truthout--2020-10-03--Pro-Choice Clergy Saved Lives Before Roe. They’re Mobilizing to Do It Again.

Before the Supreme Court legalized abortion in 1973 , a group of ministers and rabbis launched what became the largest abortion referral support service in the United States .
The Clergy Consultation Service ( CCS ) helped hundreds of thousands of people access safe abortions because its members saw saving these people ’ s lives as a moral obligation .
Now , with the repeal of legal abortion all but assured by Amy Coney Barrett ’ s nomination to the Supreme Court , people of faith are again mobilizing to fulfill that obligation .
“ The church is going to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ over again in the same way that CCS was , ” Elaina Ramsey , executive director of the Ohio Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice , told Truthout .
That work could range from making out-of-state referrals for people who live in states like Ohio that will automatically ban abortion if Roe v. Wade is overturned , to more direct action — or what Ramsey called “ prophetic civil disobedience.
” “ That may mean congregations really involved in self-managed abortions through the abortion pill , ” Ramsey said .
“ That might mean @ @ @ @ @ @ @ people that it ’ s a safe practice.
” “ The church is going to have to become another space for that , kind of very similar to how the sanctuary movement reacts and responds to unjust immigration policies , ” Ramsey added .
Jewish leaders are preparing , too .
In June , the National Council of Jewish Women launched Rabbis for Repro , a network that includes 1,000 Jewish leaders across every denomination who have pledged to preach and teach about reproductive rights , according to the council ’ s scholar @ @ @ @ @ @ @ “ If we need to show up and be literally on the ground helping people get the care they need then we will do that , ” Ruttenberg said .
“ We have done it before.
” In 1967 , 21 Protestant ministers and Jewish rabbis in New York City announced they had formed a network to help people obtain abortions , even though the procedure was allowed in New York only if pregnant person ’ s life was in danger .
Soon , clergy members across the United States and Canada were @ @ @ @ @ @ @ scholar Bridgette Dunlap described in The Atlantic as a “ a kind of pre-Internet Yelp for illicit abortion providers.
” After New York legalized abortion in 1970 , the clergy opened a clinic there .
This history , and the involvement of people of faith in the struggle for reproductive rights since then , belies the common myth that all people of faith oppose abortion .
“ That understanding of abortion , and particularly saying that abortion is against religious law , is actually a particular , Christian , conservative interpretation , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Jewish human rights organization T ’ ruah , told Truthout .
“ Judaism has a much more complex understanding of abortion , including that life does not begin at conception , it begins at birth ; the life of the mother always comes before the fetus.
” In fact , abortion becomes an obligation under Jewish law if the pregnant person ’ s life is at risk , Jacobs said .
Eighty-three percent of Jews believe abortion should be legal in all or most cases .
While a majority of white Evangelical @ @ @ @ @ @ @ all or most cases , that opinion does not hold across other Christian groups .
A long-term Pew study released in 2019 showed that 56 percent of Catholics , 60 percent of white mainline Protestants and 64 percent of Black Protestants believe that abortion should be legal in all or most cases .
In a new report , Fred Clarkson , a leading analyst of the Christian Right for the social justice think tank Political Research Associates , asks how this mass of people could become a movement .
“ There is a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ history and world changing potential , ” Clarkson writes .
“ This enormous sector of American society is under-recognized , under-reported on , and under-organized .
Because this is so , it is also a virtually untapped source of power and hope for the future of reproductive freedom , access , and justice.
” In the 1970s , conservative operatives incensed by government attempts to desegregate religious schools seized on abortion as a political cause they believed would mobilize Evangelical voters .
In the decades since , the Christian Right has built power @ @ @ @ @ @ @ entities that have a religious mission but operate across and often in coalition with multiple religious denominations .
Groups like Youth for Christ and Focus on the Family have “ evangelized , recruited , and trained people in theologies , skills , and ecumenical organizing activities , ” Clarkson writes .
Meanwhile , legal powerhouses like the Alliance Defending Freedom have advanced an anti-choice , anti-LGBTQ agenda in the name of religious freedom , cinching 60 victories in the Supreme Court .
