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Why a bill to regulate California warehouse development is generating sweeping opposition

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Saturday, September 7, 2024

Xochitl Pedraza moved to San Bernardino County eight years ago. After three decades of city living, unincorporated Bloomington offered a rural community where she could buy an acre of land and raise chickens.But Pedraza’s neighborhood has become more industrial in recent years, as developers have converted large swaths of property along the 10 Freeway into a logistics corridor for e-commerce, connecting goods shipped into Southern California ports with online shoppers across the nation. While proponents of the developments say they bring jobs and infrastructure improvements, many residents living in their shadow lament the pollution, traffic and neighborhood disruption.There was already an avocado distribution center across the street from Pedraza’s home; now there’s an Amazon fulfillment center on the corner that brings “trucks after trucks after trucks,” Pedraza said. The incessant beeping and honking penetrate her soundproof windows.She and her 8-year-old grandson suffer from dry eyes, nasal congestion and a chronic dry cough — symptoms she attributes to dust from warehouse construction and the region’s ozone pollution. A bill on Gov. Gavin Newsom’s desk would establish siting and design standards for industrial warehouses that, according to supporters, would better protect the health of residents such as Pedraza. Assemblymember Juan Carrillo (D-Palmdale), who co-authored the legislation, has described the measure as a “very delicate compromise” that resulted from lengthy negotiations among a working group that included labor, health, environmental and business representatives. Nonetheless, the bill has generated staunch opposition from a diverse range of environmental, community and civic groups statewide who object to the secrecy in which the bill was crafted in the final days of session and who say it fails to hold warehouse developers to higher standards.Beginning in 2026, AB 98 would prohibit cities and counties from approving new or expanded distribution centers unless they meet specified standards. New warehouse developments would need to be located on major thoroughfares or local roads that mainly serve commercial uses. And warehouse sites would need to be set back several hundred feet from so-called “sensitive sites” such as homes, schools and healthcare facilities. Additionally, if a developer demolishes housing to make way for a warehouse, the bill would require two new units of affordable housing for each unit that is destroyed. The developer would have to provide displaced tenants with 12 months’ rent.Some regulations would need to be enacted in the state’s “warehouse concentration region” — Riverside and San Bernardino counties and a dozen Inland Empire cities — by 2026, two years before the rest of the state.While some labor groups support the bill, it is opposed by a host of environmental, business and community organizations. Several cities also opposed the legislation, which according to an analysis by the Senate Appropriations Committee, requires general plan updates that could result in one-time costs for cities and counties ranging from tens of millions to potentially hundreds of millions of dollars. Environmental advocates are especially concerned about the bill’s setback requirements for projects involving warehouses 250,000 square feet and larger that are within 900 feet of homes, schools, parks or healthcare facilities.In those cases, the bill would require that truck loading bays are located at least 300 feet from the property line in areas zoned for industrial use; and 500 feet from the property line in areas not zoned for industrial use. Warehouses would also need to comply with design and energy efficiency standards.Pedraza, the Bloomington resident, said the distances laid out aren’t enough buffer. The rules also don’t take into account that truck traffic and pollution issues are magnified in overburdened communities such as Bloomington, she said.“The whole community is surrounded by warehouses now,” she said. “It doesn’t matter how far it is ... they still affect us.”The bill would simply enshrine current warehouse development practices into law and undermine local efforts to advocate for the much bigger setbacks recommended by state agencies, said Andrea Vidaurre, senior policy analyst for the People’s Collective for Environmental Justice in San Bernardino.In a 2022 report on best practices for warehouse projects under the state’s environmental laws, the state attorney general’s office recommends locating warehouse facilities so that their property lines are at least 1,000 feet from the property lines of sensitive sites such as homes and schools. It cites the state Air Resources Board, which in 2005 estimated an 80% drop-off in pollutant concentrations at approximately 1,000 feet from a distribution center.“If this is signed into law, we’re basically saying, ‘Business as usual is okay; let’s keep building it like this,’” Vidaurre said. “We’re going to continue to see warehouses being put across the street from homes and schools, because it will be OK with the law.”Assemblymember Eloise Gomez Reyes (D-Colton), another co-author, acknowledged during a Senate committee hearing last week that AB 98 preserves jobs and enacts warehouse standards but is “not the perfect bill.”She introduced a bill earlier this year that said warehouses could be sited within 1,000 feet of schools, homes, healthcare facilities and other sensitive sites only if they included a minimum setback of 750 feet and adopted specific mitigation measures. The bill was held in its first committee.Gomez Reyes said the distance requirements in AB 98 could serve as a floor.“I do not believe the sensitive receptor setbacks in this bill adequately protect our most vulnerable communities,” Gomez Reyes said during the hearing. “It is important to note that these, however, are only a minimum. And nothing in this bill stops cities or advocates from pushing to put in place stronger standards with local cities and counties.”Karla Cervantes launched the Mead Valley Coalition for Clean Air earlier this year to fight the proliferation of warehouses in her unincorporated community of about 20,500 people in Riverside County. She said developers aren’t going to agree to setbacks larger than what’s required in the legislation. Riverside County already recommends warehouses be designed so there’s at least 300 feet between the property line of a sensitive site and the nearest dock door. While it is “very rare” for developers to agree to a larger setback, she said, they will sometimes offer larger landscaped buffers to obscure people’s view of facilities.If AB 98 becomes law, she said, “it’s going to be even harder for us to try to push for better.”Newsom has until Sept. 30 to sign or veto the bill.This article is part of The Times’ equity reporting initiative, funded by the James Irvine Foundation, exploring the challenges facing low-income workers and the efforts being made to address California’s economic divide.

