Ash and Ember: Where Climate and Racial Justice Intersect
By Isabella Balbi
Graphic by Jas Calcitas
On an afternoon in August, California skylines split at the seams and burst open with flashes of searing hot light that stretched across NorCal’s rolling hills. The storms spawned wildfires and a scale of devastation the likes of which the state had never seen before, turning a once picturesque landscape into a charred, apocalyptic scene that seemed to echo the never ending havoc that has defined 2020. The C.Z.U., L.N.U., and S.C.U. Lightning Complex fires were contained, but the mutated ruins left in their wake are gruesome reminders of the gross political ineptitude that initially caused their destruction. In the Bay area, you can still look up and see a burnt orange horizon, thick with plumes of smoke, interspersed with bits of ash. That's the thing about environmental negligence - it’s all consuming. It’s permeating through the air, even when you think you can’t see it. If the fires have done anything, it's made this haze visible. They have unveiled the instability of environmental infrastructure built on the backs of marginalized communities, showing the rest of the nation what many BIPOC have always known: Capitalist and Colonialist systems that prioritize profit over people will always result in widespread devastation.
These fires, while unprecedented, are definitively far from unanticipated. The lightning strikes were just a climax set off by a series of cascading national failures and a consistent lack of regard for climate justice. Environmental protection rollbacks, the constant expansion of urban sprawl fueled by multiple housing crises, and the mismanagement of native land have all congealed to create a monstrosity of an environmental crisis - one that’s deliberately impacted people of color the most. Throughout the blaze, Black and Brown bodies have consistently been on the frontlines, working to counteract the environmental injustices that affect their communities at a disproportionate rate, forcing many to reevaluate what climate justice really means. In a movement that has been co-opted by White activists shoving metal straws down the throat of a populace who can’t afford to buy zero waste, the neoliberal fantasy of individual accountability has continued to dominate discussions about sustainability. The reality is that while ethical consumerism and conscious consumption are noble pursuits, they’re not going to solve the problem. These narratives also rarely take into consideration the socioeconomic barriers that prevent many from leading a “sustainable” lifestyle, all while neglecting to consider the ways in which racial and climate justice intersect.
Now, in the midst of a global pandemic that has hit communities of color the hardest, the ability to breathe for many BIPOC has once again been compromised. As the state works to contain the fires with prison labor, incarcerated individuals have been at the forefront of fire lines, fighting to contain the blaze while putting their already compromised health and safety at risk for an average of $3 an hour. The state’s reliance on slave labor, fueled by a prison industrial complex that overtly targets people of color, has also incited the decision to keep many immunocompromised inmates in prisons across California - against warnings from public health officials urging for their release. As a result, incarcerated people have been contracting COVID-19 at a rate that’s five times higher than the nation's overall average. CalFire even admitted that they were severely underprepared to manage the wildfires because the majority of their first responders were incarcerated people who were too sick with COVID to battle them.
The inmate laborers who are well enough to work will inevitably face discriminatory hiring policies after their release, denying them the ability to pursue a career with CalFire in the future, despite the extensive training and grueling experience they have accumulated. The simple deduction is that policymakers love to profit off of prison labor when it’s convenient, but are reluctant to hire anyone with a record because it would mean paying them a living wage. The result of the state’s incessant commodification of Black and Brown bodies? A state of emergency, a labor shortage, and acres upon acres of mass destruction.
In Californian fields, migrant laborers continue to cultivate the land under brutal heat and toxic smoke, without fair wages or proper protective equipment. Many are undocumented, without health insurance, and ineligible for government assistance. Some are from Indigenous communities with different sets of linguistic and cultural backgrounds, meaning they face even greater barriers to accessing resources or reporting labor abuses. Overlooked, overworked, and underpaid, these workers face concurrent crises as the perpetual threat to their most basic human right looms - the ability to breath, and the right to live.
These injustices are only a few examples of the many forms of environmental racism embedded into the structure of modern climate policy. The entirety of California’s ecological history is marred by settler colonialism; the displacement of Indigenous populations, as well as the consistent disregard for their ecological knowledge and cultural land stewardship has directly catalyzed this environmental catastrophe. For decades, California outlawed the traditional fire mitigation strategies sacred to native communities, such as controlled burns. Deliberately setting prescribed fires helped clear away dry vegetation, reducing the amount of kindling available during a wildfire, while also encouraging new plant growth. But the practice of cultural burns dissipated as Western settlers forcibly removed tribes from their land and banned religious ceremonies. Instead, state authorities focused on extinguishing fires as quickly as they could, creating overgrown forests that fostered more extreme burns. It's in this sense that the historic oppression of Indigenous culture as well as enduring attitudes about fire suppression have only worsened the risk for wildfires in California landscapes that are already being ravaged by climate change. The latest fires may have been set off by lightning strikes, but their destruction is only the culmination of a multitude of longstanding sociopolitical injustices. The burns may be “unprecedented”, but their carnage feels predetermined.
Looking outside at an apocalyptic sky - seeing the air thick with a permeating sense of fragility: it’s overwhelming, it’s scary, and it feels so easy to give into cynicism and say “fuck 2020”. But the environmental complexes that have created an inhospitable planet are not unique to this year, and they’re not going to magically disappear at midnight on December 31st. Breathe in deep, choke on the ash, and realize that the engulfing feeling of hopelessness only means we have to try harder. We can’t keep relying on metal straws and reusable grocery bags to save us, because they won’t. Under an infrastructure that has no regard for the environment or BIPOC lives, true sustainability will always remain unattainable. Long-term sustainability will require corporate accountability and political efficacy. It will take comprehensive climate policy that recognizes the environmental injustices that take a disproportionate toll across racial and class divides. It will require that we center people of color in conversations about climate justice, instead of continuing to profit off of their intellectual, emotional, and physical labor without proper compensation or recognition. It will mean putting in the work to ensure that individual accountability goes beyond simply recycling. It will mean creating mutual aid funds, redistributing your own wealth and paying reparations, signing petitions, contacting representatives and participating in protests. Breathe in again, clear your throat, and try to see the stars through the smoke. Try to find some small solace in all the destruction, and hope that this is the wake up call that can create tangible change.
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