( Attempts to advance progressive ideals in the name of religious @ @ @ @ @ @ @ courts . )
The Christian Right has succeeded in chipping away at abortion access in part because its participants have set aside major differences in order to build a unified political force .
Catholics and Southern Baptists , for example , have clashed historically over which version of Christianity is authentic — and yet they have been willing to work together , Clarkson said .
“ The Christian Right overcame all kinds of historic differences to arrive at the political place where they are , ” Clarkson told Truthout in an interview .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ t trust each other and are competing against one another — how did they manage to find enough commonality so that they could join forces in that way and set aside their differences for common purpose ?
” The pro-choice and progressive religious communities face a more complex path to this kind of consensus , in part because they are more racially and religiously diverse , and because they operate more democratically than , say , the Catholic Church .
“ How the moderate to progressive religious community would do that will @ @ @ @ @ @ @ they decide that that ’ s what they have to do , the path to progress and even historic victory will emerge , ” Clarkson said .
Perhaps the most hopeful element of Clarkson ’ s report is that it highlights the work already underway to awaken what he describes , in an accompanying essay for Religion Dispatches , as a “ sleeping giant.
” An annotated directory attached to the report points to the pro-choice and reproductive justice elements of faith traditions , including Muslim , Hindu , Buddhist and Native American @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of nuanced and diverse spiritual understandings of abortion at odds with the monolithic narrative claimed by the Christian Right .
Among the report ’ s most promising examples of interfaith work is the Texas Freedom Network ( TFN ) ’ s campaign to educate congregations in one of the most restrictive states for abortion access .
The organization has mobilized 25 congregations that publicly affirm three principles : They “ trust and respect women ” ; they treat people without “ stigma , shame , or judgment ” for their reproductive decisions ; @ @ @ @ @ @ @ comprehensive and affordable reproductive health services is a moral and social good.
” Another 70 congregations are considering adopting these principles ; because the goal is to change the culture of abortion stigma , the process of educating and engaging with these congregations can take a long time , Reverend Erika Forbes , outreach and faith coordinator for TFN , told Truthout .
Forbes has worked to destigmatize abortion among people of faith by speaking from the pulpit about her own two abortions and by promoting an expansive vision of religious freedom .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ entire life cycle of any human being , and what does it mean to talk about the freedom to choose when you have children , whether you can parent those children in healthy and safe communities , and [ have ] access to the particular ways in which children and families thrive ?
” Forbes told Truthout .
“ When we put it in that framework and when we are very clear as people of faith consistently with that message , then we become the same force that we see in the Evangelical @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , Forbes has chosen a message of hope that religious and secular activists alike may find encouraging in the weeks to come , as the Republican-led Senate moves to confirm Amy Coney Barrett .
“ I know that right now it seems dire , but this is when everyone can lean on people of faith because we have been prepared for times such as this , ” Forbes said .
Texas is among the states that have all but regulated abortion out of existence for anyone who lacks the hundreds or thousands of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ take to access it .
But some activists believe the fall of Roe could , overnight , offer a catalyst for the kind of political movement that Clarkson envisions .
“ There is a deep level of resiliency that we are tapping into , the likes of which no one has ever seen , because there hasn ’ t been a demand for it , ” Forbes said .
“ My message , without a doubt , is not just one of hope , but one of infinite resilience that we ’ re @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and that when we stand on the right side of this moral argument , there will be no stopping us , ” Forbes added .
“ Just as you see the resiliency and the determination of a dandelion coming through the cement , that ’ s us , that ’ s us as faith people , that ’ s us as people who know that there is nothing that ’ s going to keep us from having the right and the access to healthy , safe abortion .
”

Before the Supreme Court legalized abortion in 1973, a group of ministers and rabbis launched what became the largest abortion referral support service in the United States. The Clergy Consultation Service (CCS) helped hundreds of thousands of people access safe abortions because its members saw saving these people’s lives as a moral obligation.
Now, with the repeal of legal abortion all but assured by Amy Coney Barrett’s nomination to the Supreme Court, people of faith are again mobilizing to fulfill that obligation.
