In the spring of 2020 I was in midst of teaching my biannual Environmental Justice course at Salem State University when the COVID pandemic shuttered the campus and sent us all home. This is a post I wrote for my students in April 2020 as we tried to relate our course to the unfolding catastrophe. Some of the facts are obviously dated, but the lessons aren't.
It should be no surprise that the COVID-19 pandemic crisis and Environmental Justice intersect. But how and why?
As far as we know at the moment, all humans are at risk of infection by COVID-19. We know that older people and people with serious underlying medical conditions are at higher risk of serious illness. But some people are more exposed than others to the risk of infection, and some people are more vulnerable than others to the impact of illness. Moreover, those differences in exposure and vulnerability are socially determined (not just biological), and these differences are tied to historic and ongoing inequities in power, wealth, and social status.
My colleague Dwaign Tyndall, Executive Director of Alternatives for Community & Environment (ACE) in Boston, reminded me of an old adage: "When America gets a cold, Black people get pneumonia." What does that mean? It means that the problems experienced by the larger society fall harder on those who are socially or economically marginalized. Black and brown folks are experiencing disproportionate rates of COVID-19 infection. In New York City, Hispanic people are dying at the highest rate. Nearly 34 percent of the deaths in New York City are of Hispanic residents, who make up 29 percent of the population. In Illinois, 43 percent of people who have died from the disease and 28 percent of those who have tested positive are African-Americans, a group that makes up just 15 percent of the state’s population (Links to an external site.). African-Americans, who account for a third of positive tests in Michigan, represent 40 percent of deaths in that state even though they make up 14 percent of the population. In Louisiana, about 70 percent of the people who have died are black, though only a third of that state’s population is. These disproportionate impacts are happening here in Massachusetts too. Why?
The disproportionate impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on marginalized
groups is a function of historic and persistent discrimination and
oppression that has made some people in our society (minorities,
immigrants, low income people, less educated people) more vulnerable and
more exposed. As we've already established, those with pre-existing
medical conditions are more vulnerable to serious illness from COVID-19.
Minority communities, as well as poorer communities generally
(including White communities), tend to have higher rates of pre-existing
health conditions, like asthma, diabetes, and cardiovascular diseases,
because of a lack of access to healthy food, safe housing conditions, or
access to adequate health care. These same groups are more exposed to
the risk of infection by COVID-19 because these are the people who are
least able to practice "social distancing." These are the people who harvest crops on farms, process meat and poultry, stock the shelves and pack our bags in grocery stores, drive buses and trains, deliver packages, care for the elderly,
and clean the hospital rooms of the sick. These are amongst the lowest
paid jobs with the least security, and they are disproportionately
occupied by people of color, women, and those without a college
education. These people cannot afford to stay home, even in the rare
case that their employers even allow them to. They cannot practice
social distancing because they have little or no control over their work
environment. Yet they have been deemed to be "essential workers."
Chelsea, Massachusetts - a city of 1.8 square miles next to Boston - is currently experiencing the highest COVID-19 infection rates in the Commonwealth; higher even than the worst hit areas of New York. Chelsea is also a city that has long suffered from other environmental injustices. This tiny, heavily industrialized city is home to massive fuel tanks that hold millions of gallons of petroleum for the region, a mountainous salt pile visible for miles that serves to keep the roads ice free in communities across eastern Massachusetts, and the largest produce distribution center in New England, where thousands of big rig trucks come in and out daily, rumbling down Chelsea's streets, spewing diesel exhaust over nearby homes and schools, and keeping the grocery stores of the entire region supplied with food. This tiny, heavily industrialized city is also home to 40,000 people, more than 60% of whom are Latino, and almost half of whom are immigrants. It is one of the largest (in terms of population) and densest cities in Massachusetts, and it is also one of the most concentrated Latino and immigrant populations in Massachusetts. Because of its industrial character, and stigma as a poor, blighted community (as well as having been a "red lined" community due to the "infiltration" of Jewish people and eastern European immigrants in the early 20th century), it has been one of the more affordable places to live in the Boston region, providing access to jobs in Boston and (relatively) less expensive housing. But for low income people, especially immigrants, housing is still a struggle. Most of the residents in Chelsea are renters living in multi-family apartments, and in many cases, two or more families share the same individual apartment in order to afford the rent. These apartments are crowded, so there is no possible way for people to practice social distancing, even if someone in the household gets sick. These are also the people who are most often "essential workers" leaving every day for work with little control over their exposure and bringing home to their own families and households whatever they have been exposed to. This was always a recipe for disaster, and here we are.
