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“It is difficult to imagine any of these studies exerting as much of an impact on public discourse and policy as they did if they had not been closely connected to litigation, advocacy, and regulatory interest in addressing the emerging issue of environmental justice.” (6)

“EJ scholarship has uncovered environmental and health disparities based not only on race, class, and gender, but also on ethnicity, nationality, indigenous status, immigration and citizenship status, sexual orientation, age, and the intersections among these categories (Nyseth-Brehm & Pellow, 2014; Chakraborty, Collins, & Grineski, 2016; Gaard, 2018). Activists are increasingly appealing to these diverse axes of identity to mobilize broad-based organizing on environmental, healthcare, and immigration policies (Hestres & Nisbet, 2018).” (9)

“In Europe, EJ is often seen as an extension of protections for human rights, including rights of access to environmental information, participation in decision making, and access to the courts, which are enshrined in the United Nations Economic Convention for Europe’s1998 Aarhus Convention (Mason, 2010). In the global South, EJ issues are more often framed as matters of climate justice, participatory and sustainable development and conservation, indigenous and women’s rights, food and energy sovereignty, workplace safety and health, or the environmentalism of the poor (Carmin & Agyeman, 2011; Carruthers, 2008; Martinez-Alier, 2002; Reed & George, 2018; Walker, 2012).” (10)

“The goals of community-engaged scholarship are the generation, exchange and application of mutually beneficial and socially useful knowledge and practices developed through active partnerships between the academy and the community (Engagement Scholarship Consortium, 2018).” (11)

“A more inclusive scholarly process is crucial for strengthening marginalized groups’ rights to access and create knowledge that can help build their power to influence regulation, policy, and institutional practices. ES is scholarship “done with, rather than for or on, a community” (Furco, 2005, p. 10), and this is reason alone to prefer ES to other modes of inquiry into EJ.” (15)

“Ensuring that map making is a democratic process owned and controlled by community members requires that local people, not outside researchers, define the geographic or other boundaries over what counts as part of the “community.””(29)

“EJ research can also ground-truth existing regulatory data that is out-of-date or incomplete, especially emissions data that is reported by industry. In addition, ground-truthing can show how environmental standards for broad geographic areas can fail to protect EJ communities from pollution hot spots that exceed those standards.” (31)

“Data scientists can also use large data sets and algorithms to develop new measures of environmental and social inequities. For example, a team led by researchers at the University of Minnesota recently created a “pollution inequity” metric, which measures the difference between the environmental health damage caused and experienced by a group or individual...” (33)

“While real-time analysis of crowdsourced data can help track the immediate effects of environmental disasters, it may not be as useful for documenting long-term, cumulative toxic exposures typical of many EJ issues. … Much of that expertise is concentrated in corporate, government, and academic institutions, which may be unable or unwilling to collaborate with community-based EJ organizations. EJ researchers could play a valuable role in helping to foster big data literacy…” (33)

“EJ storytelling is a means of gathering testimonial evidence for research and organizing (Evans, 2002). Stories are a grassroots form of making meaning that is often more accessible and immediate in its impacts than academic research, building commitment to collective action (Newman, 2012). Storytelling lends itself to communicating complex causality in a form that can be more memorable than scientific data (Griffiths, 2007).” (34)

In the “Introduction” and “Foundations” sections, the author describes the utility of an “engaged scholarship” approach to academic environmental justice research and outlines several models for engaged scholarship. These models lie along the spectra of the apolitical to the political, and include different types of development, types of engagement, and types of expertise. The author argues in favor of an engaged scholarship approach to EJ as a way to root EJ research in actual EiJ problems and EJ needs. Note that the author defines EJ with the four dimensions of distributive justice, procedural justice, process justice, and restorative/corrective justice.

The sections II. METHODS and III. CHALLENGES AND RESPONSES detail methods and potential pitfalls in engaged scholarship with local communities. Methods can include: investment in easy-to-use and low cost technologies for citizen science uses (e.g., online mapping tools, low cost air quality monitoring devices), using storytelling methods for cultural research and to advance EJ goals, and adequately training and preparing researchers for community collaborations (see Hyde (2017) framework on pg. 38). Pitfalls can include: scholars assuming homogeneity in a community, tensions between community goals and academic goals (e.g., scholarly productivity vs. community education), and limitations imposed  by academic IRBs for collaboration. The author provides several examples of community collaboration focus, with an apparent focus on citizen science/crowdsourced data collection efforts.

“Environmental justice (EJ) scholars and activists see communities’ ability to participate meaningfully in decisions that affect the local environment, including siting decisions for refineries, power plants, waste dumps, and the like, to be integral to the idea of EJ (Cole and Foster 2001; Schlosberg 2007). For some, this explicitly includes the notion of consent: participatory processes are a means through which community members can give their consent (or not) once they fully understand the scope and consequences of a proposal (Shrader-Frechette 2005, 2007).” (252)

“EJ advocates have called attention to siting practices that target communities of color because of their political margin- alization. In order to challenge the siting of hazardous facilities, commu- nities of color have also had to confront exclusionary decision-making processes characterized by unrepresentative local governments, monolingual proceedings, and reliance on technocratic risk assessments, to name a few (Cole and Foster 2001). As a result, one of the Principles of EJ adopted in 1991 by the People of Color Environmental Leadership Summit calls explicitly for justice in decision-making practices: ‘‘Environmental Justice demands the right to participate as equal partners at every level of decision-making.’’ (254)

