Sustainability Stories :: Part Two
"Environmentalism that isn't intersectional will fail. As designers, we talk a lot about needing to make sure all the stakeholders are at the table when we're working on a project, especially social justice projects. The same should be applied to environmental projects."
As part of our 10 year anniversary celebration, we’re sharing our Sustainability Stories, where each of our team members explains a little more about their passion for sustainability. Read Part One here.
Kellie
When + why did you decide to start living more sustainably?
I come from a line of farming families from the Hiroshima Prefecture and southern Japan. When both sets of Great Grandparents migrated to the States, they continued farming in California and Hawaii. My Mom's parents then ran a small coffee farm on the Big Island. My Father is an environmental engineer. I grew up fishing, camping, hiking, skiing, and swimming in the Pacific Northwest and Hawaii, and was taught to love and appreciate our surrounding environment with deep reverence.
Sustainability is about living in a way that honors my family, my ancestors, and our collective histories. Through their life stories, I've come to believe that the physical, mental, and emotional health of people and our communities is intrinsically tied to the health of our land and environment. Essentially... Environmentalism + Racial Equity + Social Equity = Sustainability.
After my Great Grandparents migrated to the U.S., they started their families, plugged themselves into their local communities, and for all intents and purposes, were living the "American Dream." But then, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. The local economy in Hawaii depended on migrant labor on the sugar cane plantations, so my family on the Islands were spared from the internment camps. My Great Grandparents and Grandparents on the Mainland weren't so lucky. By this time, my Great Grandparents in California owned and ran a small produce farm. A mix of racism and the potential for economic opportunity led the surrounding White farming community to aggressively advocate for the removal of their Japanese descended neighbors. A sentiment that we now understand as environmental racism. I guess to them, these Japanese farmers and their families were disposable once the land that they had put so much love and work into was now profitable — a pattern we still see today.
There are a lot of takeaways from their time leading up to, during, and after their time the Poston, AZ camp. But one of the things that stick with me the most is how this impacted my Great Grandfather. When the war was nearing its end, my family was allowed to leave the camps early if they agreed to relocate to Chicago, IL., a place they had never been to. But they were approaching their 3rd year in Poston, so they took it. My Great Grandfather struggled in the city. He had always been a man of the countryside. The only work available was as a piece-maker in a nearby factory, and he struggled to keep up with its fast-paced expectations. My Grandmother still recalls his frustration as his calloused fingers would fumble with the intricate details of the work. Taking my Great Grandfather out of his element chipped away at his self-confidence and self-worth. A couple of decades later, he returned to California and spent the rest of his days doing what he loved: farming. It gives me peace knowing that he was able to regain some of what was lost, but I can't help but mourn for those who weren't so lucky.
With this legacy, I find courage and power to advocate for communities who are facing similar battles. I see my family in Native communities fighting for their right to protect their lands like in Standing Rock. I see my family in those who are being pushed out into more polluted areas as their neighborhood is being gentrified. I see my family in the Flint, MI community that still doesn't have clean water. I see my family in the many climate refugees being inhumanely detained at our borders. Even if we can achieve the dream of living in a thriving, clean, and bountiful environment, if it's only accessible to those with the most money and social capital, is that sustainability?
And while I'm not a farmer (I struggle with keeping air plants and cacti alive), I hope I can continue our family's legacy by being an advocate for intersectional environmentalism so that the planet and everyone on it can thrive.
Note: It would be unfair for me not to mention that this land was never my family's, to begin with. We were and are occupiers of this land. Even though my Great Grandparents and Grandparents had a legal claim to that land in California and Hawaii and put their hearts into the soil, it was stolen from the Native communities who resided there first. This tangle of colonialism that my family has played a part in is still something to unpack.
What would you like people to know about sustainable living?
There are too many voices missing from our movement. Environmentalism that isn't intersectional will fail. As designers, we talk a lot about needing to make sure all the stakeholders are at the table when we're working on a project, especially social justice projects. The same should be applied to environmental projects. Communities in the margins are the ones most heavily impacted by climate change. They know more about the issue than we do because it's their lived experience and should be leading us. Are they at the table? Are they allowed to use their voice? Or are we trying to be their voice?
Some resources on intersectionality + environmentalism: