NEWSENVIRONMENTAL RACISM

Since 2009, Salvadoran anti-mining activists have been threatened, robbed, kidnapped and murdered while attempting to halt Pacific Rim, a Canadian mining company, from excavating gold in the northern department of Cabañas.

This week, US-El Salvador Sister Cities, an international solidarity organization, reported that a disturbing wave of new death threats has hit activists opposed to Pacific Rim's gold mine. The organization is calling on the Salvadoran government to investigate the threats and the various violent crimes that have been perpetrated against the movement opposed to Pacific Rim's proposed mine.

Looks like California's celebration of Martin Luther King Day took a turn for the... Arizonian. This month students and faculties from two California campuses are fighting the demolition of their ethnic studies programs: Asian American Studies and Cal State Los Angeles and American Studies at the University of California Santa Cruz.

Late last year Dean James Henderson at CSULA offered students and faculty a grim holiday gift – notification that he had decided to suspend Asian American Studies, indefinitely. To date, the only explanation Henderson has offered is lack of faculty, student, and community support – which he announced at a November 29 meeting to a roomful of concerned faculty, students, and community members. Since then, a grassroots movement in support of retaining the program has been swelling both on and off campus (check out Immigrant Rights blogger Gabriel Garcia's post on it).

CSULA is located in the San Gabriel Valley, which holds one of the largest Chinese populations in the country. Asian American Studies – which was just established in 2005 – failed in the Dean's eyes to meet enrollment numbers. However, the decision of a Dean to dismantle the program without prior discussion with students and faculty is a threat to more than just one department on one campus.

"Cutting AAAS is an attack on the university’s diversity and threatens the already tenuous support of the campus’ Chicano, Latin American, and Pan African Studies programs as well," explains a grassroots website launched in opposition to the suspension. In light of Arizona's recent ethnic studies ban, CSULA's decision is another threat toward the demolition of valuable ethnic studies programs throughout the country – and this isn't just a theory.

It's true.  Somewhere deep in the darkest pits of the system there exists a heart - and every once in awhile we get a glimpse of it.

This week California Senator Dianne Feinstein introduced a private bill that allowed for the release of Steve Li, a San Francisco college student who had spent the past two months in detainment awaiting deportation to Peru – the country his family migrated from when he was just eleven. Completely unaware that he was residing in the country illegally until the moment his door was busted down in an immigration raid, Li's story caught massive attention and shed a humanizing light on an issue that is often oversimplified.

Li's case was far from the stereotypical circumstance when discussing immigration policy in the political arena. He didn't maliciously sneak over the border to squeeze out an anchor baby, nor did he cargo himself in the back of a van in order to exploit the economy through a thriving career in grape-picking. He simply did as a good young person should: he followed his parents, went to college and pursued a career in nursing. Regardless of one's personal politics, it's hard to deny that sending a kid back to a country where he knows absolutely nobody is pretty messed up (haven't you seen Home Alone 2?).

Upon the announcement that Li was granted freedom, the best that conservative commenters could muster was along the lines of "If there was proper legislation, he would've been deported at 11 instead of 20!" Niiiiiice. Words of wisdom from the type of person who would probably have no qualms with smacking Elian Gonzalez in the face with an oar. When dealing with the immigration issue on a person-by-person basis, it's much more difficult to maintain the political stance 'deport them all.' Plus, someone like Li cannot be accused of "sucking the system dry" when he's sitting in detainment telling reporters that he can't wait to go home so he can study.

The bigger message we should learn from Li's case is that a person's story is seldom ever cut-and-dry, and effective immigration reform requires legislation that considers the diversity in past and present situations that immigrants experience.  Senator Feinstein addressed Li's case largely due to the overwhelming number of petitions for Li, such as the hundreds of signatures collected on Change.org.

The battle is not over. The private bill only delays his deportation process by 75 days, and when asked about her decision to introduce Li's private bill, Feinstein referenced the DREAM Act, which still holds the key to Li's lasting peace of mind. If passed, the DREAM Act could be a saving grace for many young people who find themselves in situations similar to Li's – who simply want to live in the country they were raised to call home.

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GOT A TIP FOR US? Is there a story or campaign in your area that we'd want to know about? E-mail us at humanrightstips@change.org. Please also follow Change.org's Human Rights page on Facebook and Twitter. Photo Credit: 依靈

Update November 24, 2010: A number of organizations, and hundreds of Change.org members, filed petitions to California Senators Feinstein and Boxer demanding a deeper investigation into Li's case. On November 20 Senator Feinstein introduced a private bill delaying Li's deportation process and allowing for him to return home.  Although this is just a temporary fix, it demonstrates how legislation like the DREAM Act would be a step forward in immigration reform. Read the full story here.

