I had never heard of the Philadelphia Art Commission back in 2022 when I tuned in to a Zoom meeting about plans to build a driving range at the Cobbs Creek Golf Course. When reporting on a public meeting of a City commission, it’s not uncommon to find yourself waiting impatiently through all the other proposals on the agenda ahead of the item you are there to cover. But in this case everything on the docket was absolutely fascinating to an environmental journalist like me. I watched commissioners tell developers and their architects what they needed to change in their designs; the objections ranged from the aesthetic (as I expected from an “art” commission) to the environmental. Commissioners insisted that landscaping include native plant species, that the risk of bird-window collisions be addressed. And the developers were deferential; many were returning with designs altered to comply with the commission’s demands. This was a commission with teeth.
That same year the Kenney administration launched the Environmental Justice Advisory Commission, without any teeth at all. At the time, there was no clear way for the new commission to ensure that City plans advanced environmental justice. It’s hard to imagine a politician, a developer or a business heeding the advice of a commission without any power — especially one speaking for the under-resourced communities of color that come out on the losing end of pollution, flooding, short dumping and so many other environmental ills.
Creating an advisory commission — along with other classic diversions like commissioning plans and studies — is a great way for elected officials to look like they’re taking action without actually ceding any power. Advocates are often grateful in the moment that their issue is getting any attention at all. News outlets generally run positive stories about the plans or stated intentions of public officials, and that makes them look good. But in the end, nothing actually changes. Developers and City officials might take some abuse at public meetings, but that’s a small price to pay when there is money to be made and political points to be scored.
As Sophia D. Merow’s piece in this issue makes clear, the Environmental Justice Advisory Commission has languished in the years since its launch. But I think it’s worth imagining what a genuinely powerful body entrusted with fighting environmental racism and protecting environmental justice communities could have accomplished in the past year. You might not expect Mayor Parker’s Office of Clean and Green Initiatives to exacerbate environmental injustice, but without scrutiny we don’t know how it could be improved or shaped to better serve the neighborhoods that most need cleaning and greening. Hilco’s redevelopment of the former Philadelphia Energy Solutions site might have been forced to slow down and take community demands seriously.
It’s easy to see why politicians and their powerful backers like developers and building trades unions don’t want environmental justice communities to wield power. Beyond the possibility of not getting exactly what they want, when you launch a headline-grabbing initiative or build a stadium, time is money and speed is of the essence. Including environmental justice communities in the design and approval process means taking the time to let everyone read and digest plans, going back and forth as you work out the changes. But when the impact of a project can last decades, the right thing to do is to slow it down and get it right.