Dear Curious Minds,
I managed to get out of the house and do some fun things over the weekend. But as expected, I get extremely anxious walking into a confined space without natural light. I’m quite good at compartmentalising pain and trauma but last week’s sense of fear and threat must have triggered and unleashed something I had boxed up very well for a long time. But I’m very proud to report I managed to enjoy a film by Sunday night. I highly recommend Mana Moana, Mana Tangata (virtual cinema opens on 28 Jul available on-demand nationwide)! Thank you for being here, I appreciate you.
The recent Doc Edge festival ended yesterday with Mana Moana Mana Tangata. Putting aside for a moment the broader discussions around the festival’s programming this year (a topic for another Entangled Curiosities ramble on the creative industry's often lopsided support for global justice, particularly Palestine), I'm genuinely glad I immersed myself in Mana Moana Mana Tangata before watching another conservation documentary with a significantly larger marketing budget and a household name attached: David Attenborough's 'Ocean'.
Now, this might be a super controversial take, especially here in Aotearoa where he's so revered, but I've rarely found myself drawn to Attenborough's particular advocacy or narrative. Undoubtedly, he is an intellectual giant and a passionate conservationist, arguably one of the most beloved figures in this space globally.
But….in his content, I am consistently left with the same irk and thirst so many mainstream conservation campaigns, narratives, and advocacy efforts; their glaring lack of historical and enduring accountability. Specifically, how racist and colonial motives not only fed the foundational design of countless conservation policies and legislations but continue to profoundly influence them today.
Consider, for instance, the countless instances across Asia and Africa where Indigenous peoples have been forcibly evicted or made to migrate from their ancestral lands in the name of 'conservation,' only for those same lands to be subsequently granted access to a select few private interests, often luxury tourism or gaming operators. And this is precisely where Mana Moana Mana Tangata shines a much-needed light: on how some ostensibly 'conservation' NGOs are now, wittingly or unwittingly, being leveraged as a facade to obscure the privatisation motives of the wealthy elite, all under the banner of environmental protection.
Unpacking the "Why": Environmental Racism Isn't Accidental
Hey, my day job is with an environmental NGO. So, while this might sound like a self-loathing rant, I think about the ironies of our sectors a lot. Because just as much as I demand governments and businesses ask tough questions to themselves, the charitable sector surely needs to ask itself some bloody tough questions too.
This discomfort I feel, this sense of a missing piece in the mainstream conservation puzzle, finds its precise articulation in the field of environmental justice and, more specifically, environmental racism – terms my brilliant colleague Andrea Edwards unpacks so eloquently in her recent Steeped in Green cross-post here on Entangled Curiosities.
Andrea highlights that 'environment' in this context extends far beyond pristine wilderness. As Dr. Robert Bullard, often called the 'father of Environmental Justice,' states, the environment is 'where you work, live, play, pray and learn'. Environmental justice, then, isn't just about protecting nature; it's about the fundamental principle that 'all communities are entitled to equal protection of environmental, energy, health, employment, education, housing, transportation, civil, and human rights'. This means recognising the disproportionate exposure to environmental risks (like polluting industries) and the denial of environmental benefits (like clean green spaces).
Crucially, Andrea emphasises that you 'can't really talk about environmental justice without talking about environmental racism, as the two work hand in hand'. Coined by Dr. Reverend Benjamin Chavis in the 1980s, environmental racism isn't merely an unfortunate outcome; it's defined as 'racial discrimination in environmental policymaking and the unequal enforcement of environmental laws and regulations'. It is, as Dr. Chavis further elaborated, 'the deliberate targeting of people of colour communities for toxic waste facilities and the official sanctioning of a life-threatening presence of poisons and pollutants in people of colour communities'.
Now, here's where my behavioural science brain lights up. While earlier definitions of environmental racism often focused on proving malicious intent, which, as Andrea points out, was notoriously difficult to prove in court (like the Warren County PCB dumping case where a judge ruled no racial motivation despite the facts), our present-day understanding is more nuanced and, frankly, more useful. Andrea highlights Dr. Bullard's condensed definition: 'any policy, practice or directive that differentially affects or disadvantages (where intended or unintended) individuals, groups or communities based on race'. That 'intended or unintended' distinction is vital.
Environmental racism, then, is a form of systemic racism, rooted in historical and present-day practices and policies that have disproportionately burdened lower-income and non-white communities with environmental risks, while simultaneously excluding them from environmental benefits. Think about the legacy of segregation and redlining in the US, forcing Black communities into proximity with industrial pollutants and hazardous materials like lead paint.
