This past year, like every other year since 1619, has been a really rough year for Black folks here in the United States.
Between the never-ending struggle with racism in its ever-multiplying and evolving forms, Black folk being more likely to contract and die from Covid-19, and the general difficulty of existing during a pandemic, saying it’s been a rough year is like saying Gordon Ramsay can be a little hot-tempered– it’s a gross, laughable understatement.
It’s hard, sometimes, to remember in the near-constant waves of hopelessness that Black folk are a resilient bunch.
It may be even harder, though, to conceptualize how we’re going to need to think about a future in which environmental racism becomes even deadlier than it already is.
Environmental racism, like all manifestations of racism in this country, is nothing new. But climate change is only going to make it worse in the future.
In the face of such despair, climate adaptation is a beacon of hope. But to be truly successful, climate adaptation efforts need to center Black people (and BIPOC more generally). Black people need a voice in climate adaptation to express their experiences, concerns, hopes, fears. And we need to be listened to, not just heard. We need an actual place in climate adaptation decision making, and we need it now.
Due to racist housing policies communities of color tend to face more extreme heat, and are more likely to die from heat-related issues, which will be exacerbated by rising global temperatures. Severe flooding, which already disproportionately affects Black neighborhoods, will intensify due to rising sea levels and extreme weather. Compounded by the fact that (surprise surprise!) racism manifests in natural disaster responses as well. There’s no doubt that climate change is yet another threat to Black people’s well-being.
But it doesn’t have to be this way.
For everyone’s sake, legislators are going to have to do the unthinkable– listen to BIPOC and frontline communities, and actually use what is said to inform adaptation strategies.
An example of something that could work for cities and states can be seen in California. California’s Resources Legacy Fund developed a Climate Justice Working Group from various climate and environmental justice organizations to provide guidance to the state government in terms of identifying vulnerable communities, their needs, and how to allocate money for adaptation in these communities. The Climate Justice Working Group then provided recommendations to legislators that focused on merging equity and climate adaptation. Recommendations from the Working Group include the prioritization of facilities that provide health care, food, and emergency shelter, identifying $10 billion by 2025 for climate resilience goals, and conducting community vulnerability assessments to see which communities are the most vulnerable, why they are, and what could be done about it.
The fund’s working group represents a step in the right direction with a framework that puts frontline communities’ needs front and center. But this is just one situation. This is just one first step.
Cities and states need to continue to find innovative ways to use the voices and knowledge of Black people to shape climate policy. Policymakers need to reach out, learn and meet the needs of marginalized groups instead of pretending they don’t. Failing to recognize the needs of Black people is a failure to recognize the value of Black lives, and it’s what has put us in the unfortunate and untenable position we’re in today.
We need answers, we need solutions, and we need them now if we want a successful climate future.