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Neglected and exposed: Toxic air lingers in a Texas Latino community, revealing failures in state’s air monitoring system

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Thursday, March 14, 2024

This project was created through the Altavoz Lab Environmental Fellowship in partnership with Environmental Health Sciences and received additional funding from the Pulitzer Center. It was co-published by The Texas Tribune, Environmental Health News and palabra. Haz clic aquí para leer este reportaje en español. CLOVERLEAF — On a hot, humid October day, Cristina Lazo readies her youngest daughter for a bike ride and whispers in Spanish, I pray to God nothing happens to you. Lazo, who wears a Rebelde band T-shirt and biker shorts, takes Alina, an energetic 7-year-old, outdoors for short periods because it only takes a few minutes before Alina’s eyes get red and her coughing starts. “Vámonos,” Lazo yells, lengthening the last syllable as she begins pedaling through the streets of Cloverleaf, an unincorporated area about 15 miles east of downtown Houston. Alina starts coughing immediately. Lazo, a 42-year-old mother of six, knows that tonight she’ll rub Vicks VapoRub on her daughter’s chest, and in the morning Alina will still wake up with congestion and what Lazo calls "itchy spider webs” in her eyes. Even though doctors haven’t been able to pinpoint what causes Alina’s symptoms, Lazo suspects the air outside, which she said often reeks of chemicals — she calls it a “poison-like smell.” So she limits Alina’s outdoor activities and buys an antibiotic ointment at a Salvadoran pharmacy for her daughter’s itchy eyes. Cloverleaf, where 79.4% of its 24,100 residents are Hispanic, is one of a string of communities that sits in the shadow of the 52-mile-long Houston Ship Channel, one of the world’s largest petrochemical complexes where more than 200 facilities process fossil fuels into plastics, fertilizers and pesticides. Lazo can’t see the smokestacks from her home, but most days they release dark clouds of chemicals that permeate Cloverleaf and nearby communities like Channelview, Galena Park and Pasadena. The emissions include particulate matter — microscopic particles that can penetrate deep into the lungs and cause irregular heartbeats, aggravate asthma and other respiratory ailments — which some scientists call the deadliest form of air pollution. A recent air quality analysis by Air Alliance Houston using industry emissions data submitted to the state found a higher annual average concentration of particulate matter the closer people live to the Ship Channel. The plants also spew cancer-causing chemicals like benzene that can irritate the throat and eyes when large amounts are inhaled. People walk through San Jacinto Park as a tanker ship passes through the Houston Ship Channel in La Porte. Thousands of families live and play near the world’s largest petrochemical complex. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune Hundreds of chemical plants, refineries and terminals line the Ship Channel as seen in Pasadena, less than 15 miles southeast of downtown Houston. According to a report by Amnesty International, people living near the Houston Ship Channel, often low-income communities of color, have lower life expectancies than those living in wealthier, mostly white neighborhoods farther from the industrial area. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune In Cloverleaf and nearby communities, locals say the air often smells like rotten eggs, nail polish or burning tires. Many residents said they suffer from respiratory problems, asthma and skin ailments, and they wonder if the air they’re breathing is the culprit. Yet information about what they're breathing every day is hard to find, despite the presence of 23 state air monitoring sites near the Houston Ship Channel. The Texas Commission on Environmental Quality’s decades-old air monitoring system does not measure many of the known pollutants coming from the nearby petrochemical plants. For example, the closest monitor to Cloverleaf does not measure particulate matter or sulfur dioxide — two of the six health-threatening airborne pollutants that the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has strictly limited to protect human health. Jeff Robinson, an EPA official who manages the air monitoring division, said federal law does not require states to measure all six criteria pollutants at every air monitoring site. Each pollutant has a set of rules that helps states determine how many monitors they need to measure its presence in an area. The rules include installing air monitors based on population numbers and the number of emission sources in a region. Robinson added that “there's nothing that precludes a state from over monitoring.” The information that the TCEQ’s air monitoring system does collect is difficult for the average resident to understand and usually only in English. That’s a challenge for people in places like Cloverleaf, where more than 71% of residents speak Spanish at home. VIDEO Credit: Video edited by Jimmy Evans / Environmental Health News. Footage by Alejandra Martinez, Wendy Selene Pérez and Jimmy Evans Federal law doesn’t say how the information should be presented to the public, Robinson said. Dozens of residents told The Texas Tribune/Environmental Health News/Altavoz Lab they did not know that the state had an air monitoring network. Deysy Canales, 34, a mother of three who likes to spend time outdoors relaxing in her hammock or tending to her aloe vera plants, has battled chronic asthma since moving to Cloverleaf. She was surprised to hear about the state air monitors. “It is important for [TCEQ] to inform the population about air quality and pollution so that asthmatic people like me can take better care of ourselves,” she said in Spanish. Patricia Prado, a 43-year-old Cloverleaf resident, has asthma and regularly experiences congestion and severe allergies. Her daughter Jocelyn Prado, 21, said she deals with throbbing, uncontrollable migraines, allergies and a persistent skin condition that makes her itchy. They also didn’t know about the state air monitoring system. Jocelyn Prado said it “was shocking to me and to my mom. It's something that we never knew. The government doesn't tell us.” She added that air quality information would be useful when she sees petrochemical facilities' towers burning like enormous candles from her home. “With that information, I feel like we could put on a mask, limit the time of being outside or just be aware,” she said. While TCEQ said it has worked to make their air quality data easy to understand, locals and advocates say it’s not enough. Data on the TCEQ’s public website does not connect the dots for residents, offering no explanation or context to help users decipher what they’re seeing. “There is a need for broader ways of communicating what this means for health. What does this level mean?” said Natalie Johnson, an environmental toxicologist at the Texas A&M University School of Public Health. “That currently is hard to interpret.” Erandi Treviño, who lives in a neighborhood 19 miles south of Cloverleaf and is a coalition organizer for the environmental nonprofit Healthy Port Communities Coalition, said the air monitoring network is essentially worthless for people in her community. “A big problem still with TCEQ is that the information they do share is too dense and difficult to understand,” Treviño said. “They need to communicate in a clear way and with simple language that can be understood by the average person in the community.” Victoria Cann, a spokesperson for the TCEQ, said in an email that the air monitoring network’s primary intent is to use the data collected to determine compliance with federal regulations, forecast air quality conditions, evaluate air pollution trends and study air quality’s impact to human health to inform regulatory decisions. In response to critiques from advocates and researchers, Cann said in an email that the public can use information from the TCEQ air monitors “to assist them in making decisions about their personal exposure to current air quality conditions in their area” and added that the agency has improved accessibility throughout the years. Recently, TCEQ launched a dashboard that shows air pollution levels with a speedometer-style graphic, a tool Cann said the agency plans to further enhance. However, the state network’s blind spots were exposed in a yearlong study funded by EPA in 2021, when the Houston Health Department investigated air quality in Cloverleaf, Channelview and Galena Park and found high concentrations of formaldehyde, a colorless, flammable gas generated by plastics manufacturing that can irritate the skin, throat, lungs and eyes; repeated exposure can lead to cancer. In Cloverleaf, the department analyzed air data from 2019 to 2020 and detected formaldehyde levels more than 13 times the EPA’s chronic health screening level, a limit that suggests long-term exposure to the substance may pose health risks. In Galena Park, the level was seven times higher, while in Channelview it was five times higher. The study’s authors asked TCEQ to tighten its rules to reduce emissions of volatile organic compounds and ramp up monitoring of formaldehyde levels. At the time, only two air monitors near the Ship Channel, in Galena Park and Deer Park, measured formaldehyde. Three years later, Cloverleaf’s air monitor still does not measure formaldehyde. TCEQ took no action. Cann said in an email that the formaldehyde levels found in the study fell below the agency’s threshold for further investigation and those levels “are not considered to cause any adverse health effects in the population.” She added that the agency’s threshold “is based on a more recent review of the science” than the EPA’s. Steve Smith, chairman of the Houston Regional Monitoring (HRM), a network of more than 30 petrochemical companies that own the Cloverleaf air monitor and three others in the TCEQ network, said “there's certainly room for improvement in getting the word out, sharing with people, with the communities, what resources are out there, what data is available … that has always been a struggle, in terms of trying to translate that into something that all of us can understand.” Hector Rivero, president & CEO of the Texas Chemistry Council, an industry group representing over 200 chemical manufacturing facilities, added that the industry “remains steadfast in our support for air monitoring initiatives across the state.” Environmental organizations like Air Alliance Houston — which has installed its own air monitors in some Ship Channel neighborhoods — and Fenceline Watch worry that the lack of air quality information in other languages is preventing residents from knowing when it's safe to go outside. They added that accessible, multilingual information about air quality would help residents pressure authorities to address hazardous air quality in their communities. Alina Lazo plays with her parents at Peter Piper Pizza in Houston. Due to her mother’s concerns about air pollution, she keeps Alina inside as much as she can. “But obviously, I’d like for her to get out, for her to be able to enjoy nature,” she said. “She loves to go to parks.” Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune Back in Cloverleaf, Lazo said air quality information has not reached her community and people are dealing with the consequences. “Cloverleaf is not being paid attention to,” she said. “Not as deeply as [the state] should.” Dirty air, silent costs in “sacrifice zone” A few blocks from the Lazos’ house, Canales, a petite woman with curly brown hair pulled into a ponytail and sun-kissed skin, watches her kids playing with a ball outside their mobile home, which is surrounded by a chicken wire fence. “There’s a lot of smells here,” Canales said in Spanish. “The smells that waft are like something burning, as if they were burning plastic.” Her partner, her son and two daughters are healthy, she said, but she is not. Since moving to Cloverleaf from Honduras, Canales said she has developed allergies, asthma and a persistent sore throat. “In my country, I never got anything. But now that I have come to live here, in Cloverleaf, I do get sick more often and I go to the doctor for asthma attacks,” Canales said. The attacks are like “a gut punch to the stomach,” robbing her of air, she said. She fights the symptoms with Vicks VapoRub, chamomile tea and a bunch of medications she carries everywhere in her small squared-shaped purse. Her two daughters tend to her during the attacks. “My mother gets asthma so bad she can’t even breathe, and it makes me feel really bad and sad because she is my mother,” 10-year-old Ashley said. Asthma is common in Cloverleaf: 10.5% of adults have it, compared to the national average rate of 9.7%. Children living in Harris County have an asthma rate of 8.9% — higher than the state average of 7%. Deysy Canales kisses her 4-year-old son in the kitchen of their home. Since she moved to Cloverleaf, Canales says she is often sick, but she is grateful that her three kids remain in good health. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune Deysy Canales carries her inhaler everywhere she goes in case of an asthma attack, which she says are frequent. “You become so tired that you can’t do normal activities,” Canales said. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune Last year, Canales was hospitalized two times in three months for asthma attacks. During the most recent one, she went to Houston Methodist Baytown Hospital, where she was seated in a wheelchair and hooked up to a steam machine to inhale medication through a mask. “I couldn't even walk,” she recalled. When her symptoms appear, Canales said she goes to a nearby clinic, where she typically pays less than $20 for a consultation but close to $400 for tests and medications — more than what she earns in a week at their family’s business making wooden crates to transport produce. She said she hasn’t seen an asthma specialist because she’s uninsured. Canales is among roughly 54% of Cloverleaf residents who don't have health insurance, according to a recent Harris County study. That’s more than three times higher than the statewide uninsured rate of 16.6%. Studies show that the nearly 69,800 residents of Cloverleaf and Channelview — more than a third of them children under 18 — are breathing some of the dirtiest air in the country. According to the American Lung Association's 2023 "State of the Air" report, Harris County has an “F” grade for having unhealthy levels of particulate matter and ozone pollution, which can damage the lungs and trigger respiratory problems. A recent report by the human rights organization Amnesty International found that people living in communities near the Houston Ship Channel, primarily low-income communities of color, have life expectancies up to 20 years shorter than wealthier, predominantly white areas just 15 miles away. Labeling the Ship Channel area a “sacrifice zone,” the organization criticizes both the petrochemical industry for spewing toxic pollutants and government agencies like the TCEQ and EPA for lax enforcement of their own regulations. Harris County also has some of the state’s highest levels of cancer. Lazo’s 87-year-old father, who has lived in Cloverleaf for more than 20 years, is in remission from liver cancer, and Lazo cares for him while her mother goes to church. An 18-month study published in 2007 by the University of Texas School of Public Health and the Houston Health Department found that children living within two miles of the Houston Ship Channel had a 56% greater chance of being diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia than children living at least 10 miles away from the Ship Channel. While the study did not directly link exposure to hazardous chemicals and increased cancer in kids, researchers suggested a second analysis. Christopher Shackelford, a reverend at St. Andrew Catholic Church, blesses a churchgoer after mass in Channelview. Shackelford, who has severe allergies, takes medications daily to prepare himself for sermons in front of his almost 3,000 congregants. He believes pollution in the area has harmed his health and the health of those who attend his church. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune Dr. Philip Lupo, an epidemiologist specializing in childhood cancer at Baylor College of Medicine and Texas Children's Hospital in Houston, said genetics alone can’t explain the number of child cancer cases in the Houston area. “It's so important to consider the environment,” he said. Despite being the nation’s largest petrochemical corridor, Lupo said there aren’t enough studies in Houston that explore possible links between petrochemical air pollution and cancer — or enough money to make them happen. “There are plenty of lines of evidence that suggests that pediatric cancer has an environmental component. But trying to target that has been a problem,” he said. “If you have a child that lives in an area that's not as polluted, their likelihood of being exposed is just less by nature.” Studies in other countries have shown that residents who live near petrochemical plants releasing hazardous chemicals and particles have an increased risk of dying from cancers of the brain, bladder and lungs, as well as leukemia and multiple myeloma. About 15 miles from the Ship Channel in South Houston, Erandi Treviño recalls the first time she heard about the 2007 UT leukemia study. She was a fifth grader living in Magnolia Park and she said hearing about how pollution could impact health led her to environmental advocacy. Three years ago, she began working with EcoMadres, a Latina-led group that’s part of the national environmental nonprofit Moms Clean Air Force, which focuses on protecting children from air pollution. That led to her current job with the Healthy Port Communities Coalition, which helps teach communities about air quality and how to advocate for cleaner air. The 32-year-old struggles with fibromyalgia, a muscle disorder that causes pain and fatigue. Studies show that people with low-level chemical intolerance are more susceptible to chronic fatigue. Treviño said her body has been working overtime since she was a kid because of the polluted air she has inhaled for decades. “Kids can’t play outside if it smells bad. They can't be children,” Treviño said. “The physical, mental and neurological effect on the bodies of these children will follow them throughout their lives, when they are older.” Heidy Garcia plays with Tiana Cruz at the North Shore Rotary Park in Cloverleaf. The small parks nestled in the neighborhood are some of the community’s few gathering spots. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune Gas pipelines near the Houston Ship Channel in Pasadena. In nearby communities, locals say the air often smells like rotten eggs, nail polish or burning tires. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune State’s air monitoring gaps In January 2004, a crowd of several thousand at Hermann Park's Miller Outdoor Theatre saw Bill White become Houston's new mayor. In his inaugural speech, White said he would improve the city’s air quality by addressing chronic problems such as ozone and benzene pollution. “In Texas, we believe in property rights and nobody owns the air except the public. Nobody has a right to chemically alter it or to hurt somebody else, period. End of story,” White said in his slow, husky voice. Air pollution had become so bad in the city — particularly around the fast-growing industrial zone along the Ship Channel — and accurate, understandable air quality information was so scarce that resident-led groups began constructing an easy-to-use air sampling device inspired by a California environmental engineering firm’s design that let residents capture air samples using pickle jars and plastic paint buckets. The Houston Chronicle called them “a team of modern-day Nancy Drews” who recorded odors from nearby chemical plants on their kitchen calendars, writing smells like “turnip” or “nail polish” next to doctor appointments and church functions. In 2004, White appeared before TCEQ commissioners and criticized the agency for the lack of real-time air quality data on its website. The extent of the industrial pollution in the area was underscored in 2005 when a five-part series in the Houston Chronicle, “In Harm's Way,” found elevated levels of 1,3-butadiene and benzene in four East Houston communities, sparking public debate about the city’s air pollution problems. Following the newspaper’s investigation, White took legal action against Texas Petrochemicals Company, a Houston-based company with a history of violations that was believed to be the source of elevated hazardous air pollutants in East Houston. The company agreed to sign a pollution reduction agreement for 1,3 butadiene and install a fenceline monitoring system. After the agreement, the plant reduced butadiene emissions by 58%, according to reports. In 2006, a TCEQ report reinforced what the newspaper’s investigation had found — historically high concentrations of benzene and 1,3-butadiene at monitors in Galena Park, Manchester and other communities near the Ship Channel. * * * Decades before White’s crusade, Texas was considered a pioneer in air monitoring. In January 1972, a year after the newly created EPA adopted national air quality standards under the Clean Air Act, Texas installed its first continuous air monitoring station at the Jefferson County Airport in Nederland, which measured ozone on a near real-time basis. Later that year, the state added another one in southeast Houston. The new federal standards aimed to protect human health by setting limits on six airborne pollutants: ozone, sulfur dioxide, particulate matter, carbon monoxide, lead and nitrogen dioxide. In 1974, the Texas Air Control Board, TCEQ’s predecessor, launched a network of 214 sites with 36 continuous air samplers to measure pollution levels in Houston, Dallas, El Paso, Beaumont, San Antonio, Corpus Christi and Austin. Today, the Texas air monitoring network is one of the largest in the country, with 228 air monitoring stations across the state, including about 47 in the Houston area. TCEQ said in an email that air monitoring stations are strategically placed across the state to assess air quality. Four of those, including the one in Cloverleaf, are owned by Houston Regional Monitoring (HRM), a network of 30 petrochemical companies. Smith, the HRM chairman, said that the industry-owned monitors were installed to help the industry obtain air quality information that would help them meet permit requirements and help cash-stripped TCEQ meet the need for more monitors. The machines are expensive, some costing up to $500,000. And not all Texas counties have one — notably, few are located in the Permian Basin in West Texas, the nation’s biggest and most active oil-producing region — and not all measure the six pollutants targeted by the EPA, according to the TCEQ. * * * On the TCEQ’s website, a daily air forecast report shows ozone and particulate matter levels in Texas' metropolitan areas using a color-coded system — green, yellow and red. The agency’s geospatial database shows real-time data on the amount of pollutants in the air when users select an air monitor location. But residents and environmental advocates say the state’s air information is hard for the average resident to interpret. The data is organized in spreadsheets and colorful maps — a sea of numbers with no context. Ebrahim Eslami, a research scientist at Houston Advanced Research Center (HARC), points to air quality charts at his office in Spring, north of Houston. “It is really confusing,” Eslami said about navigating the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality’s website. “It’s a very, very tedious task even for me.” Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune “Not even my wife, who has been exposed to several years of nerdy air quality talk during the last 10-11 years, knows how to read the quality data,” Ebrahim Eslami, a research scientist specializing in air quality at Houston Advanced Research Center, an independent research hub, said as he pointed to a number on TCEQ’s website. “The average person doesn’t know. There is no indication if 11 is bad or good or I don't know.” Eslami has compared Texas’ site to neighboring Louisiana’s, which tells users whether a pollutant is measuring at higher or lower levels than federal health limits on the same page as their air quality readings. Ebrahim Eslami said local governments and environmental organizations are trying hard to cover a lot of gaps in air monitoring. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune In Cloverleaf, Lazo’s home buzzed with energy on a December afternoon — all her children had gathered for the holidays and she’d put a towering silver and blue frosted Christmas tree in the living room. Lazo was curious about how she could check the air quality outside. With guidance, she picked up her phone and entered the TCEQ air monitoring website for the first time, looking at the Texas map with raised eyebrows. “I just see a bunch of little squares,” Lazo said in Spanish. “I won’t know what it is if [TCEQ] doesn’t explain it to me.” Lazo clicked on her neighborhood’s air monitor, then on a list of contaminants: benzene, 1,3 butadiene, ozone, toluene. The levels appeared on a graphic that looks like a speedometer, but they didn’t indicate whether those levels were bad or good. “I don’t understand this at all,” Lazo said. She said she has the right to this information and wishes it was presented like a daily weather report, something everyone can understand, “to be able to enjoy nature more with my loved ones. To be able to be in the fresh outdoors.” Alina Lazo watches a video while her mother, Cristina Lazo, looks out her front door while talking on the phone at their home in Cloverleaf. Sometimes the wind brings “smells like chemicals” and “you can see the dust in the house and in the cars,” Lazo said. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune * * * The state’s air monitoring system has also failed Texans when they need pollution information the most — during industrial accidents near their homes. According to data compiled by the Coalition to Prevent Chemical Disasters, a group of environmental justice organizations, in 2023 Texas recorded 49 chemical incidents, including fires, explosions or toxic releases — the most of any state. On March 17, 2019, towering flames and black smoke billowed from Intercontinental Terminals Company, a chemical tank farm in Deer Park, next to the Ship Channel. As firefighters struggled to extinguish the growing chemical fire, nearby residents wondered if it was safe to go outside. City officials advised Deer Park residents to shelter indoors twice: for 18 hours immediately after the fire started and again three days later. Harris County Commissioner Adrian Garcia wanted data from the state that could help answer residents’ questions. But the Deer Park air monitor closest to the fire, which TCEQ calls “one of the most comprehensive air monitoring stations in the TCEQ network,” did not gather data for cancer-causing chemicals during the first two days of the disaster because it was malfunctioning. Cann, the TCEQ spokesperson, said a part of the monitor that reads and evaluates air quality was causing a series of data gaps and that part “required repair and quality control checks and calibrations to be performed.” Garcia said the state left the county ill-prepared during a crisis and county officials didn’t feel they were being told everything they needed to know about the severity of the air pollution. “I have absolutely zero confidence in TCEQ, regretfully,” Garcia said. “It's just been indicative that TCEQ tends to look out for industry more than they tend to look out for the community.” About 11 hours after the fire erupted, TCEQ investigators began using handheld monitors to measure volatile organic compounds, hydrogen sulfide and carbon monoxide. In a timeline of events the agency submitted to state lawmakers a month later, investigators noted “slight odors, however, no readings of concern are detected.” Five days later, EPA dispatched a mobile laboratory that roamed the area for the next two months. A 2023 Texas Tribune investigation found that dangerous levels of benzene remained in the air for weeks after public health measures were lifted, according to data captured from the mobile units. Benzene is known to cause cancer after repeated exposure and can affect the central nervous system when inhaled in large quantities over a short period. Hundreds of people went to mobile health clinics in Deer Park provided by the county, reporting symptoms including dizziness, a rapid heart rate and headaches — even after the fire was extinguished after four days. On March 31, two weeks after the fire began, TCEQ and EPA inspectors with handheld devices recorded elevated benzene concentrations drifting through neighborhoods and near an elementary school. The public was told nothing about the spikes until the next morning. “Failures like that cannot happen during times of environmental disasters,” Air Alliance Houston, a local environmental group, wrote to TCEQ when ITC applied to renew its operating permit. “Community members must have a full understanding of what pollutants are in the atmosphere and the effects they can have on them.” An air quality monitor in a neighborhood in Galena Park. Organizers at Air Alliance Houston worked to install their own community air monitoring network because of frustrations with the public data provided by the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality’s network. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune Community members prepare for a bike ride, organized by Air Alliance Houston, in Galena Park. The event is part of several educational tours to teach people about air pollution in the area. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune Residents turn to community monitoring In Galena Park, Juan Flores, 46, said two major life events galvanized him to become an activist: his father died of a heart attack after years of working at a petrochemical facility and suffering from respiratory problems, and his only daughter, Dominique Soleil Flores, was born with teratoma, a rare type of cancerous tumor located around one of her kidneys. Dominique had to go through rounds of chemotherapy and surgeries to remove the tumor. Today, the 8-year-old is cancer free, but Flores still worries about his family’s health — and the effects of living near petrochemical plants. Flores, wearing a black polo with a gold chain around his neck, said he doesn’t trust government agencies to protect people’s health. When he’s called TCEQ or the city about strong chemical smells outside, he said it takes hours or days for anyone to respond — and by then the smell is usually gone. Ten years ago, he joined Air Alliance Houston as an organizer teaching local residents about air quality. He and other organizers decided to install a community air monitoring network after the ITC fire, frustrated that TCEQ had not made air monitoring information readily available and accessible to the public. Flores and others asked homeowners, businesses, and churches in Galena Park if they could install monitors to measure particulate matter. The first was installed in 2020 and since then the group has installed nearly 30 in Galena Park, Channelview and other communities near the Ship Channel, spending about $300 on monitors that measure particulate matter and $11,000 on those that measure volatile organic compounds in the air, as well as nitrogen oxide and ozone. Cloverleaf could be next. “There's a big need in Cloverleaf to organize,” said Flores, who now works as the organization's community air monitoring program manager. “That community has been kind of neglected for years.” The group posts the monitors’ data online using a color-coded system: green for good air quality, yellow for moderate — meaning it may be a concern for people with respiratory conditions — and red for very unhealthy. “Education is the key,” Flores said. “They know there's a refinery there, but they don't know what it does. And they don't know what the health effects are.” Juan Flores’ only daughter was born with a rare cancerous tumor, an event that helped motivate him to become a community organizer. Now, as a program manager with Air Alliance Houston, Flores works with residents to teach them about air pollution. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune Participants of the bike ride make a stop on their tour at landfills created from dirt dredged during a Ship Channel expansion in the petrochemical corridor. There have been concerns about possible contaminants in the soil. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune From April to December 2022, the organization's Galena Park air monitors recorded nitrogen dioxide levels more than 3,000 times above the EPA’s threshold for human safety. Nitrogen oxide can cause inflammation and damage to the respiratory system. The monitors also recorded ozone levels above the EPA’s ozone threshold more than 850 times. “We definitely see red [high spikes] happening a lot,” said Anthony D’Souza, who works with Flores at Air Alliance Houston as a research and policy coordinator. Flores leads residents and journalists on “toxic tours” in his pickup truck, driving through neighborhood streets where houses sit across a fence from towering refineries. Last year, he led a tour where residents rode bikes through Galena Park and Jacinto City, visiting air monitors to learn about air pollution. “[Air quality] is a hard subject,” Flores said. “When you talk to somebody about pollution, you're talking about ozone, you're talking about chemicals, people don't understand.” Flores said the air data they collect is empowering, validating the concerns of many in his community. For example, at permit hearings where TCEQ seeks public comment on a company’s permit application, they can provide the number of times the community monitors have recorded red alerts and whether those correlated with the days they’ve felt sick. Before, Flores said, they could only talk about their headaches, dizziness or shortness of breath. Now they can back up what they’re saying with numbers — although TCEQ dismisses their data because it doesn’t come from the state’s air monitors. “It’s such an interesting thing to actually see data and to see the numbers, because it was always our word against [TCEQ],” Flores said. “Then we built this new air monitoring network, now we have our proof.” Disclosure: Air Alliance Houston, Houston Advanced Research Center, Texas A&M University and Texas Children's Hospital have been financial supporters of The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan news organization that is funded in part by donations from members, foundations and corporate sponsors. Financial supporters play no role in the Tribune's journalism. Find a complete list of them here. We can’t wait to welcome you to downtown Austin Sept. 5-7 for the 2024 Texas Tribune Festival! Join us at Texas’ breakout politics and policy event as we dig into the 2024 elections, state and national politics, the state of democracy, and so much more. When tickets go on sale this spring, Tribune members will save big. Donate to join or renew today.  

