"This request is inherently flawed with respect to a fundamental principle of Euclidean zoning by not separating incompatible land uses, and is contrary to a variety of the policies ... . The applicant states that the use is perfect for the area and provides a buffer; staff respectfully disagrees."
Driving east on Vegas Valley Drive toward Tree Line Drive, two orange signs on the right side announce, "WPCF." Three hundred feet ... 150 feet ... and you're there—the city's Water Pollution Control Facility, which daily treats 66 million gallons of wastewater. A dewy aroma emanates from the adjacent flood channel where, in some spots, grass pokes through cement and, elsewhere, islands of bluish-green algae float southward. Across the street, more industry: Nevada Power's Sunrise Station. Large, rectangular engines burn the natural gas that produces the heat that revs the steam turbines that power nearby televisions, toasters and microwaves. Close by is the Clark County Water Reclamation facility, which daily cleanses 110 million gallons of wastewater. On Tree Line sits an auto salvage yard.
About industrial as Vegas gets.
And soon to be as residential.
A controversial, County Commission-approved zone change will put 800 entry-level homes just 1,350 feet west of the city plant, 1,000 feet northwest of the Nevada Power station and within two miles of the county facility. Commissions say the properties are needed, as the Valley's hyperactive, under-supplied housing market rapidly prices low- and moderate-income families out of the American Dream. (The homes are nearly $110,000 below median new-home costs—$240,000 in May, according to SalesTraq). Objecting to the incongruity of nudging residential next to industrial and citing potential odor problems—the '90s saw various complaints about a pungent, sewery stench—county staff and the Sunrise Manor Town Advisory Board opposed the zone change. And experts weighing in on the issue suggest other potential problems altogether: environmental justice and safety.
Although effusive shortly after the affirmative vote, neither Commissioner Myrna Williams (who told the Sun, "Sometimes we have to do things that are not so popular because it is the right thing to do") nor Commissioner Rory Reid ("In a perfect world, this would an industrial area, but there is a lot of pressure for residential because of the growth") returned calls for comment.
County staff wasn't so shy: "Permitting a use that is not planned, let alone a residential development within this area, is deleterious to the function of sound planning principles and does little to consider the environment of the future residents," read the recommendation prepared by the staff. "The zone change would not only establish an undesirable precedent for this area, but would undermine the premise of comprehensive planning, which is intended to logically, adequately, and efficiently plan for the growth and sustainability of a community."
Our popularity and humming economy has made all vacant land fair game for developer whimsy.
John Callewart has seen it before. Industrial projects aggregating—as they tend to do, he says—in low-income areas. Often, those communities become the first choice for additional supply. And why not? Land prices are typically cheaper there and the area already coexists with industry.
"This certainly fits the pattern," says Callewart, an assistant professor and director of the Institute for Community and Environment Department at Colby-Sawyer College in New Hampshire. "In a market-based economy, if you are looking for property for affordable housing, that's where it's likely going to be—in industrial areas. Where you have multiple [industrial] facilities, you're likely going to find a low-income or minority communities."
A 1993 New York Times report, "Pollution-Weary Minorities Try Civil Rights Tack," notes backlash from black, Hispanic, Asian and American-Indian groups that claim their neighborhoods have become America's industrial dumping grounds. Egregious examples include the "Toxic Doughnut" on Chicago's South Side and "Cancer Alley" in Louisiana—an 80-mile stretch from Baton Rouge to New Orleans lined with 140 toxin-releasing refineries and chemical facilities.
Nothing like that has happened here. But something like it could. As in this case, Callewart says, proving intentional bias is nearly impossible. However, historical analysis reveals inarguable results: "A study 10 years ago using zip codes from the Census found a relationship between certain communities and hazardous facilities.
"Now I don't think anyone has identified a proven case of direct racism ... that someone said, 'We picked this site for an industrial facility because this is a community of color,'" Callewart says. "But the more facilities there are, you have more of a chance of having health problems."
Residents in places such as Cancer Alley have reported higher incidents of respiratory and other illnesses.
State Assemblyman Mark Manendo can't recall any disease outbreaks in Sunrise Manor and says the once-onerous odor problems have largely subsided. "Traffic is a bigger issue," he says. Nor has County Deputy General Manager Doug Drewery heard of illnesses attributable to the industrial cluster.
County Zoning Administrator Chuck Pulsipher says the city and county facilities continually upgrade new technology to reduce foul smells; the city recently received its fifth environmental compliance award from the Association of Sewerage Agencies. Nevada Power flack Sonya Headen says the Sunrise Station's only complaint, filed 18 months ago, was noise-related. "The gas burns really clean. We're up to state and federal code and have had no violations."
Illustrating the tenuous relationship of conjoining industrial and residential, Nevada Power averted a potential problem in December 2002 when thousands of gallons of fuel flowed from a corrosion-caused leak in a Sunrise Station storage container. A containment basin caught the spilled fuel.
But even harder than proving environmental racism is demonstrating cause-and-effect relationships between waste industries and illness, argues University of Michigan Professor Bunyon Bryant, an expert in environmental justice. "We can show probable causality or association," he says, but you need to able to show a pattern, a direct correlation between emissions and sickness. "From what it sounds like, we clearly don't have that here, although it could happen."
On Tree Line, north of Vegas Valley, residential overtakes industrial. The Sahara Summit and Sahara Sunrise subdivisions sit parallel, leading to Las Vegas High School on Sahara. Veer east to Hollywood Boulevard and look north—homes as far as the eye can see. Then look west—a rooftop jungle. Back on Vegas Valley and Tree Line, looking north: acres of desert sit to the east. Further east on Vegas Valley, more of the same. A vast expanse of barren land. Ripe for more industrial, or more residential, or both.