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Interstate 27 has divided Lubbock for decades. North and east side residents want that to change.

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Friday, July 19, 2024

Subscribe to The Y’all — a weekly dispatch about the people, places and policies defining Texas, produced by Texas Tribune journalists living in communities across the state. LUBBOCK — For more than 30 years, Interstate 27 has connected Lubbock in the South Plains to Amarillo in the northern Panhandle. The concrete structure has stood as a key transportation method for residents, businesses and people driving through the area. And yet, some see it as a lasting reminder of segregation, and a physical barrier that has isolated the east and north sides from the rest of Lubbock. Neighborhoods with majority Black and Hispanic residents are stuffed away, surrounded by industrial zoning and factories releasing emissions into the air. People who call the area home say it’s behind a wall — a signal for people to stop while they can. “Anything behind a wall has a negative connotation to it,” said Robert Baxter, a Lubbock native. “But we’re humans on the other side of that. Not the boogeyman or just criminals. There are kids, elderly people, families, business owners behind that wall.” East Lubbock advocates are working on a seemingly never-ending mission — stitching their neighborhoods back into Lubbock’s fabric. As the city grows, communities behind the interstate have been left behind. While the city adds grocery stores to nearly every corner west of I-27, residents on the east side have one supermarket to get fresh food in the area. A few gas stations and corner markets sparsely placed have less fresh, but convenient, options. While crews actively work on repairing streets in the city, East Lubbock roads remain unpaved in some areas. Businesses have closed and not been replaced, leaving empty, decrepit buildings. There isn’t an emergency room or health clinic in sight for the vulnerable neighborhoods. The interstate has cemented their conditions, and advocates say it’s a problem that’s nearly impossible to dismantle. Lubbock is not the only city facing this issue. The construction of the national highway infrastructure in the U.S. deepened segregation for communities of color nationwide. Karen Wolf at the University of Washington’s Infrastructure Planning and Management program, said the nation’s history of highways is not pretty. “These highways cut through neighborhoods and separated them,” said Wolf, interim academic director for the program. “It was traditionally communities of color or poor neighborhoods, and in some cases, those communities were destroyed.” Segregation was deeply-seeded in big cities and quaint towns alike — cities like Lubbock that are now booming and seeing a ripple effect from mistakes of the past. Fixing the problem, however, can be a costly and complicated process. Earlier this year, President Joe Biden announced $3.3 billion in 41 states to reconnect and rebuild communities that were divided by transportation infrastructure. Nearly $235 million was awarded to six projects in Texas. The Texas Tribune is committed to transparency and integrity, especially as new technologies are on the rise.That's why we want to hear your thoughts about how we use artificial intelligence in our work. Take our Survey The projects awarded funds include efforts in Austin to reconnect East Austin to downtown, a project by the Harris County Toll Road Authority to redesign Westpark Tollway and bridge the Alief community back in, a transportation feasibility study in El Paso, a study focusing on equitable solutions to fix disadvantages caused by Interstate 37 to San Antonio’s east side, a project dedicated to walkability and climate-resiliency for two Houston neighborhoods, and construction on pedestrian caps in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. The issue remains unresolved in Lubbock, nearly a year after a group of residents filed a federal civil rights complaint against the city for its zoning policies. Residents are still in an uphill battle on their mission toward environmental justice and fair zoning laws. Meanwhile, advocates worry that if city leaders don’t do something about it now, East Lubbock will suffer more as the city grows away from it. Industrial zoning isolates community  Baxter, who is Black, said living in Lubbock has always been rough for Black and Hispanic residents. When he was growing up, his friends were told by their parents to not go past I-27. As an adult, he advocates for the north and east sides as they are left behind in favor of shiny, new developments on the other side of town. “Other parts of the city have businesses, nice homes are being built, ones with brick,” Baxter said. “In North and East Lubbock, we have matchbox houses. We want to have brick, too.” More than 100 years ago, the Lubbock City Council approved an ordinance that forced Black residents to the east side of town. The ordinance said Black people could not own property or live in other areas of the city, unless they were servants, and would be fined every day they were in violation. The council then created an industrial zone around them. The ordinance was repealed in 2006, but in reality, little has changed, residents say. With few good paying jobs and amenities on the east side, it's difficult to live. And few can afford to move. A Texas Tribune analysis of U.S. Census data shows roughly 24% of the population in East Lubbock is impoverished, which is higher than the 19% rate for the city overall. “These communities are disconnected from economic drivers, the job market, retail, all the benefits coming to our city,” said Joshua Shankles, president of Lubbock Compact, a local advocacy group. Wolf at the University of Washington said industrial zoning attracts industries that come with big buildings and parking lots, and they cause noise and air pollution, which is a concern for residents in Lubbock. According to the North and East Lubbock Coalition’s complaint, 57% of Lubbock’s Black residents and 38% of its Hispanic residents live within one mile of the industrial zone. By comparison, only 17% of white residents live within the same proximity. The industrial buildings have contributed to public perception of the community on the east side. Earlier this year, the city held a public meeting to discuss a new solid waste transfer station on the southwest side of town. Residents were against the location, citing health impacts and property values — the same concerns people in East Lubbock have described for years. One resident said to put it on the east side because it’s “pretty trashy” and to “leave the nicer areas alone.” “Industrial zoning can isolate a community,” Wolf said. “It creates chasms — you can’t walk through it, buses can’t really go there. It disrupts natural travel patterns for communities.” Wolf said highways are important for faster travel and hauling heavy freight. However, she said the highways were built without recognition to the communities they are in, and sometimes, in spite of them. “The most important piece now is to make sure that any new segments don't bisect communities or isolate more neighborhoods,” Wolf said. Advocates and residents alike have been determined to improve East Lubbock for decades, but it has not been an easy task. City leaders, Shankles said, have failed to recognize there is inequity. “It’s difficult for people to even hear criticism of anything in Lubbock, they think it’s an insult or personal assault,” Shankles said. “It’s more difficult to be receptive to new ideas than to say ‘Let’s just keep doing what we’ve been doing.’” A resistance to change has been seen over decades as residents and activists alike have advocated for better conditions in East Lubbock. Baxter, who sits on the city’s Urban Renewal Agency and Neighborhood Redevelopment Commission, wants to be an example for future generations to be active in the community. But, he still admits it’s hard talking about a pressing issue with no resolution in sight. “You get tired trying to show someone it’s a problem,” Baxter said. “It’s been a problem for decades. People before me talked about it, now I am, and it’s like no one is listening.” False hopes Natalie Miller was excited to move back to Lubbock in 2013. Her hometown was set for a boom in growth and development. Her excitement waned as she made her way to East Lubbock, where she grew up. “Conditions here got worse,” Miller said. “Growing up, you don’t understand the history behind the conditions here. You start to ask those questions as an adult.” Miller joined other residents as they advocated for better conditions, and called for two practices to be added to Lubbock’s development code. The first was amortization, a process that allows the city to rezone property and prevent businesses from practicing operations that are a nuisance or health hazard after zoning laws have changed. Residents want this used to keep industrial practices away from their homes. The other method is down zoning, which allows the city to change the zoning of an area to a less intensive use, such as going from a commercial land to residential. Residents want this because it would stop new industrial businesses from moving in. For advocates, seeking either option has been a long road full of empty promises. At the end of 2022, the North and East Lubbock Coalition, a group of residents, began emailing city leaders about the impact of its zoning laws. The city’s development code would be reviewed soon, and they wanted to get ahead of the discussion. When the city council passed the code without significant changes, the group filed a federal civil rights complaint last summer against the city with the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. The council later organized a committee to study the use of amortization and down zoning, and the extent and negative effect of abandoned industrial properties on nearby residents. The committee included industry executives who managed companies near the neighborhoods in question. None of the residents who petitioned Lubbock for the changes were part of the committee. “It’s one of those situations where they give us this to say they did something,” Miller said of the committee’s creation. In January, the committee recommended the city analyze Lubbock’s zoning map to fix areas that need to be rezoned. The committee was against adapting an amortization policy in the city’s code, because the process exists in state law. The committee never answered the question about the negative impact on nearby residents. The city council later accepted the findings without the answer. “They’re not willing to address the issues of how we got here,” Miller said. “We need to talk about that in order to get to the core of our concerns and fix this.” Adam Pirtle, a lawyer with Legal Aid of NorthWest Texas representing the coalition, said down zoning is a good first step. However, he said there’s more to do. “They’re not looking at existing facilities that are operating, that are industrial and causing problems for residents,” Pirtle said. “They’re shying away from that.” There’s other ways Lubbock could improve the situation, including changing the notification process. Currently, Pirtle said, when an industrial business applies to rezone a property, people who live within 400 yards get notified. Pirtle said emailing residents would be easier for the public to get this information. Pirtle also pointed to the environmental commission in Dallas. The group advises the city council on environmental matters and has brought residents affected by industrial facilities to Texas Commission on Environmental Quality public hearings. Federal review ongoing  Residents are now back to square one. According to Pirtle, the HUD’s Fair Housing and Equal Opportunity office in Washington, D.C. is reviewing the North and East Lubbock Coalition's complaint. The coalition is hoping the HUD will make the city remedy the zoning policies for both districts. In the meantime, Pirtle said, his clients are willing to meet with the city at any time to work toward a solution. Baxter said changing the zoning in North and East Lubbock, so it’s not surrounded by industrial buildings near I-27, would help them flourish. As is, he said, zoning is a monster that has hindered the community’s ability to bring in new businesses or housing developments. “No one wants to put up a restaurant or a set of brick condos near a toxic release site,” Baxter said. Baxter also said more members of the community need to get involved, including being placed on city boards that review zoning requests. Miller will continue showing up to meetings and pushing for the city to change. What they have right now — a few Dollar General-type stores, unpaved roads, and no pharmacies — leaves Miller frustrated. “It makes me feel as if we are neglected,” Miller said. “Just as we have been over the last 80 to 100 years here.” Wolf said reconnecting communities that were separated by infrastructure is possible — albeit, expensive. City leaders also have to be willing to learn from past mistakes, and work with the people who are directly affected. “It needs to be done with meaningful involvement from the community members from the very beginning,” Wolf said. “You have to work with them, you have to listen to them, and you have to understand what’s important to them.” In an email from a spokesperson, City Manager Jarrett Atkinson said he does not believe I-27 has had an impact on zoning laws. Mayor Mark McBrayer declined to be interviewed by the Tribune for this story. The HUD is expected to have an answer to the complaint this year. Big news: director and screenwriter Richard Linklater; NPR President and CEO Katherine Maher; U.S. Rep. Pete Aguilar, D-California; and Luci Baines Johnson will take the stage at The Texas Tribune Festival, Sept. 5–7 in downtown Austin. Buy tickets today!

After repeated attempts to convince the City Council to make zoning changes, residents asked the federal government to intervene.

Subscribe to The Y’all — a weekly dispatch about the people, places and policies defining Texas, produced by Texas Tribune journalists living in communities across the state.


LUBBOCK — For more than 30 years, Interstate 27 has connected Lubbock in the South Plains to Amarillo in the northern Panhandle. The concrete structure has stood as a key transportation method for residents, businesses and people driving through the area.

And yet, some see it as a lasting reminder of segregation, and a physical barrier that has isolated the east and north sides from the rest of Lubbock. Neighborhoods with majority Black and Hispanic residents are stuffed away, surrounded by industrial zoning and factories releasing emissions into the air. People who call the area home say it’s behind a wall — a signal for people to stop while they can.

“Anything behind a wall has a negative connotation to it,” said Robert Baxter, a Lubbock native. “But we’re humans on the other side of that. Not the boogeyman or just criminals. There are kids, elderly people, families, business owners behind that wall.”

East Lubbock advocates are working on a seemingly never-ending mission — stitching their neighborhoods back into Lubbock’s fabric. As the city grows, communities behind the interstate have been left behind. While the city adds grocery stores to nearly every corner west of I-27, residents on the east side have one supermarket to get fresh food in the area. A few gas stations and corner markets sparsely placed have less fresh, but convenient, options. While crews actively work on repairing streets in the city, East Lubbock roads remain unpaved in some areas. Businesses have closed and not been replaced, leaving empty, decrepit buildings. There isn’t an emergency room or health clinic in sight for the vulnerable neighborhoods.

The interstate has cemented their conditions, and advocates say it’s a problem that’s nearly impossible to dismantle. Lubbock is not the only city facing this issue. The construction of the national highway infrastructure in the U.S. deepened segregation for communities of color nationwide.

Karen Wolf at the University of Washington’s Infrastructure Planning and Management program, said the nation’s history of highways is not pretty.

“These highways cut through neighborhoods and separated them,” said Wolf, interim academic director for the program. “It was traditionally communities of color or poor neighborhoods, and in some cases, those communities were destroyed.”

Segregation was deeply-seeded in big cities and quaint towns alike — cities like Lubbock that are now booming and seeing a ripple effect from mistakes of the past. Fixing the problem, however, can be a costly and complicated process. Earlier this year, President Joe Biden announced $3.3 billion in 41 states to reconnect and rebuild communities that were divided by transportation infrastructure. Nearly $235 million was awarded to six projects in Texas.

The Texas Tribune is committed to transparency and integrity, especially as new technologies are on the rise.

That's why we want to hear your thoughts about how we use artificial intelligence in our work.

Take our Survey

The projects awarded funds include efforts in Austin to reconnect East Austin to downtown, a project by the Harris County Toll Road Authority to redesign Westpark Tollway and bridge the Alief community back in, a transportation feasibility study in El Paso, a study focusing on equitable solutions to fix disadvantages caused by Interstate 37 to San Antonio’s east side, a project dedicated to walkability and climate-resiliency for two Houston neighborhoods, and construction on pedestrian caps in the Dallas-Fort Worth area.

The issue remains unresolved in Lubbock, nearly a year after a group of residents filed a federal civil rights complaint against the city for its zoning policies. Residents are still in an uphill battle on their mission toward environmental justice and fair zoning laws. Meanwhile, advocates worry that if city leaders don’t do something about it now, East Lubbock will suffer more as the city grows away from it.

Industrial zoning isolates community 

Baxter, who is Black, said living in Lubbock has always been rough for Black and Hispanic residents. When he was growing up, his friends were told by their parents to not go past I-27. As an adult, he advocates for the north and east sides as they are left behind in favor of shiny, new developments on the other side of town.

“Other parts of the city have businesses, nice homes are being built, ones with brick,” Baxter said. “In North and East Lubbock, we have matchbox houses. We want to have brick, too.”

More than 100 years ago, the Lubbock City Council approved an ordinance that forced Black residents to the east side of town. The ordinance said Black people could not own property or live in other areas of the city, unless they were servants, and would be fined every day they were in violation. The council then created an industrial zone around them. The ordinance was repealed in 2006, but in reality, little has changed, residents say. With few good paying jobs and amenities on the east side, it's difficult to live. And few can afford to move. A Texas Tribune analysis of U.S. Census data shows roughly 24% of the population in East Lubbock is impoverished, which is higher than the 19% rate for the city overall.

“These communities are disconnected from economic drivers, the job market, retail, all the benefits coming to our city,” said Joshua Shankles, president of Lubbock Compact, a local advocacy group.

Wolf at the University of Washington said industrial zoning attracts industries that come with big buildings and parking lots, and they cause noise and air pollution, which is a concern for residents in Lubbock. According to the North and East Lubbock Coalition’s complaint, 57% of Lubbock’s Black residents and 38% of its Hispanic residents live within one mile of the industrial zone. By comparison, only 17% of white residents live within the same proximity.

The industrial buildings have contributed to public perception of the community on the east side. Earlier this year, the city held a public meeting to discuss a new solid waste transfer station on the southwest side of town. Residents were against the location, citing health impacts and property values — the same concerns people in East Lubbock have described for years. One resident said to put it on the east side because it’s “pretty trashy” and to “leave the nicer areas alone.”

“Industrial zoning can isolate a community,” Wolf said. “It creates chasms — you can’t walk through it, buses can’t really go there. It disrupts natural travel patterns for communities.”

Wolf said highways are important for faster travel and hauling heavy freight. However, she said the highways were built without recognition to the communities they are in, and sometimes, in spite of them.

“The most important piece now is to make sure that any new segments don't bisect communities or isolate more neighborhoods,” Wolf said.

Advocates and residents alike have been determined to improve East Lubbock for decades, but it has not been an easy task. City leaders, Shankles said, have failed to recognize there is inequity.

“It’s difficult for people to even hear criticism of anything in Lubbock, they think it’s an insult or personal assault,” Shankles said. “It’s more difficult to be receptive to new ideas than to say ‘Let’s just keep doing what we’ve been doing.’”

A resistance to change has been seen over decades as residents and activists alike have advocated for better conditions in East Lubbock. Baxter, who sits on the city’s Urban Renewal Agency and Neighborhood Redevelopment Commission, wants to be an example for future generations to be active in the community. But, he still admits it’s hard talking about a pressing issue with no resolution in sight.

“You get tired trying to show someone it’s a problem,” Baxter said. “It’s been a problem for decades. People before me talked about it, now I am, and it’s like no one is listening.”

False hopes

Natalie Miller was excited to move back to Lubbock in 2013. Her hometown was set for a boom in growth and development. Her excitement waned as she made her way to East Lubbock, where she grew up.

“Conditions here got worse,” Miller said. “Growing up, you don’t understand the history behind the conditions here. You start to ask those questions as an adult.”

Miller joined other residents as they advocated for better conditions, and called for two practices to be added to Lubbock’s development code. The first was amortization, a process that allows the city to rezone property and prevent businesses from practicing operations that are a nuisance or health hazard after zoning laws have changed. Residents want this used to keep industrial practices away from their homes.

The other method is down zoning, which allows the city to change the zoning of an area to a less intensive use, such as going from a commercial land to residential. Residents want this because it would stop new industrial businesses from moving in. For advocates, seeking either option has been a long road full of empty promises.

At the end of 2022, the North and East Lubbock Coalition, a group of residents, began emailing city leaders about the impact of its zoning laws. The city’s development code would be reviewed soon, and they wanted to get ahead of the discussion. When the city council passed the code without significant changes, the group filed a federal civil rights complaint last summer against the city with the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development.

The council later organized a committee to study the use of amortization and down zoning, and the extent and negative effect of abandoned industrial properties on nearby residents. The committee included industry executives who managed companies near the neighborhoods in question. None of the residents who petitioned Lubbock for the changes were part of the committee.

“It’s one of those situations where they give us this to say they did something,” Miller said of the committee’s creation.

In January, the committee recommended the city analyze Lubbock’s zoning map to fix areas that need to be rezoned. The committee was against adapting an amortization policy in the city’s code, because the process exists in state law. The committee never answered the question about the negative impact on nearby residents. The city council later accepted the findings without the answer.

“They’re not willing to address the issues of how we got here,” Miller said. “We need to talk about that in order to get to the core of our concerns and fix this.”

Adam Pirtle, a lawyer with Legal Aid of NorthWest Texas representing the coalition, said down zoning is a good first step. However, he said there’s more to do.

“They’re not looking at existing facilities that are operating, that are industrial and causing problems for residents,” Pirtle said. “They’re shying away from that.”

There’s other ways Lubbock could improve the situation, including changing the notification process. Currently, Pirtle said, when an industrial business applies to rezone a property, people who live within 400 yards get notified. Pirtle said emailing residents would be easier for the public to get this information.

Pirtle also pointed to the environmental commission in Dallas. The group advises the city council on environmental matters and has brought residents affected by industrial facilities to Texas Commission on Environmental Quality public hearings.

Federal review ongoing 

Residents are now back to square one. According to Pirtle, the HUD’s Fair Housing and Equal Opportunity office in Washington, D.C. is reviewing the North and East Lubbock Coalition's complaint. The coalition is hoping the HUD will make the city remedy the zoning policies for both districts.

In the meantime, Pirtle said, his clients are willing to meet with the city at any time to work toward a solution.

Baxter said changing the zoning in North and East Lubbock, so it’s not surrounded by industrial buildings near I-27, would help them flourish. As is, he said, zoning is a monster that has hindered the community’s ability to bring in new businesses or housing developments.

“No one wants to put up a restaurant or a set of brick condos near a toxic release site,” Baxter said.

Baxter also said more members of the community need to get involved, including being placed on city boards that review zoning requests.

Miller will continue showing up to meetings and pushing for the city to change. What they have right now — a few Dollar General-type stores, unpaved roads, and no pharmacies — leaves Miller frustrated.

“It makes me feel as if we are neglected,” Miller said. “Just as we have been over the last 80 to 100 years here.”

Wolf said reconnecting communities that were separated by infrastructure is possible — albeit, expensive. City leaders also have to be willing to learn from past mistakes, and work with the people who are directly affected.

“It needs to be done with meaningful involvement from the community members from the very beginning,” Wolf said. “You have to work with them, you have to listen to them, and you have to understand what’s important to them.”

In an email from a spokesperson, City Manager Jarrett Atkinson said he does not believe I-27 has had an impact on zoning laws. Mayor Mark McBrayer declined to be interviewed by the Tribune for this story. The HUD is expected to have an answer to the complaint this year.


Big news: director and screenwriter Richard Linklater; NPR President and CEO Katherine Maher; U.S. Rep. Pete Aguilar, D-California; and Luci Baines Johnson will take the stage at The Texas Tribune Festival, Sept. 5–7 in downtown Austin. Buy tickets today!

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

Measles Misinformation Is on the Rise – and Americans Are Hearing It, Survey Finds

Republicans are far more skeptical of vaccines and twice as likely as Democrats to believe the measles shot is worse than the disease.

By Arthur Allen | KFF Health NewsWhile the most serious measles epidemic in a decade has led to the deaths of two children and spread to nearly 30 states with no signs of letting up, beliefs about the safety of the measles vaccine and the threat of the disease are sharply polarized, fed by the anti-vaccine views of the country’s seniormost health official.About two-thirds of Republican-leaning parents are unaware of an uptick in measles cases this year while about two-thirds of Democratic ones knew about it, according to a KFF survey released Wednesday.Republicans are far more skeptical of vaccines and twice as likely (1 in 5) as Democrats (1 in 10) to believe the measles shot is worse than the disease, according to the survey of 1,380 U.S. adults.Some 35% of Republicans answering the survey, which was conducted April 8-15 online and by telephone, said the discredited theory linking the measles, mumps and rubella vaccine to autism was definitely or probably true – compared with just 10% of Democrats.Get Midday Must-Reads in Your InboxFive essential stories, expertly curated, to keep you informed on your lunch break.Sign up to receive the latest updates from U.S. News & World Report and our trusted partners and sponsors. By clicking submit, you are agreeing to our Terms and Conditions & Privacy Policy.The trends are roughly the same as KFF reported in a June 2023 survey. But in the new poll, 3 in 10 parents erroneously believed that vitamin A can prevent measles infections, a theory Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has brought into play since taking office during the measles outbreak.“The most alarming thing about the survey is that we’re seeing an uptick in the share of people who have heard these claims,” said co-author Ashley Kirzinger, associate director of KFF’s Public Opinion and Survey Research Program. KFF is a health information nonprofit that includes KFF Health News.“It’s not that more people are believing the autism theory, but more and more people are hearing about it,” Kirzinger said. Since doubts about vaccine safety directly reduce parents’ vaccination of their children, “that shows how important it is for actual information to be part of the media landscape,” she said.“This is what one would expect when people are confused by conflicting messages coming from people in positions of authority,” said Kelly Moore, president and CEO of Immunize.org, a vaccination advocacy group.Numerous scientific studies have established no link between any vaccine and autism. But Kennedy has ordered HHS to undertake an investigation of possible environmental contributors to autism, promising to have “some of the answers” behind an increase in the incidence of the condition by September.The deepening Republican skepticism toward vaccines makes it hard for accurate information to break through in many parts of the nation, said Rekha Lakshmanan, chief strategy officer at The Immunization Partnership, in Houston.Lakshmanan on April 23 was to present a paper on countering anti-vaccine activism to the World Vaccine Congress in Washington. It was based on a survey that found that in the Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas and Oklahoma state assemblies, lawmakers with medical professions were among those least likely to support public health measures.“There is a political layer that influences these lawmakers,” she said. When lawmakers invite vaccine opponents to testify at legislative hearings, for example, it feeds a deluge of misinformation that is difficult to counter, she said.Eric Ball, a pediatrician in Ladera Ranch, California, which was hit by a 2014-15 measles outbreak that started in Disneyland, said fear of measles and tighter California state restrictions on vaccine exemptions had staved off new infections in his Orange County community.“The biggest downside of measles vaccines is that they work really well. Everyone gets vaccinated, no one gets measles, everyone forgets about measles,” he said. “But when it comes back, they realize there are kids getting really sick and potentially dying in my community, and everyone says, ‘Holy crap; we better vaccinate!’”Ball treated three very sick children with measles in 2015. Afterward his practice stopped seeing unvaccinated patients. “We had had babies exposed in our waiting room,” he said. “We had disease spreading in our office, which was not cool.”Although two otherwise healthy young girls died of measles during the Texas outbreak, “people still aren’t scared of the disease,” said Paul Offit, director of the Vaccine Education Center at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, which has seen a few cases.But the deaths “have created more angst, based on the number of calls I’m getting from parents trying to vaccinate their 4-month-old and 6-month-old babies,” Offit said. Children generally get their first measles shot at age 1, because it tends not to produce full immunity if given at a younger age.KFF Health News’ Jackie Fortiér contributed to this report.This article was produced by KFF Health News, a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF. It was originally published on April 23, 2025, and has been republished with permission.

