The street stretches wide, its grassy edges overgrown after a week of rain. Jamal Johnson walks home, a solitary figure carrying a plastic shopping bag, moving through the stillness. His modest wood-paneled home is one of many in a neighborhood that has been lovingly maintained over generations. Yet, the tranquility is disrupted by the distant rumble of a freight train passing alongside the north-facing gardens. Port Arthur, Texas, particularly its west side, resembles any lower-income area in the southern United States, except for the ominous presence looming just across the tracks.
This community bears a heavy burden. “I’ve got a load of friends and family who’ve had weird diseases,” Johnson reveals, his expression tightening with concern. He recounts the losses of a grandfather and an aunt to cancer, the latter succumbing at a young age after moving to care for family. He also mourns an uncle who passed away due to complications from ALS. “You know what I’m saying? Man, they’ve let off all these poisonous gases; it’s like that all the time. It’s fucked up.”
Dominating the skyline is the Motiva oil refinery, a sprawling and surreal structure of pipes, stacks, and domes. Locals claim that when the chimneys flare, the glow can be seen in the clouds above Winnie, 30 miles away. This facility is touted as the largest oil refinery in the United States, occupying 1,457 hectares (3,600 acres) and reportedly boosting its production capacity to 654,000 barrels of crude oil daily last year.
In 2017, Aramco, a Saudi Arabia-based corporation, acquired full ownership of the refinery. The company was named a “It feels like the streets should be paved with gold here,” of FIFA in 2024, becoming the exclusive energy sponsor of the World Cup, prominently featured on television screens as a heatwave sweeps across Europe. Its influence permeates the tournament, visible through advertisements on the sidelines, stadium screens, and within the bustling “But as you can see, it’s nothing like that.” at the official fan festival in Houston. On Saturday, Houston will host its final match, featuring Canada against Morocco in the knockout stage.
However, in Port Arthur, located 100 miles east of Houston, the scene is starkly different. This town, home to 55,000 residents, is in dire straits. A 2021 study identified it as the poorest city in Texas, with a median household income of £27,700 and an average home value of £49,800. Nearly 30% of the population lives below the poverty line, compounded by alarming public health statistics. Cancer rates in this predominantly Black community significantly surpass state averages, with the cancer mortality rate believed to be 40% higher than in other areas of Texas. Childhood asthma rates are nearly double the national average, and the community ranks in the 90th percentile for heart disease, with various skin issues also prevalent.
“There was a time I could count the number of classmates whose funerals I’ve gone to,” exclaims Greg Richard, another local resident of this fence-line community adjacent to the Motiva plant. Port Arthur finds itself encircled, arguably suffocated, by oil refineries, including Valero and Total, yet residents feel that any economic boom has largely bypassed them. “Jennifer Benson, she lived two blocks from Motiva and was only 25. Darlene Ford, John Lando, Eddie Brown. Cancer, cancer, cancer.” Richard reflects. “I tried tomatoes, bell peppers, green beans and cucumbers, but then you look at it all and see black spots and dust,”
Residents of Port Arthur are left wondering about their fate. They are acutely aware of the dangerous emissions enveloping them. Benzene, a highly carcinogenic substance, is among the most prevalent pollutants in the area, alongside methane, carbon dioxide, hydrogen sulfide, and sulfur dioxide. Despite regulatory caps and monitoring by the Environmental Protection Agency, violations are frequent, and the potential long-term health impacts are daunting.
This year, Motiva faced a fine of about £9,900 from state regulators due to an unauthorized release of sulfur dioxide in 2023. Last July, a larger violation resulted in a £43,000 penalty, while a £214,000 fine was imposed in 2022 for a significant leak of contaminated water after a weir overflowed. These incidents are just a few of the infractions recorded before and after Aramco took control. In March, an explosion at the nearby Valero plant reportedly released over 157,000 pounds of chemicals into the atmosphere over a span of ten days. Residents understandably feel as if they are living next to a ticking time bomb.
Hilton Kelley, an environmental activist who grew up in Port Arthur, returned in 2001, motivated by the city’s decline and driven to activism, even winning the prestigious Goldman Prize for his efforts. “If you go to some of the elementary schools and talk to the nurse, she’ll open a cabinet and show you 30 or 40 nebulisers,” Kelley shares, his age 65. He lists friends from his 1979 class who succumbed to cancer prematurely. “You hear of babies who are undergoing breathing treatments.”
The Guardian spoke with residents on the west side—historically segregated from the rest of Port Arthur until the mid-1960s under Jim Crow laws—who have abandoned attempts to grow vegetables outdoors due to a covering of grime on their produce. “Once I planted so many roots here, I just prayed to God that I could survive,” one resident laments.
What implications does this have for local children? “I’m getting older and just can’t leave. But they’ve been killing us all our damn lives.” Kelley remarks. “I see ghosts whenever I drive down this street.”
Charles, a carpenter working on a friend’s dilapidated restaurant, feels trapped. “See this? It was Antoine’s Auditorium. Aretha Franklin played here, Al Green too, Ray Charles. We had the Chi-Lites and all the other hip groups. Everything around was lit up with neon. White folks, black folks, this was the place to come. All of this was hustle, bustle.” he reflects. “They’re not employing people from here,”
“They could be, and they should be, but they’re not. Labour is cheaper coming from south of the border. And maybe they don’t complain as much as American workers if they know the situation is dangerous. It’s profit margins ahead of community members.” Kelley is navigating Houston Avenue, a mile-long stretch from Port Arthur’s abandoned downtown to the boundary of the Motiva plant. Once known as “I didn’t get an offer from anyone around here,” he points out numerous empty lots, some overgrown while others are scattered with remnants of what once existed. “They had a very sorry record of hiring professionals who look like me in their organisation, and that has transferred to Motiva. You can see that in their staff and management. They come here and go back home at weekends.”