Public data from a network of state air monitors around the Houston Ship Channel is hard to interpret and is often inadequate, leaving Latino-majority neighborhoods like Cloverleaf unaware of whether the air they breathe is safe.

This project was created through the Altavoz Lab Environmental Fellowship in partnership with Environmental Health Sciences and received additional funding from the Pulitzer Center. It was co-published by The Texas Tribune, Environmental Health News and palabra.

Haz clic aquí para leer este reportaje en español.

CLOVERLEAF — On a hot, humid October day, Cristina Lazo readies her youngest daughter for a bike ride and whispers in Spanish, I pray to God nothing happens to you.

Lazo, who wears a Rebelde band T-shirt and biker shorts, takes Alina, an energetic 7-year-old, outdoors for short periods because it only takes a few minutes before Alina’s eyes get red and her coughing starts.

“Vámonos,” Lazo yells, lengthening the last syllable as she begins pedaling through the streets of Cloverleaf, an unincorporated area about 15 miles east of downtown Houston. Alina starts coughing immediately.

Lazo, a 42-year-old mother of six, knows that tonight she’ll rub Vicks VapoRub on her daughter’s chest, and in the morning Alina will still wake up with congestion and what Lazo calls "itchy spider webs” in her eyes.

Even though doctors haven’t been able to pinpoint what causes Alina’s symptoms, Lazo suspects the air outside, which she said often reeks of chemicals — she calls it a “poison-like smell.” So she limits Alina’s outdoor activities and buys an antibiotic ointment at a Salvadoran pharmacy for her daughter’s itchy eyes.

Cloverleaf, where 79.4% of its 24,100 residents are Hispanic, is one of a string of communities that sits in the shadow of the 52-mile-long Houston Ship Channel, one of the world’s largest petrochemical complexes where more than 200 facilities process fossil fuels into plastics, fertilizers and pesticides.

Lazo can’t see the smokestacks from her home, but most days they release dark clouds of chemicals that permeate Cloverleaf and nearby communities like Channelview, Galena Park and Pasadena.