A bill on Gov. Gavin Newsom's desk would set standards for industrial warehouse development near homes and schools. Opponents say those standards are weak and won't lessen health risks for residents living in the shadow of e-commerce.

Xochitl Pedraza moved to San Bernardino County eight years ago. After three decades of city living, unincorporated Bloomington offered a rural community where she could buy an acre of land and raise chickens.

But Pedraza’s neighborhood has become more industrial in recent years, as developers have converted large swaths of property along the 10 Freeway into a logistics corridor for e-commerce, connecting goods shipped into Southern California ports with online shoppers across the nation. While proponents of the developments say they bring jobs and infrastructure improvements, many residents living in their shadow lament the pollution, traffic and neighborhood disruption.

There was already an avocado distribution center across the street from Pedraza’s home; now there’s an Amazon fulfillment center on the corner that brings “trucks after trucks after trucks,” Pedraza said. The incessant beeping and honking penetrate her soundproof windows.

She and her 8-year-old grandson suffer from dry eyes, nasal congestion and a chronic dry cough — symptoms she attributes to dust from warehouse construction and the region’s ozone pollution.

A bill on Gov. Gavin Newsom’s desk would establish siting and design standards for industrial warehouses that, according to supporters, would better protect the health of residents such as Pedraza.

Assemblymember Juan Carrillo (D-Palmdale), who co-authored the legislation, has described the measure as a “very delicate compromise” that resulted from lengthy negotiations among a working group that included labor, health, environmental and business representatives.

Nonetheless, the bill has generated staunch opposition from a diverse range of environmental, community and civic groups statewide who object to the secrecy in which the bill was crafted in the final days of session and who say it fails to hold warehouse developers to higher standards.

Beginning in 2026, AB 98 would prohibit cities and counties from approving new or expanded distribution centers unless they meet specified standards. New warehouse developments would need to be located on major thoroughfares or local roads that mainly serve commercial uses. And warehouse sites would need to be set back several hundred feet from so-called “sensitive sites” such as homes, schools and healthcare facilities.

Additionally, if a developer demolishes housing to make way for a warehouse, the bill would require two new units of affordable housing for each unit that is destroyed. The developer would have to provide displaced tenants with 12 months’ rent.

Some regulations would need to be enacted in the state’s “warehouse concentration region” — Riverside and San Bernardino counties and a dozen Inland Empire cities — by 2026, two years before the rest of the state.

While some labor groups support the bill, it is opposed by a host of environmental, business and community organizations. Several cities also opposed the legislation, which according to an analysis by the Senate Appropriations Committee, requires general plan updates that could result in one-time costs for cities and counties ranging from tens of millions to potentially hundreds of millions of dollars.

Environmental advocates are especially concerned about the bill’s setback requirements for projects involving warehouses 250,000 square feet and larger that are within 900 feet of homes, schools, parks or healthcare facilities.

In those cases, the bill would require that truck loading bays are located at least 300 feet from the property line in areas zoned for industrial use; and 500 feet from the property line in areas not zoned for industrial use. Warehouses would also need to comply with design and energy efficiency standards.

Pedraza, the Bloomington resident, said the distances laid out aren’t enough buffer. The rules also don’t take into account that truck traffic and pollution issues are magnified in overburdened communities such as Bloomington, she said.

“The whole community is surrounded by warehouses now,” she said. “It doesn’t matter how far it is ... they still affect us.”

The bill would simply enshrine current warehouse development practices into law and undermine local efforts to advocate for the much bigger setbacks recommended by state agencies, said Andrea Vidaurre, senior policy analyst for the People’s Collective for Environmental Justice in San Bernardino.

In a 2022 report on best practices for warehouse projects under the state’s environmental laws, the state attorney general’s office recommends locating warehouse facilities so that their property lines are at least 1,000 feet from the property lines of sensitive sites such as homes and schools. It cites the state Air Resources Board, which in 2005 estimated an 80% drop-off in pollutant concentrations at approximately 1,000 feet from a distribution center.

“If this is signed into law, we’re basically saying, ‘Business as usual is okay; let’s keep building it like this,’” Vidaurre said. “We’re going to continue to see warehouses being put across the street from homes and schools, because it will be OK with the law.”

Assemblymember Eloise Gomez Reyes (D-Colton), another co-author, acknowledged during a Senate committee hearing last week that AB 98 preserves jobs and enacts warehouse standards but is “not the perfect bill.”

She introduced a bill earlier this year that said warehouses could be sited within 1,000 feet of schools, homes, healthcare facilities and other sensitive sites only if they included a minimum setback of 750 feet and adopted specific mitigation measures. The bill was held in its first committee.

Gomez Reyes said the distance requirements in AB 98 could serve as a floor.

“I do not believe the sensitive receptor setbacks in this bill adequately protect our most vulnerable communities,” Gomez Reyes said during the hearing. “It is important to note that these, however, are only a minimum. And nothing in this bill stops cities or advocates from pushing to put in place stronger standards with local cities and counties.”

Karla Cervantes launched the Mead Valley Coalition for Clean Air earlier this year to fight the proliferation of warehouses in her unincorporated community of about 20,500 people in Riverside County. She said developers aren’t going to agree to setbacks larger than what’s required in the legislation.

Riverside County already recommends warehouses be designed so there’s at least 300 feet between the property line of a sensitive site and the nearest dock door. While it is “very rare” for developers to agree to a larger setback, she said, they will sometimes offer larger landscaped buffers to obscure people’s view of facilities.

If AB 98 becomes law, she said, “it’s going to be even harder for us to try to push for better.”

Newsom has until Sept. 30 to sign or veto the bill.

This article is part of The Times’ equity reporting initiative, funded by the James Irvine Foundation, exploring the challenges facing low-income workers and the efforts being made to address California’s economic divide.

Read the full story here.
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The air quality in Big Bear suddenly reached hazardous levels this week. What happened?

Smoke from the Line fire catapulted the air quality index in the California mountain town to several times the maximum healthy level.

Plumes of smoke from Southern California’s fires blew across Big Bear on Sept. 11, causing local air quality meters to return off-the-chart readings for particulate pollution.Officials report air quality on a color-coded scale, in which green indicates “good” and maroon denotes “hazardous” conditions. An air quality index above 150 is considered unhealthy for everyone. Above 300 is considered hazardous.On Wednesday, Big Bear’s AQI for fine particulate matter, or PM2.5, reached a breathtaking daily average of 593.The reading was the third-highest AQI measured in Southern California since at least 1999, according to data from the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.The first- and second-worst air quality days were recorded in Ventura County during the 2017 Thomas fire, the state’s largest wildfire on record. On Dec. 6 and 8, the Ojai monitoring station recorded daily average AQIs of 961 and 906, respectively.Weeks of sweltering heat primed Southern California’s hills and mountains to burn.Between Sept. 5 and 9, three wildfires erupted: The Line fire in San Bernardino County, the Bridge fires in San Bernardino and Los Angeles counties and the Airport fire in Orange County.The Line fire began on Sept. 5 in Highland and soon spread through the mountains toward Big Bear. A 34-year-old Norco man has been arrested on suspicion of igniting the blaze.As of Friday, more than 38,000 acres of the San Bernardino Mountains had been consumed by the flames. While the fire hasn’t reached the resort areas, the ash particles and haze enveloped the skies of the mountain communities.High winds carried plumes of smoke throughout Big Bear Valley, closing ski resorts and most local businesses. Much of the area is still under an evacuation warning, with parts of the town ordered to leave.“I think every agency is doing everything in their power to control this fire so many communities don’t get destroyed,” said Big Bear Lake City Manager Erik Sund. Particulate pollution, including from wildfire smoke, is dangerous to almost everyone: pregnant women, young children, older people and adults with underlying conditions. Fine particulate matter can be the more damaging to people’s health than other pollutants, such as ozone. The tiny particles, roughly one-thirtieth the width of a human hair, can easily penetrate the lining of the lungs and infiltrate the blood stream. A 2023 study linked long-term PM2.5 exposure to an increased risk of dementia.“I worry about the differential impact of wildfire smoke. Even if the affluent get exposed to the same smoke as low-income communities, the low-income communities have less ability to protect themselves,” said Dr. John Balmes, a professor of medicine at UC San Francisco and a member of the California Air Resources Board. “Where the plume of smoke is going is where the biggest effect will be.”In August, Balmes and Jason G. Su, an environmental health sciences researcher at the UC Berkeley School of Public Health, published a paper that found communities of color are exposed to higher levels of air pollution than other communities.During wildfire season, experts recommend Californians keep tabs on local air quality monitoring reports, available from the U.S. EPA’s AirNow.gov or services such as PurpleAir.“If the least you can do is stay inside and close all your windows and doors, that will substantially reduce your exposure,” said Suzanne Paulson, a professor of atmospheric and oceanic sciences at UCLA. “If you’re trying to exercise, try to get out of that dark orange, red and that sort of horrifying dark purple-brown color that’s used for the really high AQIs.”

Houston Ship Channel residents warn they intend to sue the EPA over Valero refinery

The plaintiffs argue the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality has failed to hold the refinery to federal Clean Air Act standards. They're demanding the EPA take over the facility's permitting process.

David J. Phillip/APHomes are seen with the Valero Houston Refinery in the background.Residents of communities along the Houston Ship Channel have warned the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency that they intend to sue to force it to take over the permitting of Houston's Valero refinery. The outcome of the legal fight could affect the health of tens of thousands of people. Lawyers representing the residents said the EPA delegated responsibility for overseeing the Valero refinery, under Title V of the Clean Air Act, to the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality. The plaintiffs filed a complaint with the EPA in 2021, saying the TCEQ had failed to hold the refinery to federal air quality standards and asking the federal agency to take over the Title V permitting process. The EPA granted the plaintiffs' petition the following year but took no further action. "We are now giving EPA notice that it's time for them to take over this permit, as is within its regulatory authority," said Amy Dinn, litigation director of the environmental justice team at Lone Star Legal Aid. More than 85,000 people live within a three-mile radius of the Valero refinery, most of them people of color and many of them below the federal poverty level. The region has abnormally high rates of cancer and other severe health issues. "This facility often skirts regulations," said Rodrigo Cantù, a senior attorney with the Gulf regional office of Earthjustice. "It's the only major refinery within the Houston city limits. It's right next to an overburdened, vulnerable community, an environmental justice community. And for that reason, it's one that we intend on keeping our eyes on." The EPA has until February 25, 2025, to respond, either by taking over the permitting process for the refinery or by contesting the suit.