“The church is going to become front and center to this all over again in the same way that CCS was,” Elaina Ramsey, executive director of the Ohio Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice, told Truthout.
That work could range from making out-of-state referrals for people who live in states like Ohio that will automatically ban abortion if Roe v. Wade is overturned, to more direct action — or what Ramsey called “prophetic civil disobedience.”
“That may mean congregations really involved in self-managed abortions through the abortion pill,” Ramsey said. “That might mean ordering it for your congregants and teaching people that it’s a safe practice.”
“The church is going to have to become another space for that, kind of very similar to how the sanctuary movement reacts and responds to unjust immigration policies,” Ramsey added.
Jewish leaders are preparing, too. In June, the National Council of Jewish Women launched Rabbis for Repro, a network that includes 1,000 Jewish leaders across every denomination who have pledged to preach and teach about reproductive rights, according to the council’s scholar in residence, Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg.
“If we need to show up and be literally on the ground helping people get the care they need then we will do that,” Ruttenberg said. “We have done it before.”
In 1967, 21 Protestant ministers and Jewish rabbis in New York City announced they had formed a network to help people obtain abortions, even though the procedure was allowed in New York only if pregnant person’s life was in danger. Soon, clergy members across the United States and Canada were helping people access safe abortions through what scholar Bridgette Dunlap described in The Atlantic as a “a kind of pre-Internet Yelp for illicit abortion providers.” After New York legalized abortion in 1970, the clergy opened a clinic there. This history, and the involvement of people of faith in the struggle for reproductive rights since then, belies the common myth that all people of faith oppose abortion.
“That understanding of abortion, and particularly saying that abortion is against religious law, is actually a particular, Christian, conservative interpretation,” Rabbi Jill Jacobs, executive director of the Jewish human rights organization T’ruah, told Truthout. “Judaism has a much more complex understanding of abortion, including that life does not begin at conception, it begins at birth; the life of the mother always comes before the fetus.” In fact, abortion becomes an obligation under Jewish law if the pregnant person’s life is at risk, Jacobs said. Eighty-three percent of Jews believe abortion should be legal in all or most cases.
While a majority of white Evangelical Protestants want abortion to be illegal in all or most cases, that opinion does not hold across other Christian groups. A long-term Pew study released in 2019 showed that 56 percent of Catholics, 60 percent of white mainline Protestants and 64 percent of Black Protestants believe that abortion should be legal in all or most cases. In a new report, Fred Clarkson, a leading analyst of the Christian Right for the social justice think tank Political Research Associates, asks how this mass of people could become a movement.
“There is a vast pro-choice religious community with a vibrant history and world
changing potential,” Clarkson writes. “This enormous sector of American society is under-recognized, under-reported on, and under-organized. Because this is so, it is also a virtually untapped source of power and hope for the future of reproductive freedom, access, and justice.”
In the 1970s, conservative operatives incensed by government attempts to desegregate religious schools seized on abortion as a political cause they believed would mobilize Evangelical voters. In the decades since, the Christian Right has built power in part through so-called parachurch organizations — entities that have a religious mission but operate across and often in coalition with multiple religious denominations. Groups like Youth for Christ and Focus on the Family have “evangelized, recruited, and trained people in theologies, skills, and ecumenical organizing activities,” Clarkson writes. Meanwhile, legal powerhouses like the Alliance Defending Freedom have advanced an anti-choice, anti-LGBTQ agenda in the name of religious freedom, cinching 60 victories in the Supreme Court. (Attempts to advance progressive ideals in the name of religious liberty have fared less well in the courts.) The Christian Right has succeeded in chipping away at abortion access in part because its participants have set aside major differences in order to build a unified political force. Catholics and Southern Baptists, for example, have clashed historically over which version of Christianity is authentic — and yet they have been willing to work together, Clarkson said.
“The Christian Right overcame all kinds of historic differences to arrive at the political place where they are,” Clarkson told Truthout in an interview. “They despise each other, don’t trust each other and are competing against one another — how did they manage to find enough commonality so that they could join forces in that way and set aside their differences for common purpose?”
