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On Thanksgiving Day 2019, right after Caroline Laur had finished giving thanks for her home, a neighbor at church told her that a company had submitted permit requests to build an asphalt plant in their community. The plans indicated the plant would be 250 feet from Laur鈥檚 backdoor.

Laur has a premalignant blood disease, and for the past two years, she has been trying to build up her immune system to prevent the disease from evolving into a terminal form of cancer. 鈥淲hen I heard about this plant,鈥� Laur says, 鈥淚 went to the Duke Cancer Research Center, and a Duke scholar in my illness told me this would be a life-threatening situation for me, and I would have to leave.鈥� Having to move from her home, where she has lived for 15 years, would be devastating for Laur, not to mention a monetary loss. Who would buy a home 250 feet from an asphalt plant?

Studies show polluting facilities are disproportionately located in Black and minority communities.

Laur lives in Anderson, North Carolina, a rural (and zero cell towers). It is one of the many predominantly Black communities in the United States experiencing a perfect storm of injustices threatening the health of residents and their environment.

An informal community survey shows that more than 70% of Anderson residents are Black, while the are 32% and 22% Black, respectively. Predominantly . Specifically, Black people in America are exposed to about 1.5 times more particulate matter鈥攁 form of air pollution known to cause cancer鈥攖han White people. This such as heart attacks, asthma, and decreased lung function.

A growing number of studies show , so it鈥檚 hardly surprising that the asphalt plant was slated for construction in Anderson. A 2018 study from the Environmental Protection Agency concluded that , too: Not only are more factories in minority neighborhoods, but these factories are more likely to produce greater emissions than those in non-minority neighborhoods.

This is a North Carolina health crisis. It鈥檚 an American health crisis.

These days, the risks are even higher. Because , communities in polluted areas are more susceptible to COVID-19; a recent of the coronavirus than those in areas where the pollution is just one unit lower. That鈥檚 been borne out in North Carolina, where , despite only making up only 22% of the population.

鈥淭his is not just an Anderson community health crisis,鈥� Laur says. 鈥淭his is a North Carolina health crisis. It鈥檚 an American health crisis.鈥�

Grassroots Resistance

The plant that would threaten Laur鈥檚 health and home was awaiting the approval of an air permit by the North Carolina Department of Air Quality which, if approved, would basically greenlight the project. 鈥淭his made me get out and go door to door,鈥� Laur says. One by one, she alerted her neighbors to the prospect of the asphalt plant. 鈥淚 got to meet some of my neighbors I never knew before,鈥� she says. 鈥淭here鈥檚 no secret that there has always been a pretty strong line between the White community and the Black community here.鈥� In the end, three neighbors joined her efforts鈥攖he Rev. Bryon Shoffner, Anita Foust, and Bill Compton. Together, they formed the Anderson Community Group to advocate for environmental justice in their community.

鈥淲e are all the four corners of the community,鈥� Laur says with a laugh. 鈥淵ou鈥檝e got a sick old White lady, Rev. Shoffner is a disabled vet, you鈥檝e got Anita, who is a Black woman, and you鈥檝e got a White, old country farmer. We all come from different faiths, but we鈥檝e all come together as one.鈥�

Suddenly thrust into activism, the group contacted the North Carolina Environmental Justice Network, a coalition that provides resources and connections with other groups. 鈥淲e advocate, we organize, and we assist communities with whatever actions they are thinking of trying to protect themselves,鈥� says Naeema Muhammad, the network鈥檚 co-director. Muhammad met with the activists from Anderson and recognized their need for legal advice, so she connected them with the Lawyers Committee for Civil Rights Under Law. The legal resources were key when the group determined that the data from the North Carolina Department of Environmental Quality鈥檚 environmental justice report wasn鈥檛 adding up.

We are all the four corners of the community.

The report鈥攁 requirement for all DEQ permit requests鈥攕tated that the Anderson community was 33% minority. That seemed far too low to the residents, so the Anderson Community Group did a census of each house within a 1-mile radius of the proposed plant鈥攖he same radius considered in the DEQ鈥檚 environmental justice report.

