In the midst of the COVID pandemic, I pause to celebrate this week’s decision by developers to cancel the Atlantic Coast Pipeline. I stand in solidarity with communities that have been fighting the project for years. Their hard work and optimism are remarkable, and I am convinced that these communities helped tip the scales against a project with powerful corporate and political backing.
The pipeline was intended to transport at least 1.5 billion cubic feet of shale gas daily from fracking operations in Appalachia to endpoints in Virginia and North Carolina. The two energy holding companies developing the pipeline had reserved most of the gas for their affiliated electric utilities, and they had hailed it as critical, job-creating infrastructure. Despite any perceived benefits of the plan, at least two insurmountable problems plagued the Atlantic Coast Pipeline from day one.
The pipeline was intended to transport at least 1.5 billion cubic feet of shale gas daily from fracking operations in Appalachia to endpoints in Virginia and North Carolina. The two energy holding companies developing the pipeline had reserved most of the gas for their affiliated electric utilities, and they had hailed it as critical, job-creating infrastructure. Despite any perceived benefits of the plan, at least two insurmountable problems plagued the Atlantic Coast Pipeline from day one.
Environmental Justice and Indigenous Rights
First, the Atlantic Coast Pipeline was planned and permitted without properly acknowledging or addressing disproportionately high and adverse impacts on low-income and racially marginalized communities along the proposed route. Federal environmental justice policy requires pipeline regulators to disclose these impacts and to make good faith attempts to address them. Neither happened here.
Compared to the surrounding region, Native Americans made up an unexpectedly large fraction of the population impacted by the Atlantic Coast Pipeline. Specifically, Native Americans were more than 1.5 times more likely to live in the pipeline’s impact area than elsewhere in the counties along the route, and they were approximately seven times more likely to live in the pipeline’s impact area than elsewhere in the three-state region. These racial disparities are based on raw data provided by federal regulators, but analyzed improperly during the environmental review. As a result, regulators concluded there would be no disproportionately high or adverse impacts on Native Americans or other racial minorities.
These disparities had major implications for Tribal nations. The pipeline’s southern terminus was planned for Prospect, a predominantly Lumbee community in Robeson County (NC). On its way to Prospect, the pipeline route traversed territories of the Haliwa-Saponi, Coharie, and Meherrin Tribes in North Carolina and territories of multiple Tribes in Virginia, yet decision-makers did not seek the free, prior, and informed consent of these Tribes or engage with them in ways that respected the rights of Tribal nations to shape the future of their own territories. Although federal guidance recommends consulting with all Indigenous peoples, regulators are only legally bound to consult with federally recognized Tribes. Nearly all of the Tribes affected by this project are state recognized - but they are not federally recognized. These Tribes had important knowledge and perspectives to share during the environmental decision-making process, but they were not given opportunities to participate in ways that acknowledged or respected them as Native nations and stewards of lands where the pipeline would have been built.
Moreover, two of the pipeline’s three compressor stations – massive industrial engines designed to pump gas through the pipeline 24/7 – were planned for predominantly African American communities in Buckingham County (VA) and Northampton County (NC). I didn’t think that decision-makers properly took into account racial disparities in the permitting of either compressor station. In one case that went to court, federal judges agreed. It is important to recognize that the US has a history of siting polluting or dangerous infrastructure in marginalized communities. Unless we pay closer attention to socioeconomic data and many other types of information during planning and permitting, we are likely to reinforce the status quo.
Although the pipeline would have served utility customers across North Carolina and Virginia, its risks and burdens would have fallen disproportionately on Black and Native communities. Federal regulators had opportunities to identify and address these issues during the permitting process, but they did not. Regulators also had opportunities to consult with Tribal nations but did not. Developers, for their part, could have avoided such disparities in the first place through more careful planning. Collectively, serious issues of racial disparities in pipeline routing and failure to incorporate Tribal perspectives into decision-making created an unjust situation.
I summarized these issues in several public talks and academic seminars. The recording below is from one of those talks, given at the Duke University Franklin Humanities Institute in 2019.
First, the Atlantic Coast Pipeline was planned and permitted without properly acknowledging or addressing disproportionately high and adverse impacts on low-income and racially marginalized communities along the proposed route. Federal environmental justice policy requires pipeline regulators to disclose these impacts and to make good faith attempts to address them. Neither happened here.
Compared to the surrounding region, Native Americans made up an unexpectedly large fraction of the population impacted by the Atlantic Coast Pipeline. Specifically, Native Americans were more than 1.5 times more likely to live in the pipeline’s impact area than elsewhere in the counties along the route, and they were approximately seven times more likely to live in the pipeline’s impact area than elsewhere in the three-state region. These racial disparities are based on raw data provided by federal regulators, but analyzed improperly during the environmental review. As a result, regulators concluded there would be no disproportionately high or adverse impacts on Native Americans or other racial minorities.