The emissions include particulate matter — microscopic particles that can penetrate deep into the lungs and cause irregular heartbeats, aggravate asthma and other respiratory ailments — which some scientists call the deadliest form of air pollution. A recent air quality analysis by Air Alliance Houston using industry emissions data submitted to the state found a higher annual average concentration of particulate matter the closer people live to the Ship Channel.

The plants also spew cancer-causing chemicals like benzene that can irritate the throat and eyes when large amounts are inhaled.

People walk through San Jacinto Park as a tanker ship passes through the Houston Ship Channel in La Porte. Thousands of families live and play near the world’s largest petrochemical complex. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune
Hundreds of chemical plants, refineries and terminals line the Ship Channel as seen in Pasadena, less than 15 miles southeast of downtown Houston. According to a report by Amnesty International, people living near the Houston Ship Channel, often low-income communities of color, have lower life expectancies than those living in wealthier, mostly white neighborhoods farther from the industrial area. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune

In Cloverleaf and nearby communities, locals say the air often smells like rotten eggs, nail polish or burning tires. Many residents said they suffer from respiratory problems, asthma and skin ailments, and they wonder if the air they’re breathing is the culprit.

Yet information about what they're breathing every day is hard to find, despite the presence of 23 state air monitoring sites near the Houston Ship Channel.

The Texas Commission on Environmental Quality’s decades-old air monitoring system does not measure many of the known pollutants coming from the nearby petrochemical plants. For example, the closest monitor to Cloverleaf does not measure particulate matter or sulfur dioxide — two of the six health-threatening airborne pollutants that the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) has strictly limited to protect human health.

Jeff Robinson, an EPA official who manages the air monitoring division, said federal law does not require states to measure all six criteria pollutants at every air monitoring site.

Each pollutant has a set of rules that helps states determine how many monitors they need to measure its presence in an area. The rules include installing air monitors based on population numbers and the number of emission sources in a region.

Robinson added that “there's nothing that precludes a state from over monitoring.”

The information that the TCEQ’s air monitoring system does collect is difficult for the average resident to understand and usually only in English. That’s a challenge for people in places like Cloverleaf, where more than 71% of residents speak Spanish at home.

Credit: Video edited by Jimmy Evans / Environmental Health News. Footage by Alejandra Martinez, Wendy Selene Pérez and Jimmy Evans

Federal law doesn’t say how the information should be presented to the public, Robinson said.

Dozens of residents told The Texas Tribune/Environmental Health News/Altavoz Lab they did not know that the state had an air monitoring network.

Deysy Canales, 34, a mother of three who likes to spend time outdoors relaxing in her hammock or tending to her aloe vera plants, has battled chronic asthma since moving to Cloverleaf. She was surprised to hear about the state air monitors.

“It is important for [TCEQ] to inform the population about air quality and pollution so that asthmatic people like me can take better care of ourselves,” she said in Spanish.

Patricia Prado, a 43-year-old Cloverleaf resident, has asthma and regularly experiences congestion and severe allergies. Her daughter Jocelyn Prado, 21, said she deals with throbbing, uncontrollable migraines, allergies and a persistent skin condition that makes her itchy.

They also didn’t know about the state air monitoring system. Jocelyn Prado said it “was shocking to me and to my mom. It's something that we never knew. The government doesn't tell us.”

She added that air quality information would be useful when she sees petrochemical facilities' towers burning like enormous candles from her home.

“With that information, I feel like we could put on a mask, limit the time of being outside or just be aware,” she said.

While TCEQ said it has worked to make their air quality data easy to understand, locals and advocates say it’s not enough. Data on the TCEQ’s public website does not connect the dots for residents, offering no explanation or context to help users decipher what they’re seeing.

“There is a need for broader ways of communicating what this means for health. What does this level mean?” said Natalie Johnson, an environmental toxicologist at the Texas A&M University School of Public Health. “That currently is hard to interpret.”

Erandi Treviño, who lives in a neighborhood 19 miles south of Cloverleaf and is a coalition organizer for the environmental nonprofit Healthy Port Communities Coalition, said the air monitoring network is essentially worthless for people in her community.

“A big problem still with TCEQ is that the information they do share is too dense and difficult to understand,” Treviño said. “They need to communicate in a clear way and with simple language that can be understood by the average person in the community.”

Victoria Cann, a spokesperson for the TCEQ, said in an email that the air monitoring network’s primary intent is to use the data collected to determine compliance with federal regulations, forecast air quality conditions, evaluate air pollution trends and study air quality’s impact to human health to inform regulatory decisions.

In response to critiques from advocates and researchers, Cann said in an email that the public can use information from the TCEQ air monitors “to assist them in making decisions about their personal exposure to current air quality conditions in their area” and added that the agency has improved accessibility throughout the years. Recently, TCEQ launched a dashboard that shows air pollution levels with a speedometer-style graphic, a tool Cann said the agency plans to further enhance.

However, the state network’s blind spots were exposed in a yearlong study funded by EPA in 2021, when the Houston Health Department investigated air quality in Cloverleaf, Channelview and Galena Park and found high concentrations of formaldehyde, a colorless, flammable gas generated by plastics manufacturing that can irritate the skin, throat, lungs and eyes; repeated exposure can lead to cancer.

In Cloverleaf, the department analyzed air data from 2019 to 2020 and detected formaldehyde levels more than 13 times the EPA’s chronic health screening level, a limit that suggests long-term exposure to the substance may pose health risks. In Galena Park, the level was seven times higher, while in Channelview it was five times higher.

The study’s authors asked TCEQ to tighten its rules to reduce emissions of volatile organic compounds and ramp up monitoring of formaldehyde levels. At the time, only two air monitors near the Ship Channel, in Galena Park and Deer Park, measured formaldehyde. Three years later, Cloverleaf’s air monitor still does not measure formaldehyde.

TCEQ took no action. Cann said in an email that the formaldehyde levels found in the study fell below the agency’s threshold for further investigation and those levels “are not considered to cause any adverse health effects in the population.” She added that the agency’s threshold “is based on a more recent review of the science” than the EPA’s.

Steve Smith, chairman of the Houston Regional Monitoring (HRM), a network of more than 30 petrochemical companies that own the Cloverleaf air monitor and three others in the TCEQ network, said “there's certainly room for improvement in getting the word out, sharing with people, with the communities, what resources are out there, what data is available … that has always been a struggle, in terms of trying to translate that into something that all of us can understand.”

Hector Rivero, president & CEO of the Texas Chemistry Council, an industry group representing over 200 chemical manufacturing facilities, added that the industry “remains steadfast in our support for air monitoring initiatives across the state.”

Environmental organizations like Air Alliance Houston — which has installed its own air monitors in some Ship Channel neighborhoods — and Fenceline Watch worry that the lack of air quality information in other languages is preventing residents from knowing when it's safe to go outside. They added that accessible, multilingual information about air quality would help residents pressure authorities to address hazardous air quality in their communities.

Alina Lazo plays with her parents at Peter Piper Pizza in Houston. Due to her mother’s concerns about air pollution, she keeps Alina inside as much as she can. “But obviously, I’d like for her to get out, for her to be able to enjoy nature,” she said. “She loves to go to parks.” Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune

Back in Cloverleaf, Lazo said air quality information has not reached her community and people are dealing with the consequences.

“Cloverleaf is not being paid attention to,” she said. “Not as deeply as [the state] should.”

Dirty air, silent costs in “sacrifice zone”

A few blocks from the Lazos’ house, Canales, a petite woman with curly brown hair pulled into a ponytail and sun-kissed skin, watches her kids playing with a ball outside their mobile home, which is surrounded by a chicken wire fence.

“There’s a lot of smells here,” Canales said in Spanish. “The smells that waft are like something burning, as if they were burning plastic.”

Her partner, her son and two daughters are healthy, she said, but she is not. Since moving to Cloverleaf from Honduras, Canales said she has developed allergies, asthma and a persistent sore throat.

“In my country, I never got anything. But now that I have come to live here, in Cloverleaf, I do get sick more often and I go to the doctor for asthma attacks,” Canales said.

The attacks are like “a gut punch to the stomach,” robbing her of air, she said. She fights the symptoms with Vicks VapoRub, chamomile tea and a bunch of medications she carries everywhere in her small squared-shaped purse.

Her two daughters tend to her during the attacks. “My mother gets asthma so bad she can’t even breathe, and it makes me feel really bad and sad because she is my mother,” 10-year-old Ashley said.

Asthma is common in Cloverleaf: 10.5% of adults have it, compared to the national average rate of 9.7%. Children living in Harris County have an asthma rate of 8.9% — higher than the state average of 7%.

Deysy Canales kisses her 4-year-old son in the kitchen of their home. Since she moved to Cloverleaf, Canales says she is often sick, but she is grateful that her three kids remain in good health. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune
Deysy Canales carries her inhaler everywhere she goes in case of an asthma attack, which she says are frequent. “You become so tired that you can’t do normal activities,” Canales said. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune

Last year, Canales was hospitalized two times in three months for asthma attacks. During the most recent one, she went to Houston Methodist Baytown Hospital, where she was seated in a wheelchair and hooked up to a steam machine to inhale medication through a mask.

“I couldn't even walk,” she recalled.

When her symptoms appear, Canales said she goes to a nearby clinic, where she typically pays less than $20 for a consultation but close to $400 for tests and medications — more than what she earns in a week at their family’s business making wooden crates to transport produce. She said she hasn’t seen an asthma specialist because she’s uninsured.

Canales is among roughly 54% of Cloverleaf residents who don't have health insurance, according to a recent Harris County study. That’s more than three times higher than the statewide uninsured rate of 16.6%.

Studies show that the nearly 69,800 residents of Cloverleaf and Channelview — more than a third of them children under 18 — are breathing some of the dirtiest air in the country.

