This is Pollution Prevention Week and advocates are renewing their call for one plastics manufacturer to clean up its act.

An August demonstration at Formosa Plastics' New Jersey headquarters saw protesters demanding the multinational company compensate victims of a 2016 environmental disaster in Vietnam, restore the affected land and cancel proposed expansions in Texas and Louisiana. Activists from around the country participated, including representatives from GreenFaith, a multifaith climate justice organization.

Rev. Fletcher Harper, executive director of GreenFaith, said many Formosa Plastics' manufacturing locations have a long and well documented record of toxic contamination.

"The pollution has severe health impacts on residents of communities," Harper pointed out. "The company does nothing to respond in terms of changing the way that it operates, increasing its commitment to safety."

In a statement via email, Formosa Plastics U.S.A. said it is committed to conducting business in a manner which is environmentally responsible and in compliance with applicable U.S. regulations.

Expansion plans in Louisiana involve a new petrochemical complex with 14 individual plants covering more than 2,000 acres along the Mississippi. The $9.4 billion complex would be located in Saint James Parish.

In a June letter to the Louisiana Department of Environmental Quality, environmental law advocates said the department must deny Clean Air Act mandated operating permit renewals to Formosa Plastics based on their own emissions data. The letter cited data-based air modeling showing the complex would exacerbate violations of the recently updated Environmental Protection Agency air quality standards for fine particulate matter or soot.

Harper noted the human and environmental toll taken by such facilities is huge.

"You see different forms of cancer; you see air pollution that fails to meet health and safety standards," Harper outlined. "You see water pollution, contamination of soil that impacts food that people grow. So you see this at a widespread level, in the communities adjacent to the Formosa Plastics petrochemical plants and in the surrounding areas as well."

Saint James Parish is already considered to be part of "Cancer Alley," an 85-mile stretch of land along the Mississippi where rates of cancer are significantly higher than the national average. The area is home to more than 200 petrochemical plants.

In 2019, Formosa Plastics reached a $50 million settlement after its Port Comfort, Texas, facility dumped billions of plastics pellets and other pollutants into Lavaca Bay, the largest Clean Water Act settlement in history.

The company also agreed to reach "zero discharge" of plastic waste from the facility. Despite its promises, since 2020 the Port Comfort location has been cited for nearly 600 violations and assessed more than $15 million in additional penalties.

Given the company's plans to also expand its Port Comfort facility, Harper emphasized advocates are calling on banks to divest.

"We have called on Citibank and other major U.S. banks, many of which are financing Formosa Plastics' activities, to stop investing and to stop financing," Harper explained. "Because of the negligence of the operation and because of the impact on the community."

In February, environmental officials in Texas issued a draft permit allowing the local river authority to construct an off-channel lake to enable the expansion of the Port Comfort facility. The reservoir would be permitted to divert up to 31 billion gallons from the Lavaca River each year. Public comment on the draft permit is ongoing, with a public meeting scheduled for next week.

Low-income Latino communities often bear the brunt of wildfires, so the Hispanic Access Foundation offers a wildfire management toolkit and video series to help families and policymakers prepare.

So far this year, more than 1 million acres have burned in wildland fires in California, more than three times what was lost in 2023.

Hilda Berganza, climate manager for the Hispanic Access Foundation, said Latinos who work outside in agriculture or construction are at high risk from the smoke.

"When there's a wildfire near, they don't stop working, either because they're not allowed to or because they don't know," Berganza explained. "Lung cancer, asthma rates are going up. There are now links to neurological disease and cardiovascular diseases, all from the wildfire smoke and different air pollutants."

Latinos are also less likely than their white neighbors to have home or renter's insurance, so losses hit harder. They are less likely to have a car to make a quick escape, and may not be able to afford a hotel in case of an evacuation.

Berganza argued agencies should partner with trusted local community groups and Spanish-language radio stations to make sure the language barrier does not delay crucial information.

"The Red Cross has an application on the phones where they're sending out alerts," Berganza observed. "While that is a good thing to use technology, a lot of Latinos actually don't have access to internet and or don't have smartphones because they're more expensive."

The toolkit's authors encouraged lawmakers to fully fund programs to allow low-income communities to reduce wildfire risk and programs to help families recover after a natural disaster.

By Grace Hussain for Sentient.
Broadcast version by Shanteya Hudson for Georgia News Connection reporting for the Sentient-Public News Service Collaboration

In April 2019, Chris Eubanks, head of the animal rights group Apex Advocacy, chanted along with a group of other activists in front of the city government building in Lithonia, Georgia. The local activists had been campaigning to shut down Bradford’s Livestock — a backyard slaughterhouse operated in the center of their small, predominantly Black community — since 2014. Eubanks joined in 2021, lending Apex’s resources and giving the campaign a highly needed energy boost. Right down the street from the public school and around the block from a church, the facility killed roughly 100 animals every month.

Though local to the area, Eubanks had been completely unaware of the campaign. “I’ve been doing this for years,” he tells Sentient. Yet the presence of the backyard slaughterhouse in the small Atlanta suburb caught even Eubanks by surprise. “I didn’t realize that there was a slaughterhouse five minutes from where I live[d].”

Late last year, the coalition finally accomplished their goal, thanks in part to Apex Advocacy. For Eubanks, his prior lack of awareness that there was a slaughterhouse in his backyard is indicative of a larger issue within the animal rights movement: not paying close enough attention to Black and Brown communities, and the issues they face.

By the time Eubanks entered the picture, community activists like Jan Costello had already been campaigning for years. In addition to her activism, Costello was working with the community development corporation at the time, encouraging new businesses to move to the area. Despite activists’ dedication, they struggled to overcome the numerous roadblocks they faced, largely due to a lack of time and resources to dedicate toward their campaign — the two things Apex Advocacy was poised to provide.

