Jamal Johnson walks the empty streets of Port Arthur, Texas carrying his shopping bag past modest wood-panelled houses that have sat in the same families for generations. Behind the freight train tracks that separate his neighborhood from the outside world looms something else entirely: a sprawling steel fortress of pipes, stacks and domes that dwarfs every dwelling in sight.
This is the Motiva refinery, the largest in the United States by some measures. It covers 3,600 acres and processes 654,000 barrels of crude oil daily. For the past seven years, it has been owned by Saudi Arabia's Aramco, now a major worldwide partner of FIFA and the World Cup's exclusive energy sponsor. While Aramco's logo blankets stadiums in nearby Houston and dominates broadcast feeds globally, the reality 100 miles away in Port Arthur tells a starkly different story.
Johnson's family history reads like a casualty list. A grandfather died of cancer. An aunt died young of cancer after moving to Port Arthur to care for relatives. An uncle died from ALS complications. "They've let off all these poisonous gases," Johnson says. "It's like that all the time."
Port Arthur, a city of 55,000, sits suffocated between three major oil refineries. The 2021 census identified it as Texas's poorest city, with a median household income of $27,700 and median home value of $49,800. Nearly 30% of residents live below the poverty line. The health data is alarming: cancer mortality rates for the predominantly Black community run 40% higher than the Texas average. Childhood asthma rates are nearly double the national average. The city ranks in the 90th percentile for heart disease.
"This is a hellhole," says Greg Richard, a resident who lives on the fence line bordering Motiva. "It feels like the streets should be paved with gold here. But as you can see, it's nothing like that."
The air itself carries the burden. Benzene emissions, highly carcinogenic, rank among the highest in the nation here. Methane, carbon dioxide, hydrogen sulfide and sulfur dioxide flow regularly from the facility. While the Environmental Protection Agency caps and monitors these releases, violations are routine. In 2023, Motiva faced a $9,900 fine for unauthorized sulfur dioxide release. Last July came a $43,000 penalty for a similar offense on a larger scale. A 2022 fine of $214,000 was issued after contaminated water flooded residential properties when a weir on Motiva's premises overflowed. Earlier this year, an explosion at the adjacent Valero plant released more than 157,000 pounds of chemicals into the air over 10 days.
Hilton Kelley, 65, grew up in Port Arthur and returned in 2001 after a career elsewhere. He won the Goldman Prize for environmental activism and now documents the human cost of industrial proximity. "There was a time I could count the number of classmates whose funerals I've gone to," he says. His class of 1979 list of cancer deaths runs long: Jennifer Benson at 25, just two blocks from Motiva; Darlene Ford; John Lando; Eddie Brown. "Cancer, cancer, cancer," he repeats quietly.
Residents have stopped trying to grow vegetables outdoors. Black film coats produce from tomatoes to cucumbers within weeks. At elementary schools, Kelley notes, nurses keep cabinets stocked with 30 or 40 nebulizers for children requiring breathing treatments. "You hear of babies undergoing breathing treatments," he says.
The economic paradox cuts deepest. Port Arthur sits atop wealth, next to some of the world's most powerful generators of revenue. Yet the refinery workforce rarely comes from the community. "They're not employing people from here," Kelley explains. "Labor 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."
Greg Richard holds a mechanical engineering degree earned in 1977. He lived directly across from what was then the Texaco facility, soon to become Motiva. No job offer came. "They had a very sorry record of hiring professionals who look like me," he says. "That has transferred to Motiva. You can see that in their staff and management. They come here and go back home at weekends."
Property values have collapsed under the weight of toxicity. John Beard Jr., a former refinery worker running the Port Arthur Community Action Network, describes the mechanics of what he calls "environmental racism." Black families who bought homes during segregation decades ago face a trap. "Because of the petrochemicals and the pollution you've lost $40,000 of value in a home worth $100,000," Beard says. Some homes sit vacant for years, listed far below their pre-pollution market value.
Residents report pressure to sell. One home sits unsold for nearly four years with an asking price of $175,000. "They want us away from here," Johnson says. "They've been trying to buy our properties. They want to make this refinery land."
Hurricane Harvey in 2017 demonstrated the stakes. A woman living adjacent to Motiva, near the weir that triggered the 2022 fine, watched wastewater mixed with oil flood her home and rise 3.5 feet. "We had to rent for months and put the house back together," she recalls. "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 stood at an empty soccer field recently and posed a question that captures the contradiction. The Gulf Coast Youth Soccer Club sits dormant during off-season, its pitches waiting for the next generation of young players from Port Arthur. "Where are Aramco or FIFA on our soccer fields?" Beard asked. "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?"
FIFA has no visible community investment in Port Arthur, the very place where its major sponsor operates. "I'd extend the invitation for FIFA to come here," Beard says. "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."
Author James Rodriguez: "Aramco gets to wear a World Cup jersey while Port Arthur wears an oxygen mask, and nobody in the corporate suite seems to notice the hypocrisy."
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