Evangelical churches in Indiana turn to solar and sustainability as an expression of faith

A growing number of evangelical churches and universities in Indiana are embracing renewable energy and environmental stewardship as a religious duty, reframing climate action through a spiritual lens.Catrin Einhorn reports for The New York TimesIn short:Churches across Indiana, including Christ’s Community Church and Grace Church, are installing solar panels, planting native gardens, and hosting events like Indy Creation Fest to promote environmental stewardship.Evangelical leaders say their work aligns with a biblical call to care for creation, distancing it from politicized language around climate change to appeal to more conservative congregations.Christian universities such as Indiana Wesleyan and Taylor are integrating environmental science into academics and campus life, fostering student-led sustainability efforts rooted in faith.Key quote:“It’s a quiet movement.”— Rev. Jeremy Summers, director of church and community engagement for the Evangelical Environmental NetworkWhy this matters:The intersection of faith and environmental action challenges longstanding cultural divides in the climate conversation. Evangelical communities — historically less engaged on climate issues — hold substantial political and social influence, particularly across the Midwest and South. Framing sustainability as a religious obligation sidesteps partisan divides and invites wider participation. These faith-led movements can help shift attitudes in rural and suburban America, where skepticism of climate science and federal intervention runs high. And as the environmental impacts of fossil fuel dependence grow — heatwaves, water scarcity, air pollution— the health and well-being of families in these communities are increasingly at stake. Read more: Christian climate activists aim to bridge faith and environmental actionPope Francis, who used faith and science to call out the climate crisis, dies at 88

A growing number of evangelical churches and universities in Indiana are embracing renewable energy and environmental stewardship as a religious duty, reframing climate action through a spiritual lens.Catrin Einhorn reports for The New York TimesIn short:Churches across Indiana, including Christ’s Community Church and Grace Church, are installing solar panels, planting native gardens, and hosting events like Indy Creation Fest to promote environmental stewardship.Evangelical leaders say their work aligns with a biblical call to care for creation, distancing it from politicized language around climate change to appeal to more conservative congregations.Christian universities such as Indiana Wesleyan and Taylor are integrating environmental science into academics and campus life, fostering student-led sustainability efforts rooted in faith.Key quote:“It’s a quiet movement.”— Rev. Jeremy Summers, director of church and community engagement for the Evangelical Environmental NetworkWhy this matters:The intersection of faith and environmental action challenges longstanding cultural divides in the climate conversation. Evangelical communities — historically less engaged on climate issues — hold substantial political and social influence, particularly across the Midwest and South. Framing sustainability as a religious obligation sidesteps partisan divides and invites wider participation. These faith-led movements can help shift attitudes in rural and suburban America, where skepticism of climate science and federal intervention runs high. And as the environmental impacts of fossil fuel dependence grow — heatwaves, water scarcity, air pollution— the health and well-being of families in these communities are increasingly at stake. Read more: Christian climate activists aim to bridge faith and environmental actionPope Francis, who used faith and science to call out the climate crisis, dies at 88

Will the next pope be liberal or conservative? Neither.

If there’s one succinct way to describe Pope Francis’s stewardship of the Catholic Church over the last 12 years, it might best be  done with three of his own words: “todos, todos, todos” — “everyone, everyone, everyone.” Francis, who died Monday morning in Vatican City, was both a reformer and a traditionalist. He didn’t change […]

