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The Wildlife Refuge Helping a Community Fight for Environmental Justice
The South Valley in Albuquerque, New Mexico, was once a thriving oasis of food production watered by a network of historic irrigation canals, or acequias. Today, it鈥檚 home to several historic neighborhoods along the Rio Grande, including Mountain View.
After much of the area was rezoned in the 1960s, the residents, who are mainly Chicanos as well as recent immigrants, came under siege by the structural forces of environmental racism that dictate who lives near polluters and who doesn鈥檛. Mountain View was soon enveloped by industry鈥攁uto recyclers, Albuquerque鈥檚 sewage plant, paint facilities, and fertilizer suppliers鈥攖hat left a legacy of contaminated groundwater, two Superfund sites and high levels of air pollution.
Now, six decades later, Mountain View is facing yet another transformation. In 2012, the community became the first in the agency鈥檚 Southwest region to have a piece of land within it鈥570 acres鈥攄esignated as an 鈥渦rban wildlife refuge鈥 managed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. The program started 11 years ago as a way to connect with new and more diverse segments of the population, by meeting people where they live鈥攊ncluding the 82% of Americans who reside in cities. Known as the Valle de Oro National Wildlife Refuge, it sits on land that once was a dairy farm. After years of planning, the refuge鈥檚 visitor center will officially open this fall.
As one of the few wildlife refuges in an industry-burdened community, refuge staff and community leaders are working to leverage this open space to create a healthier environment not just for raptors and swallows, but for the people of Mountain View, as well.
The refuge is a work in progress, now undergoing a slow transition from fallow farm fields to wetlands. The visitor center is under construction, and trails that will eventually carve through a restored Rio Grande bosque, the cottonwood forest that lines the river, are still being planned. It鈥檚 very much in an 鈥渦gly duckling phase,鈥 refuge manager Jennifer Owen-White said on the phone in late February. But despite its incomplete state, the refuge has remained open: Student groups visited on field trips, and, during the pandemic, it provided an important green space for the locals.
For communities like Mountain View, where 74% of residents identify as Latino, this kind of access to open space is rare. have shown the unequal distribution of green space in the U.S., where White residents have more access to parks than low-income communities of color.
But this piece of undeveloped property is notable for another reason, too, said Richard Moore, a local environmental justice activist who now serves on the White House Environmental Justice Advisory Council. When the former dairy farm went up for sale in 2010, there were rumors that Albuquerque鈥檚 sewage treatment plant, also located in Mountain View, was eyeing it as a place to expand its operations. 鈥淥ne of the solutions was to save those acres in a primarily Chicano community there,鈥 Moore said last November. 鈥淥nce that happened and we were able to get it declared as a federal refuge, that locked everything out except what the community wanted in.鈥
Moore is one of several organizers who fought for decades against industrial pollution in Mountain View and across the country, rising to national prominence in the environmental justice movement. He鈥檚 now working with the refuge to align the priorities of the land with those of the community through his nonprofit, the Los Jardines Institute. One way of doing this has been through the creation of The Valle de Oro Environmental and Economic Justice Strategic Plan鈥攖he first of its kind to steer a wildlife refuge鈥檚 goals. The plan was developed by the Institute and the refuge鈥檚 nonprofit arm, the Friends of Valle de Oro.
The refuge鈥檚 role goes beyond the typical mandate to protect wildlife and plants; it is also engaged in developing community resources, such as a 鈥渓iving classroom,鈥 where students can come to learn about the flora and fauna. It鈥檚 also hiring local teens for seasonal youth corps positions, among other types of community engagement. Still, Owen-White knows a lot of work must be done to engage with the local residents. 鈥淏ut trust gets built over generations, not over five years or seven years,鈥 she said.