Environmental Injustice: Dispatches From a Black Trauma Surgeon on Health Inequity

For many Black children, asthma and other health problems are ever-present companions in neighborhoods located near dumps, factories, and highways. The post Environmental Injustice: Dispatches From a Black Trauma Surgeon on Health Inequity appeared first on The Revelator.

An adapted excerpt from The Bodies Keep Coming: Dispatches from a Black Trauma Surgeon on Racism, Violence, and How We Heal (Broadleaf Books) I did not plan to become a doctor. It did not occur to me that I, a loner with an intense stare and a disheveled afro, could become a doctor like the elderly white male doctors who cared for me. As a youth I saw no one who looked like me dressed in a long white coat adorned with a stethoscope. One of my earliest childhood memories is the feeling of impending death from lack of oxygen. “You’ll be all right, Brian,” my mother consoled, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. Wheezing like a tortured seal, I bobbled my head in acknowledgment, unable to move enough air through my lungs to speak. My father, a career Air Force noncommissioned officer, was deployed to some unknown locale, so my mother piloted this run to the hospital on her own. “You’re gonna be okay. We’ll be there soon.” I hungered for air, and seconds seemed like hours, but I knew she’d get me there. She always did. Living on an Air Force base, we didn’t have far to go, and minutes after burning rubber from home, we scurried into the emergency room. After the usual routine — a breathing treatment to loosen the vice grip on my lungs, height, weight, vitals — I sat hunched in an exam room, feet dangling two feet from the floor, as the doctor gently pressed here and felt there along my shirtless torso. Like all the doctors I visited as a child, he was an elderly white man who resembled Marcus Welby, MD, from the famous 1970s television series. And like all those doctors, he inspired my awe. As a military kid I always had access to healthcare, and I assumed that was true for everyone. To be sick and unable to see a doctor? I couldn’t fathom it. Because of my childhood asthma — a condition afflicting, hospitalizing, and killing Black children at a much higher rate than white children — I made many breathless trips to the emergency room. For many Black children, environmental injustice is an ever-present companion in neighborhoods located near municipal dumps, factories, and highways, resulting in increased exposure to respiratory toxins. My situation differed; my sister and I were trapped in a house with parents who smoked. I wonder if the white doctor judged my parents for that reason. Or because we were Black. Or both. “Open up and say ahhh.” I coughed as the doctor gagged me with a popsicle stick and gasped when he placed an ice cube masquerading as a stethoscope to my back. “Cold, huh? Sorry about that.” My mother hovered, not saying a word as the man with the soothing voice in the long white coat poked and prodded while asking me about sports and school. “Well, we’re done,” the doctor said, smiling again. He gave my mother instructions about when to return to the hospital, said something to her about smoking, wished me luck in my upcoming game, and walked out. Squirming into my shirt, I asked: “Are there any Black doctors?” A decade before Bill Cosby reigned as America’s favorite TV dad, Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable — and decades before it became known that he was drugging and sexually assaulting women — my mother smiled like any parent deflecting an uncomfortable truth. I couldn’t articulate it yet, but I felt it just the same. To me the smiling man in the long white coat, with the fancy degrees and plaques and awards broadcasting greatness from his office walls, was a god. And like the Eurocentric religious ideals force-fed to me in Sunday school, his profession of medicine did not seem like somewhere I belonged. From that early age, I knew an unspoken truth: No matter how smart, articulate, or well-behaved I would become, there were always places Black boys would not be welcome. Black men in medicine represent less than 3% of doctors, and I know future Black men attempting to cross the threshold are depending on Black doctors like me. Patients have told me to get their “real” doctor, leave the room, remove their tray of half-eaten food, or empty the trash bin. Some have ignored me and others have spat at me. Some have prayed for me and others have wished me dead. I have been called a racist and a healer, a nigger and a sellout, a hypocrite and a hero. No matter our social status, from gang members to doctors, Black men still serve as a mirror for people’s fears. A screen on which to project one’s anxiety — and disgust.  An endangered species navigating a world both hostile to and dependent upon our existence. Even with this backdrop, who is more poised to address the realities of our health inequities than those who have had to survive it? Childhood asthma does kill Black children at higher rates than white children. But so do other respiratory diseases, cardiovascular disease, neurological diseases. All of this ties back to environmental injustice.  And those environmental injustices are inextricably linked to larger societal disparities that position Black and brown communities to be most likely affected. Photo: Gulshan Khan Climate Visuals As a trauma surgeon, I learned to compartmentalize. The trauma team must move on. The hospital must move on. I must be ready for another victim, arriving with lights and sirens. I file away a mother’s son’s death in the emotional lockbox, straining to contain the feelings of injustice for the countless others like him. In these moments I reckon with the role I play as a Black doctor in a society that devalues Black lives. I wrestle with the futile feeling that the nobility of my work doesn’t have a sustainable impact. Is the essence of my job plugging bullet holes in young Black men and women, or watching them unable to breathe properly, or develop healthily? I can’t help but think that the histories and policies designed to quarantine Black people from mainstream American society have somehow managed to reach across generations and plague us today. I write and act so that other five-year-old wheezing Black boys might be seen as part of a bigger picture that needs attention. I write and act to show you the world of a Black trauma surgeon, in a profession lacking role models, who routinely deals with the human toll from the implications of environmental injustices. I write and act to remind us all that if Black lives actually mattered to policymakers in the United States, they would take action that mattered. Previously in The Revelator: Compounding a Crisis: When Public Health Solutions Worsen Climate Change The post Environmental Injustice: Dispatches From a Black Trauma Surgeon on Health Inequity appeared first on The Revelator.