According to the American Lung Association's 2023 "State of the Air" report, Harris County has an “F” grade for having unhealthy levels of particulate matter and ozone pollution, which can damage the lungs and trigger respiratory problems.

A recent report by the human rights organization Amnesty International found that people living in communities near the Houston Ship Channel, primarily low-income communities of color, have life expectancies up to 20 years shorter than wealthier, predominantly white areas just 15 miles away. Labeling the Ship Channel area a “sacrifice zone,” the organization criticizes both the petrochemical industry for spewing toxic pollutants and government agencies like the TCEQ and EPA for lax enforcement of their own regulations.

Harris County also has some of the state’s highest levels of cancer. Lazo’s 87-year-old father, who has lived in Cloverleaf for more than 20 years, is in remission from liver cancer, and Lazo cares for him while her mother goes to church.

An 18-month study published in 2007 by the University of Texas School of Public Health and the Houston Health Department found that children living within two miles of the Houston Ship Channel had a 56% greater chance of being diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia than children living at least 10 miles away from the Ship Channel. While the study did not directly link exposure to hazardous chemicals and increased cancer in kids, researchers suggested a second analysis.

Christopher Shackelford, a reverend at St. Andrew Catholic Church, blesses a churchgoer after mass in Channelview. Shackelford, who has severe allergies, takes medications daily to prepare himself for sermons in front of his almost 3,000 congregants. He believes pollution in the area has harmed his health and the health of those who attend his church. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune

Dr. Philip Lupo, an epidemiologist specializing in childhood cancer at Baylor College of Medicine and Texas Children's Hospital in Houston, said genetics alone can’t explain the number of child cancer cases in the Houston area.

“It's so important to consider the environment,” he said.

Despite being the nation’s largest petrochemical corridor, Lupo said there aren’t enough studies in Houston that explore possible links between petrochemical air pollution and cancer — or enough money to make them happen.

“There are plenty of lines of evidence that suggests that pediatric cancer has an environmental component. But trying to target that has been a problem,” he said. “If you have a child that lives in an area that's not as polluted, their likelihood of being exposed is just less by nature.”

Studies in other countries have shown that residents who live near petrochemical plants releasing hazardous chemicals and particles have an increased risk of dying from cancers of the brain, bladder and lungs, as well as leukemia and multiple myeloma.

About 15 miles from the Ship Channel in South Houston, Erandi Treviño recalls the first time she heard about the 2007 UT leukemia study. She was a fifth grader living in Magnolia Park and she said hearing about how pollution could impact health led her to environmental advocacy.

Three years ago, she began working with EcoMadres, a Latina-led group that’s part of the national environmental nonprofit Moms Clean Air Force, which focuses on protecting children from air pollution. That led to her current job with the Healthy Port Communities Coalition, which helps teach communities about air quality and how to advocate for cleaner air.

The 32-year-old struggles with fibromyalgia, a muscle disorder that causes pain and fatigue. Studies show that people with low-level chemical intolerance are more susceptible to chronic fatigue. Treviño said her body has been working overtime since she was a kid because of the polluted air she has inhaled for decades.

“Kids can’t play outside if it smells bad. They can't be children,” Treviño said. “The physical, mental and neurological effect on the bodies of these children will follow them throughout their lives, when they are older.”

Heidy Garcia plays with Tiana Cruz at the North Shore Rotary Park in Cloverleaf. The small parks nestled in the neighborhood are some of the community’s few gathering spots. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune
Gas pipelines near the Houston Ship Channel in Pasadena. In nearby communities, locals say the air often smells like rotten eggs, nail polish or burning tires. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune

State’s air monitoring gaps

In January 2004, a crowd of several thousand at Hermann Park's Miller Outdoor Theatre saw Bill White become Houston's new mayor. In his inaugural speech, White said he would improve the city’s air quality by addressing chronic problems such as ozone and benzene pollution.

“In Texas, we believe in property rights and nobody owns the air except the public. Nobody has a right to chemically alter it or to hurt somebody else, period. End of story,” White said in his slow, husky voice.

Air pollution had become so bad in the city — particularly around the fast-growing industrial zone along the Ship Channel — and accurate, understandable air quality information was so scarce that resident-led groups began constructing an easy-to-use air sampling device inspired by a California environmental engineering firm’s design that let residents capture air samples using pickle jars and plastic paint buckets.

The Houston Chronicle called them “a team of modern-day Nancy Drews” who recorded odors from nearby chemical plants on their kitchen calendars, writing smells like “turnip” or “nail polish” next to doctor appointments and church functions.

In 2004, White appeared before TCEQ commissioners and criticized the agency for the lack of real-time air quality data on its website.

The extent of the industrial pollution in the area was underscored in 2005 when a five-part series in the Houston Chronicle, “In Harm's Way,” found elevated levels of 1,3-butadiene and benzene in four East Houston communities, sparking public debate about the city’s air pollution problems.

Following the newspaper’s investigation, White took legal action against Texas Petrochemicals Company, a Houston-based company with a history of violations that was believed to be the source of elevated hazardous air pollutants in East Houston. The company agreed to sign a pollution reduction agreement for 1,3 butadiene and install a fenceline monitoring system. After the agreement, the plant reduced butadiene emissions by 58%, according to reports.

In 2006, a TCEQ report reinforced what the newspaper’s investigation had found — historically high concentrations of benzene and 1,3-butadiene at monitors in Galena Park, Manchester and other communities near the Ship Channel.

* * *

Decades before White’s crusade, Texas was considered a pioneer in air monitoring. In January 1972, a year after the newly created EPA adopted national air quality standards under the Clean Air Act, Texas installed its first continuous air monitoring station at the Jefferson County Airport in Nederland, which measured ozone on a near real-time basis. Later that year, the state added another one in southeast Houston.

The new federal standards aimed to protect human health by setting limits on six airborne pollutants: ozone, sulfur dioxide, particulate matter, carbon monoxide, lead and nitrogen dioxide.

In 1974, the Texas Air Control Board, TCEQ’s predecessor, launched a network of 214 sites with 36 continuous air samplers to measure pollution levels in Houston, Dallas, El Paso, Beaumont, San Antonio, Corpus Christi and Austin.

Today, the Texas air monitoring network is one of the largest in the country, with 228 air monitoring stations across the state, including about 47 in the Houston area. TCEQ said in an email that air monitoring stations are strategically placed across the state to assess air quality.

Four of those, including the one in Cloverleaf, are owned by Houston Regional Monitoring (HRM), a network of 30 petrochemical companies.

Smith, the HRM chairman, said that the industry-owned monitors were installed to help the industry obtain air quality information that would help them meet permit requirements and help cash-stripped TCEQ meet the need for more monitors.

The machines are expensive, some costing up to $500,000. And not all Texas counties have one — notably, few are located in the Permian Basin in West Texas, the nation’s biggest and most active oil-producing region — and not all measure the six pollutants targeted by the EPA, according to the TCEQ.

* * *

On the TCEQ’s website, a daily air forecast report shows ozone and particulate matter levels in Texas' metropolitan areas using a color-coded system — green, yellow and red. The agency’s geospatial database shows real-time data on the amount of pollutants in the air when users select an air monitor location.

But residents and environmental advocates say the state’s air information is hard for the average resident to interpret. The data is organized in spreadsheets and colorful maps — a sea of numbers with no context.

Ebrahim Eslami, a research scientist at Houston Advanced Research Center (HARC), points to air quality charts at his office in Spring, north of Houston. “It is really confusing,” Eslami said about navigating the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality’s website. “It’s a very, very tedious task even for me.” Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune

“Not even my wife, who has been exposed to several years of nerdy air quality talk during the last 10-11 years, knows how to read the quality data,” Ebrahim Eslami, a research scientist specializing in air quality at Houston Advanced Research Center, an independent research hub, said as he pointed to a number on TCEQ’s website. “The average person doesn’t know. There is no indication if 11 is bad or good or I don't know.”

Eslami has compared Texas’ site to neighboring Louisiana’s, which tells users whether a pollutant is measuring at higher or lower levels than federal health limits on the same page as their air quality readings.

Ebrahim Eslami said local governments and environmental organizations are trying hard to cover a lot of gaps in air monitoring. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune

In Cloverleaf, Lazo’s home buzzed with energy on a December afternoon — all her children had gathered for the holidays and she’d put a towering silver and blue frosted Christmas tree in the living room.

Lazo was curious about how she could check the air quality outside. With guidance, she picked up her phone and entered the TCEQ air monitoring website for the first time, looking at the Texas map with raised eyebrows.

“I just see a bunch of little squares,” Lazo said in Spanish. “I won’t know what it is if [TCEQ] doesn’t explain it to me.”

Lazo clicked on her neighborhood’s air monitor, then on a list of contaminants: benzene, 1,3 butadiene, ozone, toluene. The levels appeared on a graphic that looks like a speedometer, but they didn’t indicate whether those levels were bad or good.

“I don’t understand this at all,” Lazo said.

She said she has the right to this information and wishes it was presented like a daily weather report, something everyone can understand, “to be able to enjoy nature more with my loved ones. To be able to be in the fresh outdoors.”

Alina Lazo watches a video while her mother, Cristina Lazo, looks out her front door while talking on the phone at their home in Cloverleaf. Sometimes the wind brings “smells like chemicals” and “you can see the dust in the house and in the cars,” Lazo said. Credit: Danielle Villasana for The Texas Tribune

* * *

The state’s air monitoring system has also failed Texans when they need pollution information the most — during industrial accidents near their homes. According to data compiled by the Coalition to Prevent Chemical Disasters, a group of environmental justice organizations, in 2023 Texas recorded 49 chemical incidents, including fires, explosions or toxic releases — the most of any state.

On March 17, 2019, towering flames and black smoke billowed from Intercontinental Terminals Company, a chemical tank farm in Deer Park, next to the Ship Channel. As firefighters struggled to extinguish the growing chemical fire, nearby residents wondered if it was safe to go outside.

City officials advised Deer Park residents to shelter indoors twice: for 18 hours immediately after the fire started and again three days later.