鈥淩ev. Shoffner went out into the community and did his own survey and found out that it was more than 70% minority,鈥� Laur says. 鈥淭hat was huge, because that changed the situation to a Title VI matter.鈥� Title VI is a federal civil rights law that prevents people from being discriminated against on the grounds of race, color, or national origin. Title VI cases require a more rigorous and comprehensive environmental justice report, so recognizing the Anderson community as a Title VI matter increases the strength of their request for a more in-depth report.

The massive difference in race demographics comes down to census data, Laur says. The DEQ was using race data from the 2010 census, which was only 鈥攖he county where Anderson is located. Laur says the Anderson population response rate could be even lower because the community is considered .

鈥淭he people who don鈥檛 fill it out are rural people who want to keep their land and don鈥檛 want zoning and minorities,鈥� Laur says, which creates skewed race demographics. The Anderson Community Group said that when they brought up this issue with the director of North Carolina DEQ, he said he was aware of the problem.

鈥淪o that tells me that all the EJ reports in North Carolina that have been done may not even be valid, just like ours,鈥� Laur says. 鈥淲e were told that we are the first [community members] who have ever doubted it and checked it out.鈥�

Elevating Voices

Determined to have new data collected, the Anderson Community Group rallied in early 2020. After learning from the state Department of Air Quality, the department responsible for approving or rejecting the asphalt air permit, that 100 statements of concern from community members would be sufficient to trigger a public hearing, the Anderson group gathered letters of concern from their community. They submitted more than 108.

鈥淭hen we were told there wasn鈥檛 enough concern to have a public hearing,鈥� Laur says. 鈥淪o, we started inundating the [Department of Air Quality director with emails and phone calls from the community.鈥�

Finally, in February 2020, the DEQ declared a public comment period for the issue, effectively placing the air permit for the asphalt plant on hold until a public hearing August 3. The public hearing will be held online because of COVID-19, but Laur says most people in Anderson don鈥檛 own computers, and won鈥檛 be able to attend. When the community group filed a complaint regarding accessibility, the DEQ then allowed public comments to be submitted via voicemail.

鈥淲ell, we don鈥檛 have a cell tower out here,鈥� Laur says. She has personally never been able to use her cellphone in her home, and even her landline phone drops calls frequently. Even being able to afford a landline is a luxury in Anderson, Laur says.

The health impacts on the community could be huge.

To make sure community voices are heard, Laur says, the Anderson Community Group is 鈥渂egging, fighting, scratching, and screaming鈥� for the public comment period to be extended until the hearing can be held in person. The group fears that the community won鈥檛 be able to properly participate, and as a result, the DEQ will approve the asphalt permit without listening to residents鈥� concerns or considering accurate data.

The health impacts on the community could be huge. During Shoffner鈥檚 unofficial survey, he also found that more than 90% of those within a 1-mile radius of the proposed plant have health conditions such as asthma, lung disease, and previous strokes and heart attacks that would be exacerbated by polluting industries.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 the thing that we feel they are truly missing: They鈥檙e not allowing data to catch up,鈥� Shoffner says. Not only is the existing data outdated and inaccurate, he argues, but even data from 2018 would only provide a partial picture, because it does not account for the effects of COVID-19 on the community. 鈥淥f course, our ultimate goal is for them to say they鈥檙e not going to build a polluting industry in a Black neighborhood, but our next move is to get them to postpone it until they get the data that shows how the asphalt plant and COVID-19 is affecting Black and brown people.鈥�

Shoffner says that the pandemic has thankfully slowed down the whirlwind of decisions on the asphalt plant and given the team time to consider what else they can do to halt its construction. For example, in July, the group for the North Carolina governor to stop the permit process.

鈥淭his team has been able to research and dig and get in a lot of doors,鈥� he says, noting that they have had productive conversations with leaders from the North Carolina DEQ. 鈥淲e鈥檙e winning as long as we鈥檙e on the phone and getting conference calls. When they stop taking our calls, that鈥檚 when we鈥檒l start asking what to do now.鈥�

CORRECTION: An earlier version of this story incorrectly identified Anita Foust. Text has been updated.