The pro-choice and progressive religious communities face a more complex path to this kind of consensus, in part because they are more racially and religiously diverse, and because they operate more democratically than, say, the Catholic Church. “How the moderate to progressive religious community would do that will be different, but as soon as they decide that that’s what they have to do, the path to progress and even historic victory will emerge,” Clarkson said.
Perhaps the most hopeful element of Clarkson’s report is that it highlights the work already underway to awaken what he describes, in an accompanying essay for Religion Dispatches, as a “sleeping giant.” An annotated directory attached to the report points to the pro-choice and reproductive justice elements of faith traditions, including Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist and Native American perspectives. What emerges is a set of nuanced and diverse spiritual understandings of abortion at odds with the monolithic narrative claimed by the Christian Right.
Among the report’s most promising examples of interfaith work is the Texas Freedom Network (TFN)’s campaign to educate congregations in one of the most restrictive states for abortion access. The organization has mobilized 25 congregations that publicly affirm three principles: They “trust and respect women”; they treat people without “stigma, shame, or judgment” for their reproductive decisions; and they believe that “access to comprehensive and affordable reproductive health services is a moral and social good.”
Another 70 congregations are considering adopting these principles; because the goal is to change the culture of abortion stigma, the process of educating and engaging with these congregations can take a long time, Reverend Erika Forbes, outreach and faith coordinator for TFN, told Truthout.
Forbes has worked to destigmatize abortion among people of faith by speaking from the pulpit about her own two abortions and by promoting an expansive vision of religious freedom.
“We’re talking about the entire life cycle of any human being, and what does it mean to talk about the freedom to choose when you have children, whether you can parent those children in healthy and safe communities, and [have] access to the particular ways in which children and families thrive?” Forbes told Truthout. “When we put it in that framework and when we are very clear as people of faith consistently with that message, then we become the same force that we see in the Evangelical or in conservative communities.”
Like Clarkson, Forbes has chosen a message of hope that religious and secular activists alike may find encouraging in the weeks to come, as the Republican-led Senate moves to confirm Amy Coney Barrett. “I know that right now it seems dire, but this is when everyone can lean on people of faith because we have been prepared for times such as this,” Forbes said.
Texas is among the states that have all but regulated abortion out of existence for anyone who lacks the hundreds or thousands of dollars and multiple days that it can take to access it. But some activists believe the fall of Roe could, overnight, offer a catalyst for the kind of political movement that Clarkson envisions. “There is a deep level of resiliency that we are tapping into, the likes of which no one has ever seen, because there hasn’t been a demand for it,” Forbes said.
“My message, without a doubt, is not just one of hope, but one of infinite resilience that we’re coming from a wellspring that is infinite, and that when we stand on the right side of this moral argument, there will be no stopping us,” Forbes added. “Just as you see the resiliency and the determination of a dandelion coming through the cement, that’s us, that’s us as faith people, that’s us as people who know that there is nothing that’s going to keep us from having the right and the access to healthy, safe abortion.”
Tired of reading the same old news from the same old sources? So are we! That’s why we’re on a mission to shake things up and bring you the stories and perspectives that often go untold in mainstream media. But being a radically, unapologetically independent news site isn’t easy (or cheap), and we rely on reader support to keep the lights on.
If you like what you’re reading, please consider making a tax-deductible donation today. We’re not asking for a handout, we’re asking for an investment: Invest in a nonprofit news site that’s not afraid to ruffle a few feathers, not afraid to stand up for what’s right, and not afraid to tell it like it is.
Copyright © Truthout. May not be reprinted without permission.


truthout--2020-10-03--If We Don’t Act Now, the Entire US Could Become a “Cancer Alley”

People across the country are waking up to structural racism and coping with police brutality and civil unrest while also living through the nightmare of the COVID-19 pandemic .
They ’ re mourning losses and longing for life to get back to normal .
But in St. James Parish , Louisiana , where I ’ m from — a predominantly Black and low-income community nicknamed “ Cancer Alley ” — racism , brutality , loss and unrest are normal .