“Seeing disclosure as an important element of informed consent provides ethical grounds to excoriate polluting industries for suppressing information, making misleading scientific claims, and intimidating scientists who wish to draw attention to the health risks they pose (see, e.g., Schrader-Frechette 2007, 39-75).” (255)

“Current discussions of procedural justice in the siting of environmentally hazardous facilities are far from na ̈ıve about the limitations of scientific knowledge. EJ advocates have not only criticized industry and government scientists for patently unethical practices like suppressing data (e.g., Shrader-Frechette 2007), they have pointed out the ways that scientific ways of knowing and technocratic modes of decision making can circumscribe community members’ ability to have a say in decisions that will affect their local environments (Guana 1998; Shrader-Frechette 1991); they have also asserted the need for community members’ local knowledge to be recognized as part of just decision-making procedures (Allen 2003; Fischer 2000).” (263)

This text explores some of the current barriers to achieving procedural justice (participation in decision making by those affected by it) based on Science and Technology Studies (STS). Examples of some of these fundamental barriers include (i) lack of disclosure of information from industry, and (ii) lack of information available at the time of decision making (making consent to be subject to environmental hazards difficult or impossible. The author argues for proactive, STS-based knowledge generation to combat this.

“Not only is the history of environmental justice temporally deep, it is also geographically diverse and still expanding. Any account of environmental jus- tice will therefore remain incomplete, not least because it is still being written. Right now, across the world, thousands of communities are embroiled in the midst of ongoing toxic struggles. Environmental justice also belies its seemingly American past, and today it is increasingly clear that “the concept has travelled to different places” (Holifield et al. 2018, 2). Despite scholarly work on envi- ronmental justice remaining skewed toward American case studies (Reed and George 2011), many scholars have demonstrated how issues of environmental justice are truly global in nature (Walker 2009a; Armiero and Sedrez 2014; Guha 2014; Pellow 2018).” (6)

“A further body of environmental justice research places justice as a procedural concern. This form of environmental justice was born out of participatory democracy, and places the focus of justice squarely on access to decision making and accurate information upon which to base decisions (Yenneti and Day 2015). … This move from a distributional to a procedural logic of justice, which involves public hearings and access to reliable information, is predicated on the redistribution of power relations (Pellow 2018).” (8)

“Within the radical science movement tradition, citizen science emerged out of calls for the democratization of science and expertise to include perspectives from wider publics (Irwin 1995). For decades, scholars of science and technology studies (STS) have argued that scientific expertise is highly political and embed- ded in power relations (Irwin 1995; Epstein 1996; Fischer 2000; Frickel et al. 2010).” (11)

This text (the introduction to the book Toxic Truths) summarizes the content of the full book while providing context for it through framing the environmental justice movement through the lens of the “post-truth” rhetoric that has been common for the last several years. The introduction argues for critical thought as a crucial antidote to “post-truth politics”, especially in the name of making sure that environmental justice momentum is not forgotten by the short public attention span during the chaotic and complex times we live in. The authors cite the examples of (i) environmental protection defunding under former American president Trump, (ii) the threat to environmental regulation of Brexit, and (iii) exploitation of the Amazon rainforest under Brazilian president Bolsonaro to highlight the recent politics that have muddied the waters of environmental justice and protection. The authors then expand their focus outward to include the interconnected roles of science, politics, and community values in the global fight for environmental justice.

“...Toxic Wastes and Race at Twenty (Bullard et al., 2007) revealed that communities of colour and poor communities were still being used as dumping grounds for all kinds of toxic contaminants. The authors discovered evidence that the clustering of environmental hazards, in addition to single sources of pollution, presented significant threats to communities of colour. Furthermore, the research showed that polluting industries frequently singled out communities of colour in siting decisions, countering the “minority move-in hypothesis”: the claim that people of colour voluntarily move into contaminated communities rather than being targeted in situ by dirty industries.” (122)

“Bullard (1990) has highlighted the problem of “Black Love Canals” throughout the United States, where issues of environmental injustice are deeply connected with environ- mental racism. For example, Bullard highlights the case of toxic DDT water contamination in the African American community of Triana, Alabama. In 1978, in the midst of the national media attention focused on Love Canal, residents in Triana raised complaints over ill-health effects and contaminated fish and waterfowl. Lawsuits in Triana against the Olin Corporation continued throughout the 1980s. Although the case is noted within environ- mental justice histories (see Taylor, 2014), it is not widely recognized or commemorated.” (126)

“Underpinning the slow, structural violence (see Galtung, 1969; Davies, 2019) of unequal and unjust toxic exposures is the problem of “expendability” … Pellow (2018) proposes that indispensability is a key pillar of critical environmental justice studies (alongside intersectionality, scale, and state power). This idea builds on the work of critical race and ethnic studies scholar John Marquez (2014) on “racial expendability” to argue that, within a white-dominated society, people of colour are typically viewed as expendable.” (127)

“National and international media headlines followed the Flint water crisis story as it unfolded, but, after the initial shock, Flint faded from media attention. It shifted from being a spectacular disaster to a case of slow violence. This paral- lels the dynamics of public memory surrounding many toxic disasters, struggles, and legacies.” (128)