These disparities had major implications for Tribal nations. The pipeline’s southern terminus was planned for Prospect, a predominantly Lumbee community in Robeson County (NC). On its way to Prospect, the pipeline route traversed territories of the Haliwa-Saponi, Coharie, and Meherrin Tribes in North Carolina and territories of multiple Tribes in Virginia, yet decision-makers did not seek the free, prior, and informed consent of these Tribes or engage with them in ways that respected the rights of Tribal nations to shape the future of their own territories. Although federal guidance recommends consulting with all Indigenous peoples, regulators are only legally bound to consult with federally recognized Tribes. Nearly all of the Tribes affected by this project are state recognized - but they are not federally recognized. These Tribes had important knowledge and perspectives to share during the environmental decision-making process, but they were not given opportunities to participate in ways that acknowledged or respected them as Native nations and stewards of lands where the pipeline would have been built.
Moreover, two of the pipeline’s three compressor stations – massive industrial engines designed to pump gas through the pipeline 24/7 – were planned for predominantly African American communities in Buckingham County (VA) and Northampton County (NC). I didn’t think that decision-makers properly took into account racial disparities in the permitting of either compressor station. In one case that went to court, federal judges agreed. It is important to recognize that the US has a history of siting polluting or dangerous infrastructure in marginalized communities. Unless we pay closer attention to socioeconomic data and many other types of information during planning and permitting, we are likely to reinforce the status quo.
Although the pipeline would have served utility customers across North Carolina and Virginia, its risks and burdens would have fallen disproportionately on Black and Native communities. Federal regulators had opportunities to identify and address these issues during the permitting process, but they did not. Regulators also had opportunities to consult with Tribal nations but did not. Developers, for their part, could have avoided such disparities in the first place through more careful planning. Collectively, serious issues of racial disparities in pipeline routing and failure to incorporate Tribal perspectives into decision-making created an unjust situation.
I summarized these issues in several public talks and academic seminars. The recording below is from one of those talks, given at the Duke University Franklin Humanities Institute in 2019.
Climate Concerns
The second problem involves the Atlantic Coast Pipeline’s large greenhouse gas footprint. The global climate science community has long warned about the dire consequences of failing to curb greenhouse gas emissions from fossil fuels. In 2018, the IPCC issued its latest call for a rapid transition from fossil fuels to avoid severe, negative impacts of climate change. Although the IPCC acknowledged a slim chance of avoiding these impacts while still relying on gas in coming decades, those odds depended on a simultaneous and unprecedented roll-out of technology to capture and store carbon dioxide. No such plan accompanied the Atlantic Coast Pipeline.
Instead, the pipeline would have extended – for many decades – the region’s dependence on shale gas, a fossil fuel with major greenhouse gas implications. To be clear, shale gas emits less carbon dioxide than coal per unit of energy produced, but methane emissions throughout the shale gas supply chain erase much of that advantage. By some estimates, shale gas has no greenhouse gas advantage at all over coal. In either case, the Atlantic Coast Pipeline would have created a decades-long commitment to new sources of greenhouse gas emissions at a time when society desperately needs an exit strategy from carbon-intensive energy, not incremental changes like switching from coal to gas. We don't have time to slow-walk on this.
These two problems collide when we consider that the communities along the former Atlantic Coast Pipeline route are also some of the most vulnerable to climate change in the region. Negative impacts of climate change such as floods, crop loss, and heat-related illness, are expected to cost these communities a much larger share of their income than it will cost their neighbors in the coming decades. In a sense, these communities would have paid for the Atlantic Coast Pipeline twice – once through the environmental and public health risks of pipeline construction and operation, and again through the long-term costs of climate change, made worse by a pipeline that would have extended our collective addiction to fossil fuels. One could even argue they would pay a third time, because federal pipeline authorization comes with permission to recoup their investments in the pipeline (with profit) from utility customers.
Some of these specific issues are discussed in the short documentary film, Robeson Rises.
The second problem involves the Atlantic Coast Pipeline’s large greenhouse gas footprint. The global climate science community has long warned about the dire consequences of failing to curb greenhouse gas emissions from fossil fuels. In 2018, the IPCC issued its latest call for a rapid transition from fossil fuels to avoid severe, negative impacts of climate change. Although the IPCC acknowledged a slim chance of avoiding these impacts while still relying on gas in coming decades, those odds depended on a simultaneous and unprecedented roll-out of technology to capture and store carbon dioxide. No such plan accompanied the Atlantic Coast Pipeline.