As part of building that trust, the refuge staff has promised to notify residents of hearings for proposed new industrial projects. Most recently, a construction permit for an asphalt plant was approved in October less than a mile from the refuge. Residents filed a petition to appeal the permit, arguing that siting more industry is a form of discrimination that 鈥渧iolates the state’s constitutional legal guarantee of equal protection and due process,鈥 said Eric Jantz, an attorney with the New Mexico Environmental Law Center, who is representing community groups. (Disclosure: HCN board member Marla Painter, is a co-petitioner on the permit appeal for the asphalt plant mentioned in this story.)
Though it can鈥檛 legally get involved, the wildlife refuge has submitted its own comments to the city鈥檚 Environmental Health Department about the plant鈥檚 possible impacts to wildlife. And the Friends of Valle De Oro has signed on as a co-petitioner. It鈥檚 a striking example of how the community鈥檚 needs and the refuge鈥檚 needs intersect. After all, what is harmful to wildlife and the land is generally harmful to people.
But it also points to a frustrating reality: That residents see their own health prioritized only if there is wildlife habitat in their neighborhood deemed worthy of protecting. 鈥淯nfortunately, people tend to鈥攐r at least people with money and power tend to鈥攇ravitate more toward protecting these places than their neighbors,鈥 Jantz said. He鈥檚 alluding to a criticism voiced by environmental justice organizers for years鈥攖hat the conservation movement and its supporters have been more focused on preserving the environment as a place for wildlife than as a place where people also live.
Mountain View residents like Magdalena Avila worry that as more outsiders become invested in the refuge鈥80% of the nonprofit鈥檚 membership is composed of wildlife and outdoor enthusiasts based in Albuquerque and elsewhere鈥攖he neighborhood鈥檚 makeup, and its cultural identity, could change. 鈥淰alle de Oro cannot become more important than the people of this community,鈥 Avila told me one afternoon from her home over Zoom.
Avila first moved to Mountain View in the 1990s, and it鈥檚 always felt like home to her. 鈥(There鈥檚) a cultural rootedness that makes it special,鈥 she told me. 鈥淗ere you鈥檒l hear parties, especially around graduation or in the summer, puro mariachis and banda and stuff, all that ambiance is just very raza, I love that.鈥 For decades, she has worked as a public health researcher and activist, and up until last year, she taught about health equity at the University of New Mexico. Moore, Avila, and Avila鈥檚 husband, Lauro Silva, became strong voices in the early environmental justice movement. (Silva is also a co-petitioner on the case against the asphalt plant.)
For Avila, Mountain View has to be seen as an equal partner, with community members having more ownership over Valle de Oro鈥檚 future. She鈥檇 like to see benefits that extend beyond programming, such as local full-time jobs for residents鈥攊n other words, more equitable representation at the refuge.
Aryn LaBrake, the executive director of the Friends of Valle de Oro group, says she understands Avila鈥檚 concerns; the aim of the refuge鈥檚 youth corps program is to train residents for future employment, she explains. She hopes the refuge can be seen as a model for other partnerships working across class and culture or race. 鈥淭he refuge, their staff, the friends group, and our staff are absolutely committed to going above and beyond to provide support to our local community.鈥
Meanwhile, some big issues still need to be to tackled, including how to mitigate Valle de Oro鈥檚 potential impacts on the community. New amenities like a refuge and a bicycle trail that leads to it could raise property values. The phenomenon is called green gentrification, and Avila fears that if the community members don鈥檛 stay vigilant, Mountain View will hollow out and go the way of other tourism-based towns like Santa Fe鈥攂ecoming an artifact of itself.
鈥淧art of organizing and community engagement and the social justice is to ensure the grounding of the Chicanos in this community, the immigrants in this community, the residents of that legacy that is here,鈥 Avila said. 鈥淲e don’t want to be erased.鈥
This story originally appeared in and is republished here as part of Covering Climate Now, a global journalism collaboration strengthening coverage of the climate story.
Jessica Kutz
is the gender, climate and sustainability reporter for The 19th. Previously, she was an editor and reporter at High Country News and her work has been republished in many outlets including The Guardian, Slate, Mother Jones and The Atlantic. She is based in Tucson, Arizona.
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