Harris County Commissioner Adrian Garcia wanted data from the state that could help answer residents’ questions. But the Deer Park air monitor closest to the fire, which TCEQ calls “one of the most comprehensive air monitoring stations in the TCEQ network,” did not gather data for cancer-causing chemicals during the first two days of the disaster because it was malfunctioning.

Cann, the TCEQ spokesperson, said a part of the monitor that reads and evaluates air quality was causing a series of data gaps and that part “required repair and quality control checks and calibrations to be performed.”

Garcia said the state left the county ill-prepared during a crisis and county officials didn’t feel they were being told everything they needed to know about the severity of the air pollution.

“I have absolutely zero confidence in TCEQ, regretfully,” Garcia said. “It's just been indicative that TCEQ tends to look out for industry more than they tend to look out for the community.”

About 11 hours after the fire erupted, TCEQ investigators began using handheld monitors to measure volatile organic compounds, hydrogen sulfide and carbon monoxide. In a timeline of events the agency submitted to state lawmakers a month later, investigators noted “slight odors, however, no readings of concern are detected.”

Five days later, EPA dispatched a mobile laboratory that roamed the area for the next two months. A 2023 Texas Tribune investigation found that dangerous levels of benzene remained in the air for weeks after public health measures were lifted, according to data captured from the mobile units.

Benzene is known to cause cancer after repeated exposure and can affect the central nervous system when inhaled in large quantities over a short period.

Hundreds of people went to mobile health clinics in Deer Park provided by the county, reporting symptoms including dizziness, a rapid heart rate and headaches — even after the fire was extinguished after four days.

On March 31, two weeks after the fire began, TCEQ and EPA inspectors with handheld devices recorded elevated benzene concentrations drifting through neighborhoods and near an elementary school.

The public was told nothing about the spikes until the next morning.

“Failures like that cannot happen during times of environmental disasters,” Air Alliance Houston, a local environmental group, wrote to TCEQ when ITC applied to renew its operating permit. “Community members must have a full understanding of what pollutants are in the atmosphere and the effects they can have on them.”

An air quality monitor in a neighborhood in Galena Park. Organizers at Air Alliance Houston worked to install their own community air monitoring network because of frustrations with the public data provided by the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality’s network. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune
Community members prepare for a bike ride, organized by Air Alliance Houston, in Galena Park. The event is part of several educational tours to teach people about air pollution in the area. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune

Residents turn to community monitoring

In Galena Park, Juan Flores, 46, said two major life events galvanized him to become an activist: his father died of a heart attack after years of working at a petrochemical facility and suffering from respiratory problems, and his only daughter, Dominique Soleil Flores, was born with teratoma, a rare type of cancerous tumor located around one of her kidneys.

Dominique had to go through rounds of chemotherapy and surgeries to remove the tumor. Today, the 8-year-old is cancer free, but Flores still worries about his family’s health — and the effects of living near petrochemical plants.

Flores, wearing a black polo with a gold chain around his neck, said he doesn’t trust government agencies to protect people’s health. When he’s called TCEQ or the city about strong chemical smells outside, he said it takes hours or days for anyone to respond — and by then the smell is usually gone.

Ten years ago, he joined Air Alliance Houston as an organizer teaching local residents about air quality. He and other organizers decided to install a community air monitoring network after the ITC fire, frustrated that TCEQ had not made air monitoring information readily available and accessible to the public.

Flores and others asked homeowners, businesses, and churches in Galena Park if they could install monitors to measure particulate matter. The first was installed in 2020 and since then the group has installed nearly 30 in Galena Park, Channelview and other communities near the Ship Channel, spending about $300 on monitors that measure particulate matter and $11,000 on those that measure volatile organic compounds in the air, as well as nitrogen oxide and ozone.

Cloverleaf could be next.

“There's a big need in Cloverleaf to organize,” said Flores, who now works as the organization's community air monitoring program manager. “That community has been kind of neglected for years.”

The group posts the monitors’ data online using a color-coded system: green for good air quality, yellow for moderate — meaning it may be a concern for people with respiratory conditions — and red for very unhealthy.

“Education is the key,” Flores said. “They know there's a refinery there, but they don't know what it does. And they don't know what the health effects are.”

Juan Flores’ only daughter was born with a rare cancerous tumor, an event that helped motivate him to become a community organizer. Now, as a program manager with Air Alliance Houston, Flores works with residents to teach them about air pollution. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune
Participants of the bike ride make a stop on their tour at landfills created from dirt dredged during a Ship Channel expansion in the petrochemical corridor. There have been concerns about possible contaminants in the soil. Credit: Go Nakamura for The Texas Tribune

From April to December 2022, the organization's Galena Park air monitors recorded nitrogen dioxide levels more than 3,000 times above the EPA’s threshold for human safety. Nitrogen oxide can cause inflammation and damage to the respiratory system. The monitors also recorded ozone levels above the EPA’s ozone threshold more than 850 times.

“We definitely see red [high spikes] happening a lot,” said Anthony D’Souza, who works with Flores at Air Alliance Houston as a research and policy coordinator.

Flores leads residents and journalists on “toxic tours” in his pickup truck, driving through neighborhood streets where houses sit across a fence from towering refineries.

Last year, he led a tour where residents rode bikes through Galena Park and Jacinto City, visiting air monitors to learn about air pollution.

“[Air quality] is a hard subject,” Flores said. “When you talk to somebody about pollution, you're talking about ozone, you're talking about chemicals, people don't understand.”

Flores said the air data they collect is empowering, validating the concerns of many in his community. For example, at permit hearings where TCEQ seeks public comment on a company’s permit application, they can provide the number of times the community monitors have recorded red alerts and whether those correlated with the days they’ve felt sick.

Before, Flores said, they could only talk about their headaches, dizziness or shortness of breath. Now they can back up what they’re saying with numbers — although TCEQ dismisses their data because it doesn’t come from the state’s air monitors.

“It’s such an interesting thing to actually see data and to see the numbers, because it was always our word against [TCEQ],” Flores said. “Then we built this new air monitoring network, now we have our proof.”

Disclosure: Air Alliance Houston, Houston Advanced Research Center, Texas A&M University and Texas Children's Hospital have been financial supporters of The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan news organization that is funded in part by donations from members, foundations and corporate sponsors. Financial supporters play no role in the Tribune's journalism. Find a complete list of them here.



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K-Pop Fans' Environmental Activism Comes to UN Climate Talks

K-pop is turning up in force at the United Nations climate talks in Brazil, with fans-turned-activists hosting protest and events to mobilize their millions-strong online community to back concrete climate actions

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Costa Rica Environmentalists Face Rising Threats and Harassment

Environmental activists in Costa Rica continue to face escalating threats, harassment, and legal intimidation as they challenge projects that harm ecosystems. Groups report a systematic pattern of repression, including public stigmatization, digital attacks, and abusive lawsuits meant to exhaust resources and silence opposition. In Puntarenas, billboards have appeared labeling local defenders as “persona non grata,” […] The post Costa Rica Environmentalists Face Rising Threats and Harassment appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

Environmental activists in Costa Rica continue to face escalating threats, harassment, and legal intimidation as they challenge projects that harm ecosystems. Groups report a systematic pattern of repression, including public stigmatization, digital attacks, and abusive lawsuits meant to exhaust resources and silence opposition. In Puntarenas, billboards have appeared labeling local defenders as “persona non grata,” a form of symbolic violence that isolates activists in their communities. Similar tactics include online campaigns spreading disinformation and gendered threats, particularly against women who speak out against coastal developments or illegal logging. Legal actions add another layer of pressure. Developers have sued content creators for posting videos that question the environmental impact of tourism projects, claiming defamation or false information. Organizations identify these as SLAPP suits—strategic lawsuits against public participation—designed to drain time and money through lengthy court processes rather than seek genuine redress. In recent cases, bank accounts have been frozen, forcing individuals to halt their work. The Federation for Environmental Conservation (FECON), Bloque Verde, and other groups link these incidents to broader institutional changes. The State of the Nation Report released this month documents sustained weakening of environmental bodies. Budget cuts and staff reductions at the Ministry of Environment and Energy (MINAE) and the National System of Conservation Areas (SINAC) have left larger protected areas with fewer resources. Policy shifts concentrate decision-making power while reducing scientific and community input. Activists argue this dismantling exposes water sources, forests, and biodiversity to greater risks. They point to rapid coastal development in areas like Guanacaste, where unplanned tourism strains wetlands and mangroves. Indigenous communities and rural defenders face added vulnerabilities, with reports of death threats tied to land recovery efforts. These pressures coincide with debates over resource extraction and regulatory rollbacks. Environmental organizations stress that protecting nature supports public health, jobs in sustainable tourism, and democratic rights. They maintain that freedom of expression and participation remain essential for holding projects accountable. Without stronger safeguards for defenders and reversal of institutional decline, groups warn that Costa Rica risks undermining its conservation achievements. They call for protocols to address threats, anti-SLAPP measures, and renewed commitment to environmental governance. Defending ecosystems, they say, equals defending the country’s future stability and justice. The post Costa Rica Environmentalists Face Rising Threats and Harassment appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

Is AI being shoved down your throat at work? Here’s how to fight back.