Apple Will Sell Air Pods With Hearing Aids Built In

By Robin Foster HealthDay ReporterTUESDAY, Sept. 10, 2024 (HealthDay News) -- The latest AirPods from Apple will come with built-in hearing aids,...

By Robin Foster HealthDay ReporterTUESDAY, Sept. 10, 2024 (HealthDay News) -- The latest AirPods from Apple will come with built-in hearing aids, the company announced Monday.Designed as an over-the-counter hearing aid feature for those with mild to moderate hearing loss, users take hearing tests on iPhones or iPads running iOS 18, and then their AirPods make "personalized dynamic adjustments" to allow them to hear sounds that are boosted to prescribed levels in real time."This helps them better engage in conversation, and keeps them connected to the people and environment around them," Apple noted in a news release announcing the new product.The hearing settings are also automatically applied to any media someone is using. The hearing test takes about five minutes. Results, including audiograms, are stored privately within the Health app, the company noted.“Hearing health is a cornerstone of overall well-being. Protecting and preserving our hearing enhances our quality of life both in the short-term and long-term,” Rick Neitzel, a professor of environmental health sciences at the University of Michigan and lead investigator of the Apple hearing study, said in the company news release. “These tools will help people protect their ears from noise pollution, be aware of changes in their hearing over time and have important conversations with their healthcare providers when they need additional support.”Apple noted that, according to the World Health Organization, about 1.5 billion people around the world live with hearing loss. “For decades, Apple has led the way in designing products for everyone and supporting users with a broad spectrum of hearing abilities,” said Sarah Herrlinger, Apple’s senior director of global accessibility policy and initiatives. “These features on AirPods Pro will make an impact on so many people by driving more awareness around hearing health and empowering individuals with new customizable tools to help them stay connected.”Along with the hearing aids, the company also announced new Apple Watch features that detect sleep apnea. Those features are expected to roll out this month after getting approval from the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, the company said."Every 30 days, Apple Watch will analyze breathing disturbance data and notify users if it shows consistent signs of moderate to severe sleep apnea so they can speak to their doctor about next steps, including potential diagnosis and treatment," the company explained.“Empowering consumers everywhere to have the ability to reliably identify the presence of abnormal breathing patterns during sleep can help uncover a woefully under-diagnosed and serious medical condition such as sleep apnea,” Dr. Sairam Parthasarathy, director of the University of Arizona's Center for Sleep, Circadian and Neuroscience Research, said in the company news release. “This is a major step forward in improving public health.”SOURCES: Apple, news release, Sept. 9, 2024Copyright © 2024 HealthDay. All rights reserved.

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