Believe it or not, even in this day and age, there are still those who have a hard time grasping the concept that non-white people are born in America.  Those of us who are familiar with the “No, where are you really from?” question have figured out quick responses in order to avoid awkward silences or racial gameshow questions.  It typically goes something like this:

“So where are you from?”
“My parents are from Hong Kong.”
“Cool!”
(they don’t always say that last part)

The funny thing about growing up with people assuming that I’m from China is that I eventually became convinced that maybe I’m sort of from there.  After all, when people tell me to “Go back to where I came from” (yes, I’ve actually been told that before) I know they don’t mean California.  While in the past my reactions were something along the lines of “I AM from here, you racist jackass!” I was recently itching for a vacation – and so I changed my response to “Hell yeah! Wanna come?"

It took a five-week solo trip last month to show me that I am so not from China. Besides only being able to speak Mandarin with the skill of a caveman (and not even a Chinese caveman), spending my life in the United States left me completely at a loss when it came to the cultural nuances that are helpful to understand when you’re in a place where you know nothing and no one. I realized that if I were to actually go back to where I “came from,” I would be faced with a plethora of challenges building my life in a culture that is … foreign.

I’m not a stereotypical guy in at least one respect: When I’m sick, I go to the doctor. There’s none of this macho “I’m only coughing up blood; it will go away” kind of denial for me. I want to know what’s wrong.

This trait may be rare among males, but it’s even less common among Latinos. We know, for example, that fewer Hispanics crowd into emergency rooms than other ethnicities, despite what you may have heard about ERs going bankrupt because of undocumented Latinos overrunning them.

One reason that Hispanics are less likely to see the doctor is, of course, because we are the group most likely to be uninsured. A ridiculous 41 percent of Latinos survive without health insurance.

Even when “socialized medicine” kicks in under healthcare reform, the Congressional Budget Office estimates that the small percentage of U.S. residents who won’t be covered “will still be disproportionately Latino.”

Part of the reason for this is because, despite the protestations on Congressman Joe Wilson, undocumented immigrants will still find it difficult to get insured.

But in a domino effect of bad consequences, many Latino kids won’t be enrolled in federal healthcare programs because, as Newsweek reports, “undocumented parents may be scared to enroll their children, even if those children were born in the U.S. and are citizens.”

As such, Latino kids, already less likely to be fully immunized, are more at risk to develop serious health problems in childhood. From that inauspicious start, they may grow up to become Hispanic adults who are “more likely to suffer a stroke or develop Alzheimer’s disease and face a significantly higher prevalence of obesity and hypertension than white Americans.”

Of course, we can alleviate our concern over this by saying, “Yes, it’s terrible for the undocumented, but healthcare will be fine for Hispanic citizens.”

Even if that were a morally sound judgment, however, it’s not accurate. Latino citizens tend to lag behind other groups when it comes to the quality of their care.

Think a 9.5% unemployment rate is bad? Try 60 to 70 percent. Those are the kind of egregious numbers that have been dogging Native American communities for decades.

Now, a proposed new wind farm on the Campo Kumeyaay Nation reservation, which is located in the desert mountains east of  San Diego, could potentially provide lifelines to the tribe's unemployed, as well as prosperity to the community as a whole. Even better, it could do so while promoting clean, homegrown energy.

What, then, is standing in the tribe's way? Taxes.

As NPR reports, the tribe's status as a sovereign nation means that it doesn't have access to the federal tax credits that make big renewable energy projects affordable. In addition, the Campo Kumeyaay can't tax companies who could partner with them to build the wind farm. Their status, in other words, acts like a double-edged sword.

A successful wind farm already exists on the tribe's lands, providing power for 35,000 San Diego-area homes and saving 110,00 tons of greenhouse gas emissions each year. But the tribe only leases the land to enXco, the wind farm's owners.

The proposed new project, on the other hand, would be owned by the tribe and could bring in an estimated $24 million annually, based on NPR's projections. It could also make a bigger dent in San Diego's carbon output.

At the polls on election day in November 2008, a black woman in front of me turned in her ballot and shouted, "I voted for Obama and against gay marriage, and that's all that matters to me!" Soon after, the results came in.  California voters had helped elect the first black president with the same ballot that they used to pass Prop 8, the ban on gay marriage.

Immediately, the question was framed: Were minority voters who helped usher in President Obama also responsible for helping kill gay marriage? The message was simple yet scathing: People of color are as pro-race rights as they are anti-gay rights.

This, of course, was all balderdash.  And as we celebrate yesterday's court ruling striking down Prop 8, it's important to understand that — contrary to popular belief — this victory comes with the blessing of a substantial proportion of the race rights community.

First, let's get the stats right. Immediately after election day in 2008, the exit numbers came in, proclaiming that a whopping 70% of black voters voted for Prop 8. Such figures helped frame the narrative that blacks were the leading group opposing gay marriage. Actually, in January last year, an in-depth study found that black support for Prop 8 was actually more in the 57-59% range — about the same the proportion of college-educated white voters.

During my freshman year in college, I made a woman in my ethnic studies class cry. Because I referred to her people as "white folks." As she sulked, I sat awkwardly and flipped through my mental collection of labels I've encountered for my fairer-skinned counterparts — there just aren't that many. Sure, I've become accustomed to being asked about the best way to refer to people of my background (Asian vs. Oriental?), and likewise heard plenty about the debates between terms like black and African, Hispanic and Latino and Native and Indian. But how often is the question turned around? What exactly do we call white people? I'd really like this to be settled for me, especially since I myself am not white...I mean Caucasian...I mean, let's just move onto the next paragraph.