Your Mileage May Vary is an advice column offering you a unique framework for thinking through your moral dilemmas. It’s based on value pluralism, the idea that each of us has multiple values that are equally valid but that often conflict with each other. To submit a question, fill out this anonymous form. Here’s this week’s question from a […]

Is it possible to fight against the integration of AI in the workplace? Your Mileage May Vary is an advice column offering you a unique framework for thinking through your moral dilemmas. It’s based on value pluralism, the idea that each of us has multiple values that are equally valid but that often conflict with each other. To submit a question, fill out this anonymous form. Here’s this week’s question from a reader, condensed and edited for clarity. I’m an AI engineer working at a medium-sized ad agency, mostly on non-generative machine learning models (think ad performance prediction, not ad creation). Lately, it feels like people, specifically senior and mid-level managers who do not have engineering experience, are pushing the adoption and development of various AI tools. Honestly, it feels like an unthinking melee. I consider myself a conscientious objector to the use of AI, especially generative AI; I’m not fully opposed to it, but I constantly ask who actually benefits from the application of AI and what its financial, human, and environmental costs are beyond what is right in front of our noses. Yet, as a rank-and-file employee, I find myself with no real avenue to relay those concerns to people who have actual power to decide. Worse, I feel that even voicing such concerns, admittedly running against the almost blind optimism that I assume affects most marketing companies, is turning me into a pariah in my own workplace. So my question is this: Considering the difficulty of finding good jobs in AI, is it “worth it” trying to encourage critical AI use in my company, or should I tone it down if only to keep paying the bills? Dear Conscientious Objector, You’re definitely not alone in hating the uncritical rollout of generative AI. Lots of people hate it, from artists, to coders, to students. I bet there are people in your own company who hate it, too. But they’re not speaking up — and, of course, there’s a reason for that: They’re afraid to lose their jobs. Honestly, it’s a fair concern. And it’s the reason why I’m not going to advise you to stick your neck out and fight this crusade alone. If you as an individual object to your company’s AI use, you become legible to the company as a “problem” employee. There could be consequences to that, and I don’t want to see you lose your paycheck.  But I also don’t want to see you lose your moral integrity. You’re absolutely right to constantly ask who actually benefits from the unthinking application of AI and whether the benefits outweigh the costs.  So, I think you should fight for what you believe in — but fight as part of a collective. The real question here is not, “Should you voice your concerns about AI or stay quiet?” It’s, “How can you build solidarity with others who want to be part of a resistance movement with you?” Teaming up is both safer for you as an employee and more likely to have an impact. “The most important thing an individual can do is be somewhat less of an individual,” the environmentalist Bill McKibben once said. “Join together with others in movements large enough to have some chance at changing those political and economic ground rules that keep us locked on this current path.” Now, you know what word I’m about to say next, right? Unionize. If your workplace can be organized, that’ll be a key strategy for allowing you to fight AI policies you disagree with. If you need a bit of inspiration, look at what some labor unions have already achieved — from the Writers Guild of America, which won important protections around AI for Hollywood writers, to the Service Employees International Union, which negotiated with Pennsylvania’s governor to create a worker board overseeing the implementation of generative AI in government services. Meanwhile, this year saw thousands of nurses marching in the streets as National Nurses United pushed for the right to determine how AI does and doesn’t get used in patient interactions. “There’s a whole range of different examples where unions have been able to really be on the front foot in setting the terms for how AI gets used — and whether it gets used at all,” Sarah Myers West, co-executive director of the AI Now Institute, told me recently. If it’s too hard to get a union off the ground at your workplace, there are plenty of organizations you can join forces with. Check out the Algorithmic Justice League or Fight for the Future, which push for equitable and accountable tech. There are also grassroots groups like Stop Gen AI, which aims to organize both a resistance movement and a mutual aid program to help those who’ve lost work due to the AI rollout. You can also consider hyperlocal efforts, which have the benefit of creating community. One of the big ways those are showing up right now is in the fight against the massive buildout of energy-hungry data centers meant to power the AI boom.  “It’s where we have seen many people fighting back in their communities — and winning,” Myers West told me. “They’re fighting on behalf of their own communities, and working collectively and strategically to say, ‘We’re being handed a really raw deal here. And if you [the companies] are going to accrue all the benefits from this technology, you need to be accountable to the people on whom it’s being used.’” Already, local activists have blocked or delayed $64 billion worth of data center projects across the US, according to a study by Data Center Watch, a project run by AI research firm 10a Labs. Yes, some of those data centers may eventually get built anyway. Yes, fighting the uncritical adoption of AI can sometimes feel like you’re up against an undefeatable behemoth. But it helps to preempt discouragement if you take a step back to think about what it really looks like when social change is happening. In a new book, Somebody Should Do Something, three philosophers — Michael Brownstein, Alex Madva, and Daniel Kelly — show how anyone can help create social change. The key, they argue, is to realize that when we join forces with others, our actions can lead to butterfly effects:  Minor actions can set off cascades that lead, in a surprisingly short time, to major structural outcomes. This reflects a general feature of complex systems. Causal effects in such systems don’t always build on each other in a smooth or continuous way. Sometimes they build nonlinearly, allowing seemingly small events to produce disproportionately large changes.  The authors explain that, because society is a complex system, your actions aren’t a meaningless “drop in the bucket.” Adding water to a bucket is linear; each drop has equal impact. Complex systems behave more like heating water: Not every degree has the same effect, and the shift from 99°C to 100°C crosses a tipping point that triggers a phase change.  We all know the boiling point of water, but we don’t know the tipping point for changes in the social world. That means it’s going to be hard for you to tell, at any given moment, how close you are to creating a cascade of change. But that doesn’t mean change is not happening.  According to Harvard political scientist Erica Chenoweth’s research, if you want to achieve systemic social change, you need to mobilize 3.5 percent of the population around your cause. Though we have not yet seen AI-related protests on that scale, we do have data indicating the potential for a broad base. A full 50 percent of Americans are more concerned than excited about the rise of AI in daily life, according to a recent survey from the Pew Research Center. And 73 percent support robust regulation of AI, according to the Future of Life Institute.  So, even though you might feel alone in your workplace, there are people out there who share your concerns. Find your teammates. Come up with a positive vision for the future of tech. Then, fight for the future you want. Bonus: What I’m reading Microsoft’s announcement that it wants to build “humanist superintelligence” caught my eye. Whether you think that’s an oxymoron or not, I take it as a sign that at least some of the powerful players hear us when we say we want AI that solves real concrete problems for real flesh-and-blood people — not some fanciful AI god.  The Economist article “Meet the real screen addicts: the elderly” is so spot-on. When it comes to digital media, everyone is always worrying about The Youth, but I think not enough research has been devoted to the elderly, who are often positively glued to their devices.  Hallelujah, some AI researchers are finally adopting a pragmatic approach to the whole, “Can AI be conscious?” debate! I’ve long suspected that “conscious” is a pragmatic tool we use as a way of saying, “This thing should be in our moral circle,” so whether AI is conscious isn’t something we’ll discover — it’s something we’ll decide. 

Yurok tribal attorney chronicles family’s fight to save the Klamath River and a way of life

"Treat the earth, not as a resource, but as a relative," said Ashland resident Amy Bowers Cordalis, who has written a memoir about her family's generations-long efforts for the river that now flows freely.