Grassroots Activists Working in Tandem With Community Members

In the years before Eubanks got involved, local activists attended council meetings, maintained an email list of more than 1,000 community members, kept meticulous records of exactly what the facility was doing and spoke to neighbors about the slaughterhouse operating in their backyards, says Costello. Their tactics relied heavily on the fact that the slaughterhouse was violating zoning laws by being located in a residential neighborhood.

Their efforts helped get the facility slapped with a cease and desist order from the county’s Department of Planning in 2019, but because the facility had a license from the state’s Department of Agriculture, it continued to operate, killing thousands more animals.

Problematic Optics

When Eubanks saw coverage of the situation on a local news channel, he knew he had to help. The news segment made it look like locals were “trying to take advantage of a small, Black business owner,” says Eubanks, and there was much more going on. “The news coverage didn’t help as much as the advocates in the community thought it would.”

What it did do was grab Eubanks’ attention, leading him to reach out to Costello.

“He brought in so much energy and advocacy at a point when we were just basically doing the same old thing,” Costello says. By leveraging Apex Advocacy’s network, the activists were able to flood officials’ emails with thousands of messages. “Although we got support from the outside, the foundation was community-based,” says Eubanks.

Focusing on Zoning Violations, Not Animal Rights

Despite most of the core group of advocates being animal rights activists, “we were just focusing on the zoning aspect of the law,” says Costello. “We were very careful not to turn this into an argument about the slaughtering of animals for consumption,” she continues, “because that wasn’t the law. [Bradford] could do that business, but just not there in the neighborhood.”

The major roadblock to their success came via the very legal system they relied upon to shutter the slaughterhouse due to zoning violations. Part of the problem was that the state issued the facility a license to operate as a custom exempt processing facility — meaning they couldn’t sell meat. “The slaughterhouse owner was able to use the loophole that he wasn’t selling meat, but selling the service of killing animals,” says Eubanks.

As critics pointed out, the facility was in fact offering entire animals for sale via Facebook. While the license didn’t remedy the local zoning problem, it did lend some legitimacy to the slaughterhouse’s operations — a fact the facility took full advantage of.

In response to the 2019 cease and desist order from the county, Bradford’s Livestock sued in 2020, arguing they had the right to use the land the way they saw fit. The legal team did their best to drag the case out as long as possible by repeatedly filing for extensions — an effort made easier by COVID. Dekalb county filed a motion to dismiss the lawsuit in June 2020.

While the case was decided, the slaughterhouse continued to operate, killing thousands more animals, according to the activists’ records. “When you’re trying to advocate for something that’s right, and it takes that long to get action, you create and breed cynicism in your group of supporters,” says Costello.

Activists Believe Race Drew the Closure Out

Eubanks suspects his joining the campaign leant it additional legitimacy within the community. “I think it was an opportunity to show that this isn’t a group of white people attacking a Black business, because that was the narrative beforehand,” he says.

Still, one factor that Eubanks believes heavily influenced the lack of urgency to get the slaughterhouse closed was race. Lithonia is “a small, Black community,” says Eubanks. “We really do believe that if this had been another community, a more affluent community, it would have definitely been shut down,” he says. “If this had been a more powerful community this would have been an issue that was shut down immediately.”

The lack of attention paid to Black and Brown communities has been an issue for social movements for generations. Environmental groups often ignore Indigenous communities, feminists often ignore Black women and animal rights advocates often overlook slaughterhouses in majority-Black neighborhoods.

“The animal rights community needs to make sure that we are not operating in a bubble and that we are pulling in the people,” Eubanks says. In recent years, the animal rights movement has shifted toward paying more attention to inclusion, with many organizations being more intentional about issues of equity and justice in how they allocate their resources.

Meanwhile, recent research suggests that animal-centered protests may actually backfire, leading some activists to shift towards putting the emphasis on arguments other than animal rights — such as zoning laws. 

Part of the evolving movement is also about increasing buy-in from Black and Brown communities. Apex recently launched a movement guide on why food systems issues are specifically important to marginalized racial groups, and if animal rights groups want to be more effective, they’d be wise to take note.


Grace Hussain wrote this article for Sentient.


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The Environmental Protection Agency has banned the pesticide dacthal, frequently used on farms in West Virginia and other states.

Mounting evidence shows the chemical affects the thyroid system of pregnant women, and is linked to babies born with low birth weight, bone problems, and reduced IQ.

The EPA first issued a warning about the pesticide earlier this year, and temporarily suspended its use over the summer. The agency became concerned about Dacthal, also known as DCPA, around 2013.

The EPA instructed the company that produces it to study its impact on human health.

Bill Jordan volunteers with the Environmental Protection Network, and is former deputy director of the EPA's Office of Pesticide Programs.

"The action EPA took, with regard to DCPA, is really bold and really aggressive," said Jordan. "This is the first time in nearly 40 years that EPA has issued an emergency suspension order."

Dacthal is commonly used to kill weeds on crops like cabbage, onions, broccoli, and brussels sprouts. Farmworkers, particularly those who are pregnant, are at high risk.

First registered for use as a pesticide in 1958, people also spray Dacthal on parks, athletic fields, and other public spaces.

Jordan said he expects Dacthal to be out of the nation's food system by the end of next year, but said regulators have their work cut out for them when it comes to investigating pesticide safety.

"They've got a huge amount of work to do, to re-examine - as the law requires - all registered pesticides within a 15 year period," said Jordan. "And every year, Congress is cutting back on the resources that EPA has to do that."

Research shows widespread pesticide use is linked to the rise in cancer rates, and the decline in soil health and biodiversity.

Dacthal is just one active ingredient among thousands, in more than 17,000 pesticide products in the U.S. according to the group Beyond Pesticides.





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