I'm sure I wasn't the only one who was confused by my classmate's reaction to the term "white folks," because there were many blond, brown and red eyebrows that were also cocked in confusion. Still, though, we all know racial labels are sensitive. In the same way that many people of color have different preferences for racial labels, so do people of...not-color. So before I delve into this topic that could potentially offend, let me preface the following with a familiar alibi — some of my best friends are white! In fact, I'm sitting next to one right now. And as we sit in this café reflecting on this post, the answer to a singular label seems to elude him as much as I. So where does this leave us? Let's look at our options:

1. White: One of the most common comments I get in response to my posts is in regard to my use of the term "white people." A typical one goes something like, "Snow's white, glue's white, paper's white.  I am not white." And this is true, in the same way that my skin pigment is not the same as that of a puddle of urine. In my recent post about the casting of white characters in the Prince of Persia movie, I was barraged by responses pegging me as ignorant and chastising me for not realizing that many Persians are light-skinned. But as with other color-coded racial labels, the use of the term "white" obviously doesn't refer to #FFFFFF.

2. Caucasian: This is the term many people of color use when they want to "politely" refer to white folks. It just sounds more sophisticated. However, an etymological investigation shows that the word is actually quite archaic, as it descends from the "Caucasoid" term that Johann Friedrich Blumenbach used in the 1700's to link physical human attributes with intelligence....hecka dumb. Furthermore, the term was invalidated by the 1923 Supreme Court decision United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind, where Thind argued for American naturalization on the basis that he was from the Caucasus Mountains, and thereby definitively "Caucasian." The Supreme Court's response was, and I quote, "Ummm....yeah....we meant white."

As I type this post, I am looking out over my land. Well, "land" makes my modest suburban acre — including house and yard — sound more grand than it actually is. Nevertheless, this little plot we own is an important part of my family's lifestyle and the centerpiece of our wealth (such as it is).

There is value in land — power that goes beyond just money. So it should come as no surprise that American history is littered with stories about people of color being denied access to land by theft, violence or governmental maneuvering.

In fact, some families are still fighting to regain valuable land lost generations ago.

Just ask the Harris Neck Land Trust, which represents a group of African-American families (and some white families, as well) who are battling to return to what is now a wildlife preserve in Georgia. According to a recent New York Times article, Harris Neck was deeded by a plantation owner to a former slave in 1865. Black families settled there and built a community that was "too independent for the comfort of McIntosh County’s whites."  Generations later during World War II, when federal officials were looking for a place to site an Air Force base, they selected Harris Neck, and families living there were summarily pushed out — with the promise, some residents remember, that they'd be able to return after the war.

That didn't happen. Blacks were left and given a mere $26.90 per acre for what they lost; whites received $37.31. After the war concluded, a wildlife refuge was eventually established.

Now, these displaced families want the right to return to Harris Neck and live in harmony among the area's rich flora and fauna, as they did for nearly 100 years before the government took over. In keeping with that heritage, the Trust has proposed a low-impact living plan using solar energy and other green tactics.

Meanwhile, the regional director of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service proposes that rather than return the land, authorities should establish an 'annual homecoming day' at Harris Neck, and that former residents should collaborate on an 'interpretive kiosk.'”

Yeah.

On Saturday afternoons when I go grocery shopping, I can find affordable, fresh food at five different, well-stocked grocery stores — all within five minutes of my home. That doesn't include the options at the town's weekend farmer's market, either. It's wonderful.

But it also makes me think back to my experience living in a predominately black neighborhood on Chicago's South Side, before I moved to this overwhelmingly white town of less than 30,000. And I wonder: Why should access to good food be so much easier in a place with barely the population of few big city blocks?

My first urban apartment — a vintage (read: old) studio on Chicago's South Side offered more limited options. There was the dimly-lit market that always smelled vaguely of meat left out too long; a corner store with marked-up toilet paper and sundries, plus food in the form of Hamburger Helper, Slim Jims and soda. There was also a community-owned co-op, with well-stocked aisles and high prices, where the neighborhood academics and yuppies could buy pantry staples, good imported cheese and wine. They weren't much, but I had choices. I never had to craft a dinner from the corner store or buy mottled fruit at the dingy market. But many of my neighbors were not so privileged.

Residents in my old neighborhood are not the only victims of the growing grocery gap, in which urban areas — especially poor ones with black and brown residents — face extremely limited access to good food. Detroit, a mostly black city of nearly 1 million residents, doesn't have a single grocery chain store within the city limits,says a 2009 CNN Money report. In fact, according to a 2002 article in the American Journal of Public Health, only 8% of black Americans live within a census tract with at least one supermarket, compared with 31% of white Americans. Poor neighborhoods typically have about 55% of the grocery square footage of more wealthy neighborhoods. It's not hard to correlate this dearth of nutritious foods in black communities with disproportionate rates of diseases linked to diet: cancer, obesity and Type 2 diabetes. The Hood Diet is a killer.