In fact , a new plastics complex and President Trump ’ s decision to gut the National Environmental Policy Act @ @ @ @ @ @ @ even worse .
Democratic presidential nominee Joe Biden mentioned St. James Parish in his clean energy plan speech because we ’ re notorious for having the country ’ s highest concentration of chemical plants and refineries , the highest cancer rates , the worst particulate pollution and one of the highest mortality rates per capita from COVID-19 in the nation .
For those of us living here , it ’ s not just Cancer Alley ; it ’ s death row .
Imagine living in a hotspot like this , which has had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ 40 years .
Now imagine a foreign company seeking to redouble the pollution and health risks you ’ re already facing , wipe out your local history and target those who object for arrest on draconian charges .
Then imagine on top of all this that Washington is gutting the law that contained the few environmental protections that remained to help communities like yours .
That ’ s exactly what ’ s happening in St. James Parish now .
Formosa Plastics Corporation is a Taiwan-based company whose Texas plant illegally dumped massive amounts @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” ) into the Gulf of Mexico , and the company paid the largest fine of any suit against an industrial polluter brought by a private citizen in U.S. history .
Formosa ’ s new project was considered too polluting for Taiwan , so it chose to site it in Cancer Alley instead , calling it — get this — “ the Sunshine Project.
” It obtained Louisiana Gov .
John Bel Edwards ’ s blessing and environmental permits to build a giant , $ 9.4 billion , 14-plant complex — one of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ — on 2,500 acres in St. James Parish .
The plant would more than double the area ’ s already heavy toxic air pollution ; more than triple exposure to cancer-causing chemicals , including emitting more carcinogenic ethylene oxide than anywhere else in the U.S. ; and discharge more waste into the St. James Canal and the Mississippi River .
The Formosa project is part of a larger , industry-wide push to vastly expand plastic production and consumption .
The feedstocks ( or unprocessed material ) for plastics are the petrochemical byproducts of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for fossil fuel energy falls , the industry plans to keep expanding fracking , drilling and refining by building hundreds more plants to extract more ethane , the main ingredient in plastic , and producing and selling more plastic .
That stokes climate pollution and plastic pollution , both of which are already choking the planet .
In fence-line communities of color like mine , where the plants are overwhelmingly located , it ’ s killing people .
These facts have been hushed-up and spun by the plastic and petrochemical industries , but @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The true extent of the plastic crisis is exposed in the documentary film The Story of Plastic , where Ronnie Hamrick , who worked at the Formosa Plastics plant in Texas , says , “ I worked 25 years at the plant as a supervisor , but I had to get out of there because I got tired of the bullcrap — lying for them — because that ’ s all you do out there at that plant is lie.
” Plastic industry executives doubled down on lies and spin in the COVID-19 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to roll back plastics bans and pretend more single-use plastic is needed to ensure public health during the pandemic .
But at a briefing of the House Oversight Committee ’ s Subcommittee on Environment in July , titled , “ Plastic Production , Pollution and Waste in the Time of COVID-19 : The Life-Threatening Impact of Single-Use Plastic on Human Health , ” experts refuted this , testifying how petroleum and chemical plants are making COVID-19 worse , and how they destroy African American communities .
“ What ’ s left are the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Monique Harden , assistant director of law and policy at the Deep South Center for Environmental Justice , “ and over those gravesites the towering smokestacks , storage tanks , and processing units of petrochemical facilities.
” In St. James Parish , the Formosa project site includes at least one African American graveyard from around 1877 , and probably others .
The company knew it , and planned to build a pipeline through it but didn ’ t even tell Parish officials until community groups like mine exposed them .
Formosa claimed we @ @ @ @ @ @ @ there , and we had to go to court to get a restraining order just to go to the site , which the company tried to block .
On Juneteenth , the day that commemorates emancipation from slavery in the U.S. , members of my organization , RISE St. James , went there to honor our ancestors .
Formosa and local officials , meanwhile , celebrated by charging two peaceful activists from the community group Louisiana Bucket Brigade with “ terrorizing , ” because they had left a box of nurdles Formosa had @ @ @ @ @ @ @ industry lobbyist in December 2019 .
