Let’s begin by calling the Flint water crisis in Michigan what it is: environmental classism. Some might call it environmental racism. But since racism, classism, and poverty usually slither together to choke the human breath out of those who must try to survive them, the label doesn’t matter much. Flint is one of the poorest and blackest cities in America, with 57 percent of its residents black and a poverty rate that hovers around 40 percent.
For purposes of this discussion, consider the following excerpt from an article from Weavenews.org, a blog on global street culture, but substitute the word “class” when you read “race,” and you’ll get my drift.
“Environmental racism is policy or practice that differentially affects or disadvantages (intentionally or unintentionally) individuals, groups, or communities because of their race and/or class. Poor communities and communities of color often experience disproportionate impacts of environmental hazards.”
As a proud former Michigan resident, the atrocity that is happening in Flint sickens me. How, how, could anyone with the knowledge of the ongoing toxicity of the water not act? Where were the folks who had the power to stand up and scream, “This water is poisoning brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, children and grandparents”? In fact, 6,000 children under the age of six have been endangered by the amount of lead in their drinking water. These aren’t simply faceless sub-humans. They are us.
With each piece of breaking news about this travesty, the extent and gravity of environmental classism is further exposed. For instance, as early as January 2015, Michigan officials were arranging for coolers of purified water in Flint’s State Office Building, so employees wouldn’t have to drink from the taps. Caleb Buhs, a spokesman for the Michigan Department of Technology Management and Budget, said the water coolers were provided in response to the Flint’s health notice in late December or early January, which he acknowledged was about a contamination issue the city said had already subsided. The state continued to provide the coolers of purified water, right up to today, because “there were more findings as we went along,” Buhs said.
Make no mistake, this certainly wasn’t out of the goodness of the hearts of Gov. Rick Snyder and his chiefs. Rather, it has since come to light that the move to supply the coolers was to limit the liability of the state to lawsuits by employee unions that were becoming increasingly alarmed at the working conditions their members were experiencing in Flint.
The Flint water crisis is simply the latest quagmire of deceit, dishonesty, and callous disdain for human suffering that falls heavily on the shoulders of the vulnerable. One only needs to look for evidence of other water crises in our country to understand that they appear almost exclusively in large cities east of the Mississippi that have significant populations of color and poverty. For example, Columbia, South Carolina in 2005; Durham and Greenville, North Carolina in 2006; and Jackson, Mississippi in 2015. All have a greater percentage of their residents living below the poverty level than the national average for cities of comparable size.
The problem with the water in Flint, simply stated, is that it is so corrosive that it is leaching lead from the pipes that carry it from the Flint River to residences and businesses. The water is so bad, in fact, that in October 2014, a General Motors plant located on the outskirts of Flint that used the Flint River water paid to have its water source reconnected to the Detroit River. The car parts being washed with Flint River water were being damaged to the point that they couldn’t be used. You read that right: the water was corroding metal, and yet the citizens were still being told that their water was safe to drink.
To add insult to injury, Flint residents are still being held responsible for their water bills, despite the fact that they are paying for something that they cannot use. The Flint City Council as recently as last week entertained the idea of asking the City of Flint administration to stop billing citizens for water that is dangerous to their health. Note that this is coming from the council in the form of a request, not a demand.
Unfortunately, the council itself has little authority. The City of Flint Administration is overseen by the Receivership Transition Advisory Board, which took over governance of the city when the emergency manager, appointed by the governor, left in April 2015. To many who are watching the happenings in Flint with an increasing sense of horror, it is apparent that the Receivership Transition Advisory Board, with no apparent skin in the game, is largely to blame for the appallingly slow response to the crisis.
And there is one more glaring fact that makes the Flint water crisis so tragic. To fix pipes is going to take more money that the city of Flint can possibly ever hope to get its hands on. By one estimate, is will cost approximately $3,000 to dig up and replace each 40-foot section of pipe. There are about 20,000 feet of service line pipe in the city itself. The cost? $60 million. That’s to repair the service lines. That figure doesn’t includes money to repair the water heaters, faucets, and pipes laid in residences prior to 1986, when lead pipes were banned. Where will that money come from?
So far, the governor in his State of the State Address has apologized to Flint residents and pledged to pony up $28 million to remedy the problem. Weak? Pathetic? Disgraceful? Choose your adjective.
Here’s the nut of this whole mess. Power in America flows from money. Nothing more or less. People who live in poverty have no power because they have no money. They aren’t fortunate enough to be state workers who have drinking water shipped to their workplaces because they are represented by powerful unions. Nor are they GM, who can simply ante up the dough to change water sources. They are at the mercy of those with the money, and as the situation in Flint so sadly demonstrates, money speaks only for those who have it.
One must wonder how long this crisis would have continued had it not come to the attention of the media. Say what you will about filmmaker and activist (and Flint citizen, by the way) Michael Moore, but his voice was one of the reasons this nation turned its eyes to Flint.
We cannot turn away no matter how long it takes to make this right for those who live and work in Flint. We simply can’t ignore environmental classism anymore—not if we are to consider ourselves a nation with a heart.