Pope Francis meets students at Portugal’s Catholic University on August 3, 2023, in Lisbon for World Youth Day, an international Catholic rally inaugurated by St. John Paul II to invigorate young people in their faith. | Vatican Media via Vatican Pool/Getty Images If there’s one succinct way to describe Pope Francis’s stewardship of the Catholic Church over the last 12 years, it might best be  done with three of his own words: “todos, todos, todos” — “everyone, everyone, everyone.” Francis, who died Monday morning in Vatican City, was both a reformer and a traditionalist. He didn’t change church doctrine, didn’t dramatically alter the Church’s teachings, and didn’t fundamentally disrupt the bedrock of Catholic belief. Catholics still believe there is one God who exists as three divine persons, that Jesus died and was resurrected, and that sin is still a thing. Only men can serve in the priesthood, life still begins at conception, and faith is lived through both prayer and good works. And yet it still feels like Pope Francis transformed the Church — breathing life into a 2,000-year-old institution by making it a player in current events, updating some of its bureaucracy to better respond to earthly affairs, and recentering the Church’s focus on the principle that it is open to all, but especially concerned with the least well off and marginalized in society. With Francis gone, how should we think of his legacy? Was he really the radical progressive revolutionary some on the American political right cast him as? And will his successor follow in his footsteps?   To try to neatly place Francis on the US political spectrum is a bit of a fool’s errand. It’s precisely because Francis and his potential successors defy our ability to categorize their legacies within our worldly, partisan, and tribalistic categories that it’s not very useful to use labels like “liberal” and “conservative.” Those things mean very different things within the Church versus outside of it. Instead, it’s more helpful to realize just how much Francis changed the Church’s tone and posturing toward openness and care for the least well off — and how he set up to Church to continue in that direction after he’s gone. He was neither liberal nor conservative: He was a bridge to the future who made the Church more relevant, without betraying its core teachings. That starting point will be critical for reading and understanding the next few weeks of papal news and speculation — especially as poorly sourced viral charts and infographics that lack context spread on social media in an attempt to explain what comes next. Revisiting Francis’s papacy Francis’s papacy is a prime example of how unhelpful it is to try to think of popes, and the Church, along the right-left political spectrum we’re used to thinking of in Western democracies.  When he was elected in 2013, Francis was a bit of an enigma. Progressives cautioned each other not to get too hopeful, while conservatives were wary about how open he would be to changing the Church’s public presence and social teachings. Before being elected pope, he was described as more traditional — not as activist as some of his Latin American peers who embraced progressive, socialist-adjacent liberation theology and intervened in political developments in Argentina, for example. He was orthodox and “uncompromising” on issues related to the right to life (euthanasia, the death penalty, and abortion) and on the role of women in the church, and advocated for clergy to embrace austerity and humility. And yet he was known to take unorthodox approaches to his ministry: advocating for the poor and the oppressed, and expressing openness to other religions in Argentina. He would bring that mix of views to his papacy. The following decade would see the Church undergo few changes in theological or doctrinal teachings, and yet it still appeared as though it was dramatically breaking with the past. That duality was in part because Francis was essentially both a conservative and a liberal, by American standards, at the same time, as Catholic writer James T. Keane argued in 2021. Francis was anti-abortion, critical of gender theory, opposed to ordaining women, and opposed to marriage for same-sex couples, while also welcoming the LGBTQ community, fiercely criticizing capitalism, unabashedly defending immigrants, opposing the death penalty, and advocating for environmentalism and care for the planet. That was how Francis functioned as a bridge between the traditionalism of his predecessors and a Church able to embrace modernity. And that’s also why he had so many critics: He was both too liberal and radical, and not progressive or bold enough. Francis used the Church’s unchanging foundational teachings and beliefs to respond to the crises of the 21st century and to consistently push for a “both-and” approach to social issues, endorsing “conservative”-coded teachings while adding on more focus to social justice issues that hadn’t been the traditionally associated with the church. That’s the approach he took when critiquing consumerism, modern capitalism, and “throwaway culture,” for example, employing the Church’s teachings on the sanctity of life to attack abortion rights, promote environmentalism, and criticize neo-liberal economics. None of those issues required dramatic changes to the Church’s religious or theological teachings. But they did involve moving the church beyond older debates — such as abortion, contraception, and marriage — and into other moral quandaries: economics, immigration, war, and climate change. And he spoke plainly about these debates in public, as when he responded, “Who am I to judge?” when asked about LGBTQ Catholics or said he wishes that hell is “empty.” Still, he reinforced that softer, more inquisitive and humble church tone with restructuring and reforms within the church bureaucracy — essentially setting the church up for a continued march along this path. Nearly 80 percent of the cardinals who are eligible to vote in a papal conclave were appointed by Francis — some 108 of 135 members of the College of Cardinals who can vote, per the Vatican itself. Most don’t align on any consistent ideological spectrum, having vastly different beliefs about the role of the Church, how the Church’s internal workings should operate, and what the Church’s social stances should be — that’s partially why it’s risky to read into and interpret projections about “wings” or ideological “factions” among the cardinal-electors as if they are a parliament or house of Congress. There will naturally be speculation, given who Francis appointed as cardinals, that his successor will be non-European and less traditional. But as Francis himself showed through his papacy, the church has the benefit of time and taking the long view on social issues. He reminded Catholics that concern for the poor and oppressed must be just as central to the Church’s presence in the world as any age-old culture war issue. And to try to apply to popes and the Church the political labels and sets of beliefs we use in America is pointless.

Grassroots activists who took on corruption and corporate power share 2025 Goldman prize

Seven winners of environmental prize include Amazonian river campaigner and Tunisian who fought against organised waste traffickingIndigenous river campaigner from Peru honouredGrassroots activists who helped jail corrupt officials and obtain personhood rights for a sacred Amazonian river are among this year’s winners of the world’s most prestigious environmental prize.The community campaigns led by the seven 2025 Goldman prize winners underscore the courage and tenacity of local activists willing to confront the toxic mix of corporate power, regulatory failures and political corruption that is fuelling biodiversity collapse, water shortages, deadly air pollution and the climate emergency. Continue reading...

