When I think of the train derailments, chemical spills, and explosions this year in Keachi, Louisiana, East Palestine, Ohio, and Van Buren Township, Michigan, I can't help think of Morrisonville, Louisiana.
The only thing that remains of the historic town is the Nazarene Baptist Church Cemetery, now behind the gates of Dow Chemical Company, where my grandfather and many other paternal relatives are interred.
When there is so much documented about the effects of environmental pollution, vinyl chloride, Cancer Alley communities, etc., there should be no hesitation or question about what to do for the residents of these most recently afflicted towns.
When Dow made offers to relocate Morrisonville's residents, my aunt Beulah and many of her neighbors exchanged old, wooden, tin-roofed, shotgun homes, and land for newer, more spacious brick homes located 7.4 miles away in the town of Brusly.
My Uncle Jack and Aunt Rosa, however, were among the last to leave family land, and the beautiful home they'd built in order for my great-grandmother Nellie to be more comfortable. It became increasingly clear that the land was no longer safe, and their health was in danger. They, too, took Dow's offer.
History matters.
"Perhaps 20 other Morrisonville families have remained in their homes, saying Dow's offer is not generous enough. "Dow doesn't pay for attachment to land, for the inheritance that is in this community," said Rosa L. Martin, who lives with her husband, Jack, in a modern brick house so close to the plant that hissing compressors and commands over the plant loudspeakers can be heard inside. "This spot is worth more to me than anywhere," Mr. Martin, 63, a retired Air Force computer and electronics instructor, said of the community his father joined at the turn of the century."Dow doesn't understand that, but we're still talking."
~The New York Times, November 28, 1990
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