Instead, the pipeline would have extended – for many decades – the region’s dependence on shale gas, a fossil fuel with major greenhouse gas implications. To be clear, shale gas emits less carbon dioxide than coal per unit of energy produced, but methane emissions throughout the shale gas supply chain erase much of that advantage. By some estimates, shale gas has no greenhouse gas advantage at all over coal. In either case, the Atlantic Coast Pipeline would have created a decades-long commitment to new sources of greenhouse gas emissions at a time when society desperately needs an exit strategy from carbon-intensive energy, not incremental changes like switching from coal to gas. We don't have time to slow-walk on this.
These two problems collide when we consider that the communities along the former Atlantic Coast Pipeline route are also some of the most vulnerable to climate change in the region. Negative impacts of climate change such as floods, crop loss, and heat-related illness, are expected to cost these communities a much larger share of their income than it will cost their neighbors in the coming decades. In a sense, these communities would have paid for the Atlantic Coast Pipeline twice – once through the environmental and public health risks of pipeline construction and operation, and again through the long-term costs of climate change, made worse by a pipeline that would have extended our collective addiction to fossil fuels. One could even argue they would pay a third time, because federal pipeline authorization comes with permission to recoup their investments in the pipeline (with profit) from utility customers.
Some of these specific issues are discussed in the short documentary film, Robeson Rises.
End of the Line
The Atlantic Coast Pipeline has finally been defeated, but much work remains. New fossil fuel infrastructure is under construction or in the planning process today, including a large liquefied natural gas (LNG) processing plant under construction in the predominantly Lumbee community of Wakulla. The Dakota Access Pipeline has been ordered to shut down, but its fate is still unknown. These facilities, like many others, reinforce the status quo of placing harmful infrastructure in poor or minority communities. As a society, we will eventually have to reckon with this legacy.
I think we can begin to change the status quo through policies and laws that encourage environmental justice, which the EPA defines as the fair treatment and meaningful involvement of all people in the environmental decision-making process. Federal environmental justice policy was put in place more than 25 years ago in the in response to widespread evidence that low-income and minority communities were targeted for landfills and other toxic facilities. In the years since, the US has seen only incremental progress toward changing this situation.
The Atlantic Coast Pipeline has left us with more than a few lessons. For example, late-stage attempts to persuade Tribal officials or community leaders to support corporate plans are no substitute for early input from these communities about whether the plan is suitable or even viable. Preconceived plans for economic development and job creation cannot be forced on communities by developers as substitutes for recognition and participation in decision-making. Framing job creation and economic development as "social justice" is inappropriate if marginalized communities don't have a voice in defining what development looks like in their communities.
I hope that the Atlantic Coast Pipeline's developers now turn, in earnest, to eliminating remaining fossil fuels from their utility portfolios. Both corporations have made commitments to sustainable energy sources from wind and solar. Now that they are unshackled from the Atlantic Coast Pipeline, they can redouble their efforts toward decarbonization. There is no time to lose.
The Atlantic Coast Pipeline has finally been defeated, but much work remains. New fossil fuel infrastructure is under construction or in the planning process today, including a large liquefied natural gas (LNG) processing plant under construction in the predominantly Lumbee community of Wakulla. The Dakota Access Pipeline has been ordered to shut down, but its fate is still unknown. These facilities, like many others, reinforce the status quo of placing harmful infrastructure in poor or minority communities. As a society, we will eventually have to reckon with this legacy.
I think we can begin to change the status quo through policies and laws that encourage environmental justice, which the EPA defines as the fair treatment and meaningful involvement of all people in the environmental decision-making process. Federal environmental justice policy was put in place more than 25 years ago in the in response to widespread evidence that low-income and minority communities were targeted for landfills and other toxic facilities. In the years since, the US has seen only incremental progress toward changing this situation.
The Atlantic Coast Pipeline has left us with more than a few lessons. For example, late-stage attempts to persuade Tribal officials or community leaders to support corporate plans are no substitute for early input from these communities about whether the plan is suitable or even viable. Preconceived plans for economic development and job creation cannot be forced on communities by developers as substitutes for recognition and participation in decision-making. Framing job creation and economic development as "social justice" is inappropriate if marginalized communities don't have a voice in defining what development looks like in their communities.
I hope that the Atlantic Coast Pipeline's developers now turn, in earnest, to eliminating remaining fossil fuels from their utility portfolios. Both corporations have made commitments to sustainable energy sources from wind and solar. Now that they are unshackled from the Atlantic Coast Pipeline, they can redouble their efforts toward decarbonization. There is no time to lose.