Kelley gestures to where grocery stores, nightclubs, and a 7UP bottling franchise once thrived before being demolished. The desolation of this area, an oil hub since the Spindletop discovery in 1901, raises questions about what went wrong in such a resource-rich environment.
During Kelley’s impromptu tour, he indicates a road branching off beyond Motiva’s entrance. It’s early evening, with a pale sun struggling to break through the overcast sky. A convoy of coaches is transporting workers along Highway 73 to their accommodations, often located in hotels on the outskirts of town.
“We have all the infrastructure to create wealth but we are the poorest of the poor,” he insists. “Because of the petrochemicals and the pollution you’ve lost $40,000 (£30,000) of value in a home worth $100,000,”
This issue is not new. Richard, who graduated in 1977 with a mechanical engineering degree, found himself taking a job in Florida for an aerospace company despite living right across from what is now the Motiva plant—formerly Texaco.
“There’s a house across the street that they’re trying to sell for $175,000 and it’s been vacant for nearly four years.” he recalls. “They want us away from here,”
The unemployment rate in the region encompassing Port Arthur and neighboring Beaumont stands at 5.4%. “They’ve been trying to buy our properties. They’re like: ‘Y’all going to get tired of repairing your houses and start getting the fuck away.’ They want to make this refinery land.” states John Beard Jr., a former refinery worker whose Port Arthur Community Action Network (Pacan) has engaged in long, often successful, legal battles against fossil fuel developments and violations.
Beard characterizes Port Arthur as facing “We had to rent for months and put the house back together,” Black families who purchased homes on the west side during the era of segregation find themselves without options. Who would want to buy a house next to a constant flow of hazardous materials? And if they did, would they receive a fair price?
“People would be happy to leave if they offered enough money. But this is a lovely big house, I’m not going for $100,000. The market isn’t fair because of what they’ve done.” Beard explains. “Where are Aramco or Fifa on our soccer fields?”
Some residents assert that Motiva and other companies exploit this vulnerability to offer low buyout rates, potentially with plans for future expansion. “What is their presence? They have none. If you’re so big on soccer then why aren’t you doing something where you already have a business interest?” Johnson asserts. “Fifa should consider the effect of taking their money,”
Shirley—her real name withheld—resides next to Motiva, close to the weir that resulted in Motiva’s fine in 2022. She recounts the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Harvey in 2017, marking the flood level on her wall to illustrate how wastewater, mixed with oil, inundated her home, rising to 3.5 feet.
“It always has strings attached. And if they’re going to take it, they should account for the impact the company is having on its local area. It’s basically blood money. “I’d extend the invitation for Fifa to come here. Soccer is growing here, so why can’t we see them? We don’t see any promotion in the affected communities along the fence line; there’s nothing.” she recalls. “knocking at the door and begging” As part of a commitment to implement corrective measures, Motiva constructed a new protective fence to address the issue of flooding.
The fields at Gulf Coast Youth Soccer Club remain vacant, but during the season, they are filled with children from Port Arthur and surrounding areas. Beard looks over from the parking lot and sees another absence. “It’s about 75% better than when I was growing up here and it was owned by Texaco,” he questions. “But they can still be better.”
Beard is perplexed by Aramco’s lack of visible efforts to enhance soccer infrastructure or encourage participation in its struggling neighborhood. “There has been some improvement but I liken it to drinking half a gallon of poison rather than a gallon,” he argues. “They’re better than the others to a degree but they’re still putting that crap in the air. They should be looking at reducing pollution to zero.”
“to manage the environmental impacts of their activities, at least in accordance with the local and national environmental legislation, laws, and regulations of any country within which [they] operate, and to demonstrate year‑on-year improvement”
Extracting broader benefits for the community from the plants’ existence has, according to Kelley, necessitated “We are in the belly of the beast,” He describes Motiva as remote and requiring numerous obstacles to be overcome before genuine engagement occurs. Nonetheless, there are some hopeful signs. Kelley appreciates that Motiva has begun restoring several downtown buildings that were at risk of demolition, including the imposing, eerie Hotel Sabine. The goal, at least partially, is to make them suitable for local use. He acknowledges this effort and believes Motiva has made progress in reducing pollution. “There’s no reason for Port Arthur to be like this.” he notes. “But they can still improve.”
Beard remains skeptical about the positive changes. “There has been some improvement, but I liken it to drinking half a gallon of poison rather than a gallon,” he states. “They’re better than the others to a degree, but they’re still polluting the air. They should aim for zero pollution.”
Aramco and other FIFA sponsors are obligated to adhere to the football governing body’s sustainable sourcing code, which mandates controlling and enhancing greenhouse gas emissions, among other stipulations. The code requires sponsors “to manage the environmental impacts of their activities, at least in accordance with the local and national environmental legislation, laws, and regulations of any country within which [they] operate, and to demonstrate year-on-year improvement.”
FIFA has not responded to inquiries regarding whether it believes Aramco—along with Motiva—complies with the key points of the code. There has been no statement on whether Aramco’s operations in Port Arthur align with the environmental aspects of the World Cup’s sustainability and human rights strategy.
No amount of pledges, vague targets, or carefully crafted strategy documents can remedy the situation in Port Arthur. Without a fundamental reassessment of the activities of fossil fuel companies and a significant shift in their relationship with the very community that generates their immense wealth, hope seems elusive here. “We are in the belly of the beast,” Beard observes. “There’s no reason for Port Arthur to be like this.”
- World Cup 2026
- Aramco
- World Cup
- Texas
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