Now these activists face possible jail sentences of up to 15 years .
I ’ ve been warned that other activists like me face arrest , too .
But we ’ re not cowed , we ’ re not going to stop fighting , and we ’ re getting traction .
We ’ ve sued the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers for improperly approving the Formosa project , and obtained a stop-work order that blocks the company from building the complex while the lawsuit plays out .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the # StopFormosa campaign even went to Taiwan recently to protest at the Formosa shareholders meeting .
We may yet defeat the Formosa plant , like we defeated the Wanhua Chemical plant before it .
But our fight in Cancer Alley is now the whole country ’ s fight .
The plastic industry plans hundreds of new plants in the U.S. , and worldwide .
In July , the Trump administration rolled back protections and disclosure requirements in NEPA that have made our work possible , with the express intention of making more @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Here in St. James Parish , almost no family has escaped from illnesses caused by industrial pollution , including mine .
I have autoimmune hepatitis and aluminum in my body .
Our cancer rates and COVID-19 rates are among the highest in the country .
But we ’ re not just an outlier ; we ’ re the canary in the coal mine .
If Trump and the plastic industry get their way , what ’ s “ normal ” here in Cancer Alley could soon become normal in the rest of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Earth | Food | Life , a project of the Independent Media Institute .

Louisiana’s “Cancer Alley” is a warning for what could become the norm if Trump and the plastics industry get their way.
People across the country are waking up to structural racism and coping with police brutality and civil unrest while also living through the nightmare of the COVID-19 pandemic. They’re mourning losses and longing for life to get back to normal.
But in St. James Parish, Louisiana, where I’m from — a predominantly Black and low-income community nicknamed “Cancer Alley” — racism, brutality, loss and unrest are normal. In fact, a new plastics complex and President Trump’s decision to gut the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) stand to make things even worse.
Democratic presidential nominee Joe Biden mentioned St. James Parish in his clean energy plan speech because we’re notorious for having the country’s highest concentration of chemical plants and refineries, the highest cancer rates, the worst particulate pollution and one of the highest mortality rates per capita from COVID-19 in the nation. For those of us living here, it’s not just Cancer Alley; it’s death row.
Imagine living in a hotspot like this, which has had standout rates of illness and death for 40 years. Now imagine a foreign company seeking to redouble the pollution and health risks you’re already facing, wipe out your local history and target those who object for arrest on draconian charges. Then imagine on top of all this that Washington is gutting the law that contained the few environmental protections that remained to help communities like yours. That’s exactly what’s happening in St. James Parish now.
Formosa Plastics Corporation is a Taiwan-based company whose Texas plant illegally dumped massive amounts of plastic pellets (or “nurdles”) into the Gulf of Mexico, and the company paid the largest fine of any suit against an industrial polluter brought by a private citizen in U.S. history.
Formosa’s new project was considered too polluting for Taiwan, so it chose to site it in Cancer Alley instead, calling it — get this — “the Sunshine Project.” It obtained Louisiana Gov. John Bel Edwards’s blessing and environmental permits to build a giant, $9.4 billion, 14-plant complex — one of the largest plastic plants in the world — on 2,500 acres in St. James Parish.
For those of us living here, it’s not just Cancer Alley; it’s death row.
The plant would more than double the area’s already heavy toxic air pollution; more than triple exposure to cancer-causing chemicals, including emitting more carcinogenic ethylene oxide than anywhere else in the U.S.; and discharge more waste into the St. James Canal and the Mississippi River.
The Formosa project is part of a larger, industry-wide push to vastly expand plastic production and consumption. The feedstocks (or unprocessed material) for plastics are the petrochemical byproducts of fossil fuel production. But as demand for fossil fuel energy falls, the industry plans to keep expanding fracking, drilling and refining by building hundreds more plants to extract more ethane, the main ingredient in plastic, and producing and selling more plastic. That stokes climate pollution and plastic pollution, both of which are already choking the planet. In fence-line communities of color like mine, where the plants are overwhelmingly located, it’s killing people.