What are people doing about it? The residents of Chelsea and their allies are not simply accepting this situation. My colleagues at GreenRoots, an environmental justice organization in Chelsea (I am a member of the Board of Directors) are leading the effort to coordinate resources locally and at the state level. GreenRoots, in collaboration with 40 other organizations and community leaders across the region, publicly called on Massachusetts Governor Baker to do more for Chelsea. It's always politically dangerous to call out elected officials publicly, but the gambit worked and Governor Baker is now mobilizing the Massachusetts National Guard to bring aid directly to Chelsea residents. With the assistance and coordination of GreenRoots, the National Guard will be distributing food for up to 700 families in the city. This is truly a victory, but it is also just a band aid. The pandemic is far from over, and the bigger, structural issues still remain: lack of adequate or affordable housing, inadequate access to quality health care, chronic food insecurity, and the political and economic discrimination and uncertainty that so many immigrant communities constantly live under while trying to survive. And too often, their vulnerability and exposure are actually made worse by government policies.
East Boston, a neighborhood of the City of Boston (next to Logan Airport), has been experiencing similar problems to Chelsea. East Boston is separated from Chelsea by Chelsea Creek, a narrow waterway lined with tanks of petroleum and jet fuel and frequently occupied by massive container ships delivering that fuel, with the deafening roar of airplanes overhead as they depart from nearby Logan Airport. But East Boston is very similar to Chelsea; a (relatively) affordable place with a large immigrant population dominated by renters striving to make ends meet. And like Chelsea, East Boston has the distinction of having among the highest COVID-19 infection rates in the city, if not the state. Like Chelsea, the residents of East Boston are rallying. My wife and I live in East Boston. My wife, Dr. Estrella-Luna (who teaches in Sociology at Salem State), has been one of the key organizers in our neighborhood as part of a Mutual Aid Network responding to the COVID-19 pandemic crisis. The Mutual Aid Network in East Boston has been organizing regular check-ins with vulnerable elders, delivering food and groceries to hungry families who have lost work or income, helping people connect with social services and benefits like unemployment insurance, and even raising money to help pay for funerals. The Mutual Aid Network is a loose collaboration of community leaders, like elected officials, as well as community organizations such as NUBE (Neighbors United for a Better East Boston), Cosecha (an immigrant rights organization), the ayni Institute (a social justice movement organization), GreenRoots, and the Chelsea Collaborative, as well as many individual residents who just want to help their neighbors. Mutual Aid Networks are present in communities throughout the state and across the country, but they are informal things, dependent on existing social networks or community leaders or just the initiative of neighbors willing to reach out. These Mutual Aid Networks represent community resiliency at its best; the harnessing and coordination of local resources and capacities to help the community survive and persist in the face of hardship or disaster. The challenges they face are both immediate (like food and money) and structural. These structural problems are numerous and devastating to individuals and the community.
In addition to the structural problems of vulnerability and exposure mentioned above, another is that individuals in need of medical care are actively avoiding seeking that help. One East Boston resident who died in his home recently after succumbing to the COVID-19 infection and illness knew he was sick, but refused to seek medical help because he had no health insurance and felt that he would not be able to pay for services. Another East Boston resident who died of COVID-19 also refused to seek medical care because he was afraid of jeopardizing his immigration status. Immigrants without permanent residency have been denied access to many social services like food stamps (TANF), Medicaid, and the Children's Health Insurance Program (CHIP) since the late 1990s (thanks to "welfare reform" during the Clinton Administration), but the anti-immigrant hostility that has been stoked over the last few years has not only instilled greater fear in the immigrant community, it has also resulted in policies that actually make some of the most vulnerable people in our society even more vulnerable. Last August, the Trump Administration promulgated a new rule that allows federal officials to deny green cards (i.e., permanent residency) to legal immigrants who have received certain public benefits (like food stamps, welfare, Medicaid, and housing assistance) or who are deemed likely to do so in the future. Public health professionals and social scientists have long argued, and shown, that these types of punitive policies don't dissuade legal or illegal immigration, but only serve to make vulnerable people more vulnerable, which perversely (or maybe poetically) puts the rest of us at greater risk. Again, many of these people make up the "essential workforce" that we depend on.
Systems that make health care unaffordable, and policies that deliberately single out certain communities for exclusion, are structural or systemic forces that create and perpetuate inequality and inequity. These regressive forces will not be addressed by greater charitable giving. These challenges require political organizing and legal and social change. These are the social fault lines that the pandemic has brought into greater relief, but which have long been present and at the root of so much unnecessary suffering.
Look around in the media and in your own community. In what other ways is the pandemic revealing or exacerbating environmental injustice? In what ways is the pandemic made worse by environmental injustice? Equally important, how are people combating these injustices?
Another old adage (last one, I swear): "Never let a good crisis go to waste." What are the opportunities to not only protect people from the immediate threats of illness and economic ruin, but also to promote a safer and more just world? Honestly, what do you see?