Grassroots activists who helped jail corrupt officials and obtain personhood rights for a sacred Amazonian river are among this year’s winners of the world’s most prestigious environmental prize.The community campaigns led by the seven 2025 Goldman prize winners underscore the courage and tenacity of local activists willing to confront the toxic mix of corporate power, regulatory failures and political corruption that is fuelling biodiversity collapse, water shortages, deadly air pollution and the climate emergency.This year’s recipients include Semia Gharbi, a scientist and environmental educator from Tunisia, who took on an organised waste trafficking network that led to more than 40 arrests, including 26 Tunisian officials and 16 Italians with ties to the illegal trade.Semia Gharbi campaigning in Tunisia. Photograph: Goldman environmental prizeGharbi, 57, headed a public campaign demanding accountability after an Italian company was found to have shipped hundreds of containers of household garbage to Tunisia to dump in its overfilled landfill sites, rather than the recyclable plastic it had declared it was shipping.Gharbi lobbied lawmakers, compiled dossiers for UN experts and helped organise media coverage in both countries. Eventually, 6,000 tonnes of illegally exported household waste was shipped back to Italy in February 2022, and the scandal spurred the EU to close some loopholes governing international waste shipping.Not far away in the Canary Islands, Carlos Mallo Molina helped lead another sophisticated effort to prevent the construction of a large recreational boat and ferry terminal on the island of Tenerife that threatened to damage Spain’s most important marine reserve.Carlos Mallo Molina. Photograph: Goldman environmental prizeThe tourism gravy train can seem impossible to derail, but in 2018 Mallo swapped his career as a civil engineer to stop the sprawling Fonsalía port, which threatened the 170,000-acre biodiverse protected area that provides vital habitat for endangered sea turtles, whales, giant squid and blue sharks.As with Gharbi in Tunisia, education played a big role in the campaign’s success and included developing a virtual scuba dive into the threatened marine areas and a children’s book about a sea turtle searching for seagrass in the Canary Islands. After three years of pressure backed by international environmental groups, divers and residents, the government cancelled construction of the port, safeguarding the only whale heritage site in European territorial waters.“It’s been a tough year for both people and the planet,” said Jennifer Goldman Wallis, vice-president of the Goldman Environmental Foundation. “There’s so much that worries us, stresses us, outrages us, and keeps us divided … these environmental leaders and teachers – and the global environmental community that supports them – are the antidote.”For the past 36 years, the Goldman prize has honoured environmental defenders from each of the world’s six inhabited continental regions, recognising their commitment and achievements in the face of seemingly insurmountable hurdles. To date, 233 winners from 98 nations have been awarded the prize. Many have gone on to hold positions in governments, as heads of state, nonprofit leaders, and as Nobel prize laureates.Three Goldman recipients have been killed, including the 2015 winner from Honduras, the Indigenous Lenca leader Berta Cáceres, whose death in 2016 was orchestrated by executives of an internationally financed dam company whose project she helped stall.Environmental and land rights defenders often persist in drawn-out efforts to secure clean water and air for their communities and future generations – despite facing threats including online harassment, bogus criminal charges, and sometimes physical violence. More than 2,100 land and environmental defenders were killed globally between 2012 and 2023, according to an observatory run by the charity Global Witness.Latin America remains the most dangerous place to defend the environment but a range of repressive tactics are increasingly being used to silence activists across Asia, the US, the UK and the EU.In the US, Laurene Allen was recognised for her extraordinary leadership, which culminated in a plastics plant being closed in 2024 after two decades of leaking toxic forever chemicals into the air, soil and water supplies in the small town of Merrimack, New Hampshire. The 62-year-old social worker turned water protector developed the town’s local campaign into a statewide and national network to address Pfas contamination, helping persuade the Biden administration to establish the first federal drinking water standard for forever chemicals.skip past newsletter promotionThe planet's most important stories. Get all the week's environment news - the good, the bad and the essentialPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionLaurene Allen. Photograph: Goldman environmental prizeThree of this year’s Goldman recipients were involved in battles to save two rivers thousands of miles apart – in Peru and Albania – which both led to landmark victories.Besjana Guri and Olsi Nika not only helped stop construction of a hydroelectric dam on the 167-mile Vjosa River, but their decade-long campaign led to the Albanian government declaring it a wild river national park.Guri, 37, a social worker, and Nika, 39, a biologist and ecologist, garnered support from scientists, lawyers, EU parliamentarians and celebrities, including Leonardo DiCaprio, for the new national park – the first in Europe to protect a wild river. This historic designation protects the Vjosa and its three tributaries, which are among the last remaining free-flowing undammed rivers in Europe.In Peru, Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari, 56, led the Indigenous Kukama women’s association to a landmark court victory that granted the 1,000-mile Marañón River legal personhood, with the right to be free-flowing and free of contamination.Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari. Photograph: Goldman environmental prizeThe Marañón River and its tributaries are the life veins of Peru’s tropical rainforests and support 75% of its tropical wetlands – but also flow through lands containing some of the South American country’s biggest oil and gas fields. The court ordered the Peruvian government to stop violating the rivers’ rights, and take immediate action to prevent future oil spills.The Kukama people, who believe their ancestors reside on the riverbed, were recognised by the court as stewards of the great Marañón.This year’s oldest winner was Batmunkh Luvsandash from Mongolia, an 81-year-old former electrical engineer whose anti-mining activism has led to 200,000 acres of the East Gobi desert being protected from the world’s insatiable appetite for metal minerals.

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