As a University of Oregon student focused on politics and the environment, Amy Bowers Cordalis had every right to feel defeated in 2002 when she returned home and saw evidence of the largest salmon kill in the Klamath River.The lifelong fisherwoman and member of the Yurok Tribe learned the cause was avoidable: A federal order diverted water just as salmon were spawning. For generations, destructive dams, logging, mining and development had already impacted the ecosystem of the Klamath River, which once had the third largest salmon runs in all of the lower continental United States. Cordalis, then 22, decided to change course while she was in her boat, surveying the depth of the salmon die off.Now 45, the Ashland attorney, activist and environmental defender serves on the front lines of conservation. As lead lawyer for the Yurok Tribe, she was present at the signing of the agreement that in 2024 resulted in the Klamath River flowing freely from southern Oregon to Northern California for the first time in a century.The dismantling of four hydroelectric dams that had impacted ancestral lands, altered the ecology, degraded the water quality and disrupted once-prolific salmon runs is considered the world’s largest dam removal project.A month after the last dam was demolished, thousands of salmon, a cornerstone species for overall ecological health, began repopulating. “The salmon have come home,” Cordalis said. “We are starting to move back into balance.”In her just-released memoir, “The Water Remembers: My Indigenous Family’s Fight to Save a River and a Way of Life,” Cordalis tells the story of her family’s multigenerational struggle to protect the Klamath River and their legal successes to preserve the Yurok people’s sustainable relationship with nature. In 1973, her great-uncle Aawok Raymond Mattz forced the landmark Supreme Court case reaffirming the Yurok Tribe’s rights to land, water, fish and sovereignty. Cordalis devotes a chapter of her memoir to her great-grandmother Geneva’s protests in the 1970s, inspired by the Civil Rights movement, to end the Salmon Wars, the government’s crackdowns on tribal fishing rights.In 2019, Cordalis led the effort for the Yurok people to declare personhood rights for the Klamath River. For the first time, a North American river has legal right to flourish, free from human-caused climate change impacts and contamination.She also worked for the Yurok people to recover 73 square miles along the eastern side of the lower Klamath River, now known as Blue Creek Salmon Sanctuary and Yurok Tribal Community Forest.The area, logged for a century, was acquired over time by the environmental nonprofit Western Rivers Conservancy for $56 million. The transfer to the Yurok people in June is the largest single “land back” deal in California history.Cordalis continues to litigate to protect the rights of Indigenous people and the natural and cultural resources that are part of their identity and sovereignty. That includes salmon. She still works to save coho salmon, a listed Endangered Species Act species on the Klamath River. Through her former work as Yurok general counsel and an attorney at the Native American Rights Fund, and since 2020 as the executive director of the Ridges to Riffles Indigenous Conservation Group, Cordalis’ message is clear: Respect the earth. Listen to the rivers, protect the land.Treat the earth, Cordalis said, not as a resource, but as a relative. Changing courseAmy Bowers Cordalis and her siblings gillnet fishing at Brooks Riffle, Klamath River, 2023Little, Brown and CompanyIn 2002, Cordalis spent her summer break from college interning for Yurok Fisheries Department near her family’s ancestral home in the Northern California village of Rek-Woi.That September, she witnessed the salmon kill. Water diverted upstream to farmers and ranchers by federal orders had lowered the river flows, increased the water temperature and allowed diseases to spread to spawning salmon.Cordalis saw the salmon kill as ecocide, the end of a way of life for the Yurok people and destruction of their principles of respect, responsibility and reciprocity with all of creation. She vowed to fight through the courts, as her family had in the past. She earned a law degree at the University of Denver’s Sturm College of Law and became the Yurok Tribe’s general counsel.In 2020, she and other representatives of Native American communities with historic ties to the Klamath River faced the owner of the four hydroelectric dams: Berkshire Hathaway, one of the biggest and best known U.S. conglomerates.Its subsidiary, Berkshire Hathaway Energy, owns PacifiCorp, which operated the four Klamath River dams.The Indigenous-led coalition told the energy holding company’s executives they would never stop fighting for the river’s restoration. The meeting took place at Blue Creek, one of the most important tributaries on the Lower Klamath River and a salmon sanctuary with spiritual significance, recently returned to the Yurok Tribe.The coalition handed the executives a document that outlined the key terms and conditions of their proposed agreement. They talked about their proposal and then let the river speak for itself, according to Cordalis.The next business day, both parties were in discussion. In the end, the $550 million agreement to dismantle the aging dams cost less than it would to upgrade them to meet modern environmental standards.Cordalis said that the dam removal, one of the largest nature-based solution projects in the world thus far, can be replicated for environmental and economic gain.“When we choose to work together toward sustainability, we can create different outcomes that are better for the planet, better for people,” Cordalis said. “We don’t have to accept that the only path to prosperity is industrializing nature,” she said. “We can adjust our practices, find nature-based solutions” and continue to enjoy a modern lifestyle, while working to heal nature.This is a historic time, she said.“We are at a tipping point and what we do matters,” she said. Clean air and water, and natural, nutritious food are needed for life to survive.Ripple effects Cordalis’ work and motivations are captured in the 2024 Patagonia Films documentary, “Undammed: Amy Bowers Cordalis and the fight to free the Klamath,” which plays on a screen inside the Yurok Country Visitor Center in downtown Klamath, a small coastal city in California.Cordalis has been recognized by various groups for her involvement with the largest river restoration project in history. She received the United Nation’s highest environmental honor, UN Champion of the Earth, and was named 2024 Time magazine’s 100 most influential climate leaders. In October, she was announced as one of 10 change makers in the 20th L’Oreal Paris Women of Worth philanthropic program.The $25,000 award, given for her climate action work that fuses law, policy and Indigenous knowledge, will help Ridges to Riffles Indigenous Conservation Group, the nonprofit she co-founded in 2022 with Karuk Tribal member Molli Myers, continue to work on life-changing restoration projects. “The L’Oreal Paris Woman of Worth award is a tremendous opportunity because it will uplift our work and expand our partnerships,” Cordalis said. “The power of being in partnership, collaborating and combining resources and efforts, expands and strengthens the scope of all of our work.”She said one of her greatest joys is hearing about people restoring nature in their community and the worldwide “ripple effects” of those efforts.Cordalis titled her book “The Water Remembers” because the river and people remember the salmon. “We have ancestral knowledge about what it was like to live on a healthy planet,” she said. When the Klamath River’s ecosystem started collapsing, “that put us into this culture of scarcity,” she said. “Rebuilding ecosystem resiliency lets us recover from the colonial period and move toward a culture of abundance.”Today, tribal members are restoring the Klamath River’s almost 400 miles of historic salmon spawning habitat. Revegetation efforts include hand planting native seeds, trees, shrubs and grasses. “When we rebuild salmon runs, we help the ocean, the river, humans and all the creatures who are dependent upon the salmon,” Cordalis said.She writes in her book that the Yurok people are observing the river healing by spending time on it, listening to it.“And when we start using nature-based solutions to restore ecosystems those solutions work their magic,” she said, “and the salmon come home in a blink of an eye.”If you purchase a product or register for an account through a link on our site, we may receive compensation. 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COP30 has big plans to save the rainforest. Indigenous activists say it’s not enough

“We need the government to recognize our climate authority and our role as guardians of biodiversity.”

On Friday, at least 100 Indigenous protestors blocked the entrance to the 30th Annual United Nations Climate Change Conference, or COP30, in Belém, Brazil. The action comes on the heels of an action earlier this week when hundreds of Indigenous peoples marched into the conference, clashing with security, and pushing their way through metal detectors while calling on negotiators to protect their lands. These actions brought Indigenous voices to the front steps of this year’s global climate summit — where discussions now, and historically, have generally excluded Indigenous peoples and perspectives. World leaders have attempted to acknowledge this omission: Brazil’s president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva said Indigenous voices should “inspire” COP30, and the host country announced two new plans to protect tropical forests and enshrine Indigenous people’s land rights. But demonstrations like this week’s show even these measures are designed with little input from those affected, garnering criticism. Preserving the Amazon rainforest is critical to mitigating climate change and protecting biodiversity. How this is done is one of the key issues being raised at COP30. Upon the kickoff of the conference, Brazil announced the Tropical Forests Forever Facility, or TFFF, part of a plan to create new financial incentives to protect tropical forest lands in as many as 74 countries, including its own.  The Tropical Forests Forever Facility has been touted as one of Brazil’s new marquee policies for combating the climate crisis. It also potentially represents an opportunity for Brazil to position itself as a leader on environmental conservation and Indigenous rights. The country has had a historically poor track record on rainforest conservation: By some estimates, 13 percent of the original Amazon forest has been lost to deforestation. In Brazil, much of that happens because of industrial agriculture — specifically, cattle ranching and soy production. Research has shown 70 percent of Amazon land cleared is used for cattle pastures. Brazil is the world’s lead exporter of beef and soy, with China as its top consumer for both products.  The TFFF marks an attempt to flip the economics of extractive industry — by paying governments every year their deforestation rate is 0.5 percent or lower. It also attempts to highlight the role Indigenous communities already play in stewarding these lands, although critics say it does not go far enough on either goal.  Under the TFFF, which will be hosted by the World Bank, Brazil seeks to raise $25 billion in investments from other countries as well as philanthropic organizations — and then take that money and grow it four-fold in the bond market. The goal is to create a $125 billion investment fund to be used to reward governments for preserving their standing tropical forest lands. One condition of receiving this funding is that governments must then pass on 20 percent to Indigenous people and local communities. Security personnel clash with Indigenous people and students as they storm the venue during COP30 in Belem, Para State, Brazil, on November 11, 2025. Olga Leiria / AFP via Getty Images The idea underlying the fund is that the TFFF could make leaving tropical forests alone more financially lucrative than tearing them down. In the global climate finance market, there aren’t currently any mechanisms that value “tropical forests and rainforests as the global public good that they are,” said Toerris Jaeger, director of the Rainforest Foundation Norway. These ecosystems “need to be maintained and maintained standing and that is what TFFF does,” he added. But critics say that TFFF merely represents another attempt to tie the value of these critical ecosystems to financial markets. “You cannot put a price on a conserved forest because life cannot be measured, and the Amazon is life for the thousands of beings who inhabit it and depend on it to exist,” said Toya Manchineri, an Indigenous leader from the Manchineri people of Brazil. Manchineri is also the general coordinator of the Coordination of Indigenous Organizations of the Brazilian Amazon. He added that setting aside 20 percent of TFFF funds for Indigenous communities is a good start, but that figure could be much higher.  Other COP30 attendees have criticized the plan for trying to fight the profit-driven industries that lead to deforestation with a profit motive. “The TFFF isn’t a climate proposal, but it’s another false solution to the planetary crises of biodiversity loss, forest loss, and climate collapse,” said Mary Lou Malig, policy director of the Global Forest Coalition. “It’s another way to profit off the problems that these same actors like the big banks and powerful governments and corporations actually created.”  But the performance of the TFFF is contingent on market fluctuations, risk, and the global economy’s health each year. How much governments — and Indigenous peoples — receive each year depends on how well the market does that year.  Manchineri added that the global climate policy to protect tropical forests should do more to recognize the role that Indigenous peoples play in defending it from illegal land grabs that drive deforestation. These communities “will continue to protect” the rainforest, said Manchineri, “with or without a fund. But we need the government to recognize our climate authority and our role as guardians of biodiversity.”  Prior to COP30, Brazil and nine other tropical countries joined the Intergovernmental Land Tenure Commitment, or ILTC, a global initiative to recognize Indigenous land tenure and rights to defend against deforestation and provide a potential backstop on the ground to support efforts like the TFFF. According to Juan Carlos Jintiach, the executive secretary of the Global Alliance of Territorial Communities, this commitment and the accompanying $1.8 billion Forest and Land Tenure Pledge that will support these land recognition efforts are “most welcome.” However, meaningful progress among participating countries entails establishing monitoring instruments that account for and ensure Indigenous peoples see the funds and see their rights recognized.  “We cannot have climate adaptation, climate mitigation, or climate justice without territorial land rights and the recognition and demarcation of indigenous territory,” said Zimyl Adler, a senior policy advocate on forests, land, and climate finance at Friends of the Earth U.S.  But evidence of that recognition is scarce. Under the Paris Agreement, signatory states are required to submit climate action plans called Nationally Determined Contributions, or NDCs. A recent report from global experts that reviewed NDCs from 85 countries found that only 20 of those countries referenced the rights of Indigenous peoples and that only five mentioned Free, Prior, and Informed Consent — an international consultation principle that allows Indigenous Peoples to provide, withhold, or withdraw their consent at any time in projects that impact their communities or territories.  “It was a real missed opportunity to strengthen those commitments to land rights and tenure,” said Kate Dooley, a researcher at the University of Melbourne and an author of the Land Gap report.  As the conference will continue for another week, the protests have raised questions about the distinction between climate talks and action, and whether this year’s COP will translate into the latter for Indigenous communities who see deforestation and weak land tenure rights as immediate threats to their lives and homes.  “We don’t eat money. We want our territory free,” said Cacique Gilson, a Tupinmbá leader who participated in one protest. “But the business of oil exploration, mineral exploitation, and logging continues.”  This story was originally published by Grist with the headline COP30 has big plans to save the rainforest. Indigenous activists say it’s not enough on Nov 14, 2025.

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