhoods and communities of color. However, an increasing number of studies show how green spaces — parks, greenways, waterfront esplanades, repurposed rail lines — can raise property values and facilitate gentrification. In such cases, green benefits can have the unintended consequence of displacing low-income residents.
Gentrification raises another thorny issue that Justice40 must address. Biden’s order states that disadvantaged communities will be defined based on place-based criteria including proximity to polluting facilities, vulnerability to climate change and demographic characteristics. In the ever-changing landscape of today’s cities, however, place-based definitions might not always make sense. As low-income residents get priced out of (or opt to leave) gentrifying neighborhoods, they take their “disadvantages” with them. What happens, then, if gentrification outpaces the distribution of Justice40’s benefits?
My point is not to nay-say the positive aspects of Biden’s plan. Indeed, we can avoid all of these pitfalls with a little forethought and foresight. Crucially, from start to finish, grassroots environmental justice groups, which have spent decades advocating for environmental equity, should take the lead in all initiatives involving their communities. These groups already have the expertise, knowledge, networks, and insights to determine the definition of “disadvantaged,” and to determine what will — and will not — benefit their constituents. At the same time, the answers will differ from neighborhood to neighborhood. The process must be a localized one that works from the bottom-up, allowing local communities “the fundamental right to political, economic, cultural and environmental self-determination.” This, alone, would represent a significant paradigm shift.
So far, the Biden administration is off to a running start. In March, the White House announced its 26-member Environmental Justice Advisory Council. The list of members covers a diverse set of geographic regions and reads like a who’s who of environmental justice activism. Now, it is imperative to keep up the pace.
Melissa Checker is the author of The Sustainability Myth: Environmental Gentrification and the Politics of Justice. NYU Press 2020.
Special thanks to Shawn Rhea who edited earlier versions of this article.
Twitter: @checker_melissa
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