These facts have been hushed-up and spun by the plastic and petrochemical industries, but it’s increasingly coming out. The true extent of the plastic crisis is exposed in the documentary film The Story of Plastic, where Ronnie Hamrick, who worked at the Formosa Plastics plant in Texas, says, “I worked 25 years at the plant as a supervisor, but I had to get out of there because I got tired of the bullcrap — lying for them — because that’s all you do out there at that plant is lie.”
Plastic industry executives doubled down on lies to roll back plastics bans and pretend more single-use plastic is needed to ensure public health during the pandemic.
Plastic industry executives doubled down on lies and spin in the COVID-19 crisis, using it as an excuse to roll back plastics bans and pretend more single-use plastic is needed to ensure public health during the pandemic. But at a briefing of the House Oversight Committee’s Subcommittee on Environment in July, titled, “Plastic Production, Pollution and Waste in the Time of COVID-19: The Life-Threatening Impact of Single-Use Plastic on Human Health,” experts refuted this, testifying how petroleum and chemical plants are making COVID-19 worse, and how they destroy African American communities.
“What’s left are the gravesites of these communities,” said Monique Harden, assistant director of law and policy at the Deep South Center for Environmental Justice, “and over those gravesites the towering smokestacks, storage tanks, and processing units of petrochemical facilities.”
In St. James Parish, the Formosa project site includes at least one African American graveyard from around 1877, and probably others. The company knew it, and planned to build a pipeline through it but didn’t even tell Parish officials until community groups like mine exposed them. Formosa claimed we couldn’t prove the graves were there, and we had to go to court to get a restraining order just to go to the site, which the company tried to block.
If Trump and the plastic industry get their way, what’s “normal” here in Cancer Alley could soon become normal in the rest of the country.
On Juneteenth, the day that commemorates emancipation from slavery in the U.S., members of my organization, RISE St. James, went there to honor our ancestors. Formosa and local officials, meanwhile, celebrated by charging two peaceful activists from the community group Louisiana Bucket Brigade with “terrorizing,” because they had left a box of nurdles Formosa had illegally dumped on the lawn of an industry lobbyist in December 2019. Now these activists face possible jail sentences of up to 15 years.
I’ve been warned that other activists like me face arrest, too. But we’re not cowed, we’re not going to stop fighting, and we’re getting traction. We’ve sued the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers for improperly approving the Formosa project, and obtained a stop-work order that blocks the company from building the complex while the lawsuit plays out. U.S., Taiwanese and Vietnamese groups in the #StopFormosa campaign even went to Taiwan recently to protest at the Formosa shareholders meeting.
We may yet defeat the Formosa plant, like we defeated the Wanhua Chemical plant before it. But our fight in Cancer Alley is now the whole country’s fight. The plastic industry plans hundreds of new plants in the U.S., and worldwide. In July, the Trump administration rolled back protections and disclosure requirements in NEPA that have made our work possible, with the express intention of making more projects like these harder to fight.
Here in St. James Parish, almost no family has escaped from illnesses caused by industrial pollution, including mine. I have autoimmune hepatitis and aluminum in my body. Our cancer rates and COVID-19 rates are among the highest in the country. But we’re not just an outlier; we’re the canary in the coal mine. If Trump and the plastic industry get their way, what’s “normal” here in Cancer Alley could soon become normal in the rest of the country.
This article was produced by Earth | Food | Life, a project of the Independent Media Institute.
Tired of reading the same old news from the same old sources? So are we! That’s why we’re on a mission to shake things up and bring you the stories and perspectives that often go untold in mainstream media. But being a radically, unapologetically independent news site isn’t easy (or cheap), and we rely on reader support to keep the lights on.
If you like what you’re reading, please consider making a tax-deductible donation today. We’re not asking for a handout, we’re asking for an investment: Invest in a nonprofit news site that’s not afraid to ruffle a few feathers, not afraid to stand up for what’s right, and not afraid to tell it like it is.
Copyright © Truthout. May not be reprinted without permission.