This isn't just an American issue; as Andrea notes, it exists globally, including in countries with histories of colonialism and land confiscation like Aotearoa. While she'll delve deeper into NZ examples in a future post, the parallels here are stark, particularly concerning Indigenous sovereignty and the rights of non-human beings.
The consequences are dire, with a significant economic toll. Environmental racism and injustice incur 'costly bills to pay for local and national economies due to increases in spending to combat growing health costs as well as impacts to the workforce'. This is where the post-capitalist critique becomes undeniable: when short-term private gains lead to long-term societal and environmental costs, the system is fundamentally broken.
No 'I'm a Racist' T-shirt, But Also No 'We're All a Bit Racist' Cap
If we talk about 'racist motives' and 'systemic racism,' suddenly everyone’s internal alarm bells are clanging. Nobody I know wants to wear a metaphorical 'I Am A Racist' t-shirt. Well, they wouldn’t say it to my face if they know me well enough. The mere suggestion can make most of us twitch. It’s grossly uncomfortable and who needs more discomfort in a world already serving up a daily eyesore of it?
But we also can’t just shrug and pop on a 'We're All A Bit Racist' cap either. Because while that might feel like a gentler, more inclusive way to let ourselves off the hook (a sort of collective absolution), it conveniently glosses over a monumental truth. Some of us have the undeniable privilege of choosing not to care about this topic just because it makes us feel a bit… uncomfortable. For others, the colour of their skin, the land their ancestors called home, or the neighbourhood they grew up in simply doesn't afford them that life choice. It’s there for them every single moment and turn they make.
It's a bit like trying to explain to my empathetic, loving husband how paralysing last week’s bus ride was for me. There is simply no way he can truly understand the decades' worth of accumulated anxiety response built up for every single woman navigating public spaces. It's not all men, as the saying goes, but it’s every woman who carries that hypervigilance. My neurospicy brain, which intellectualises everything, also processes and feels this almost too quickly and deeply. And that's the cognitive and emotional toll.
Similarly, when we talk about environmental racism, we're discussing systems that disproportionately impact certain bodies and communities. While some might have the luxury of switching off the news or choosing a different suburb, many are quite literally breathing the consequences, unable to opt out of the poisoned air or polluted water. Their reality isn't just uncomfortable; it's often life-threatening. These communities exposed to environmental risks have a higher risk of being left behind across a range of areas, including life expectancy, physical wellbeing, mental health, and more, with non-white communities disproportionately affected.
The Uncomfortable Truth and the Tangled Hope
So, where does this leave us, perched precariously between the familiar comfort of pristine nature documentaries and the stark reality of environmental racism? It leaves us, I think, exactly where we need to be: in a space of necessary discomfort. As Andrea rightly notes, you simply "can't talk about environmental justice... without making someone angry or upset". And as I always say, that anger isn't the problem; it's the very fuel for change.
Because while nobody wants that 'I Am A Racist' t-shirt, and the 'We're All A Bit Racist' cap is a convenient, albeit flimsy, shield for privilege, the stories of communities quite literally suffocating from pollution while others enjoy manicured parks demand more than just discomfort. They demand engagement. They demand an acknowledgement that some bodies bear the brunt of colonial and capitalistic legacies far more acutely than others. Just as my loving husband, despite his best intentions, can’t inhabit the skin of a woman navigating a bus ride, some conversations are simply not optional for those whose lives depend on them.
This is precisely why films like Mana Moana Mana Tangata are not just important, they are essential. They don't offer us a polite escape into a pristine, 'untouched' natural world. Instead, they bring us into the vibrant, complex, and sometimes messy entanglement of human relationships with land and ocean, framed by Indigenous worldviews, not colonial constructs. They remind us that true conservation isn't about setting aside 'wilderness' from people but about restoring reciprocal relationships with the living world. Relationships that have been deliberately severed and exploited for profit and power. It's a vision that centres Indigenous sovereignty and community wisdom, challenging the very foundations of the problems Andrea so clearly articulates.
For my fellow angry, griefy, nerdy women, for anyone whose entangled curiosities pull them towards the thorny, inconvenient truths, keep at it. You can stretch into the discomfort, to demand historical accountability from the narratives we consume, and to champion the voices that offer genuine, decolonised solutions. Because if we can sit with the tangles, if we can accept that some truths are meant to provoke, then maybe, we can help weave a slightly more just and regenerative future for all of us.
I know it’s hard to commit to monthly subscriptions. So it would mean a lot to me if you could support this mahi with a one-off virtual coffee if you enjoyed this entangled feminist rage and grief
Yes! naming of the systems underpinning our 'purposeful' work all day, every day - environmental racism. Thank you.