As rain-soaked grass edges line a broad street, Jamal Johnson makes his way home, a plastic shopping bag in tow, cutting through the quiet of his neighborhood. He lives in one of the modest wooden homes that have been cared for and passed down through generations. The street is otherwise deserted, interrupted only by the rumble of a freight train that rolls past the north-facing gardens. Port Arthur, Texas, resembles many low-income areas in the South, but the looming industrial facilities across the tracks distinguish it.
This community carries a significant burden. “I’ve got a load of friends and family who’ve had weird diseases,” Johnson reveals, his face etched with worry. He recalls the tragic loss of a grandfather and an aunt to cancer, the latter succumbing at a young age after relocating to the area to assist family. An uncle also lost his battle to ALS complications. “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.”
The Motiva oil refinery towers above the skyline, featuring an imposing array of pipes, stacks, and domes. Local legends claim that the flare from the chimneys illuminates the clouds above Winnie, which lies over 30 miles away. This facility, one of the largest in the United States by various metrics, covers 1,457 hectares (3,600 acres) and reportedly raised its production capacity to 654,000 barrels of crude oil daily in the previous year.
In 2017, Aramco, a Saudi Arabian corporation, acquired sole ownership of the refinery. Named a “It feels like the streets should be paved with gold here,” of FIFA in 2024, Aramco serves as the exclusive energy sponsor of the World Cup, appearing in numerous television advertisements that aired during a heatwave across Europe. The company’s branding is woven throughout the tournament, featuring prominently on pitchside banners, stadium displays, and at the official fan festival in Houston, where the “But as you can see, it’s nothing like that.” stands out. Houston will host its seventh and final match on Saturday, showcasing Canada against Morocco in the Round of 16.
Yet, Port Arthur, located 100 miles east of Houston, lacks the same allure. This city of 55,000 residents is in turmoil. A study conducted in 2021 deemed it the poorest city in Texas, with a median household income of £27,700 and an average home value of £49,800. Nearly 30% of its population lives below the poverty line, compounded by concerning public health statistics. Cancer rates in this predominantly Black community consistently exceed the state average, with mortality rates believed to be 40% higher than in other Texas regions. Childhood asthma incidence is estimated to be nearly double the national average, while heart disease rates place it in the 90th percentile, and skin conditions abound.
“There was a time I could count the number of classmates whose funerals I’ve gone to,” declares Greg Richard, another resident of this community neighboring the Motiva facility. Port Arthur is encircled and, arguably, suffocated by industrial growth: Valero and Total also operate significant refineries nearby, yet locals feel as though any economic prosperity has bypassed them. “Jennifer Benson, she lived two blocks from Motiva and was only 25. Darlene Ford, John Lando, Eddie Brown. Cancer, cancer, cancer.” Richard laments. “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 to question if they too will become victims of industrial emissions. They are acutely aware of the toxic pollutants released into their atmosphere. Benzene emissions, recognized for their carcinogenic properties, rank among the highest in the nation. Methane, carbon dioxide, hydrogen sulfide, and sulfur dioxide are additional hazardous substances affecting them. Although emissions are regulated under EPA guidelines, violations occur frequently, and the long-term health consequences are alarming.
This year, Motiva faced a fine of around £9,900 from state regulators for an unauthorized sulfur dioxide release. In July of the previous year, the company incurred a £43,000 penalty for a more significant breach. In 2022, they were fined £214,000, a portion of which was mitigated following corrective actions. This penalty arose from a substantial leak of contaminated water after an overflow on their site. These non-compliance incidents happened both before and after Aramco assumed control. In March, an explosion at the nearby Valero facility was reported to have released over 157,000 pounds of chemicals into the atmosphere over ten days. It’s no surprise that the local population feels they live next to a ticking time bomb.
Hilton Kelley, a lifelong resident and environmental advocate, returned to Port Arthur in 2001, motivated by a desire to combat the city’s decline, earning 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 reminisces, now aged 65. He lists friends from the class of 1979 who have died prematurely from cancer. “You hear of babies who are undergoing breathing treatments.”
During a meeting with residents from the historically segregated west side of Port Arthur, it becomes evident that many have given up on growing vegetables due to the contaminants marring their produce. “Once I planted so many roots here, I just prayed to God that I could survive,” shares one resident.
What about the impact on the children? “I’m getting older and just can’t leave. But they’ve been killing us all our damn lives.” Kelley explains. “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 admits. “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 reflects as he navigates Houston Avenue, which stretches a mile from Port Arthur’s desolate downtown to the boundary of the Motiva plant. Once nicknamed “I didn’t get an offer from anyone around here,” he passes numerous empty lots, some overgrown and others littered with remnants of what once thrived. “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 toward the locations where grocery stores, nightclubs, and a 7UP bottling company once flourished before being razed. One can only trust his word for it. This desolate area, an oil hub since the 1901 Spindletop discovery, was once a vibrant community that attracted a mix of locals and newcomers to the port. What has happened to this once-thriving place?
As Kelley continues his impromptu tour, he arrives at a road branching off beyond Motiva’s gate. The evening sky is overcast, with a faint sun peeking through the low clouds. A convoy of buses transports workers along Highway 73 to their accommodations, often found in hotels on the town’s outskirts.
“We have all the infrastructure to create wealth but we are the poorest of the poor,” he points out. “Because of the petrochemicals and the pollution you’ve lost $40,000 (£30,000) of value in a home worth $100,000,”
This disparity is not a recent development. Richard graduated with a mechanical engineering degree in 1977 and, despite living across from what is now the Motiva plant—formerly operated by Texaco—he found work in Florida for an aerospace company.
“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 recounts. “They want us away from here,”
The unemployment rate in 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.” remarks John Beard Jr., a former refinery employee whose Port Arthur Community Action Network (Pacan) has fought tirelessly against fossil fuel development and regulatory breaches.
Beard characterizes the situation in Port Arthur as a case of “We had to rent for months and put the house back together,” Black families who bought homes on the west side during the city’s segregation have limited options remaining. Who would willingly purchase a property next to a sprawling industrial site that poses health risks? Even if they were inclined, 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 claim that Motiva and its counterparts take advantage of their vulnerability, offering meager buyouts in anticipation of 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—not her real name—lives adjacent to Motiva, near the weir that led to the company’s fine in 2022. She recalls the catastrophic aftermath of Hurricane Harvey in 2017, marking the flood level on her wall, where wastewater mixed with oil inundated her home to a height of 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 recounts. “knocking at the door and begging” As part of a commitment to corrective actions, Motiva constructed a new protective fence to address the issue of overflowing water.
The fields at Gulf Coast Youth Soccer Club may be empty now, but during the season, they come alive with children from Port Arthur and neighboring towns. Beard gazes from the parking lot and notes 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.”
He wonders why Aramco has not visibly tried to enhance soccer infrastructure or engagement in its struggling local area. “There has been some improvement but I liken it to drinking half a gallon of poison rather than a gallon,” he suggests. “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”
Kelley asserts that securing broader benefits for the local community from the presence of oil facilities has required “We are in the belly of the beast,” He describes Motiva as distant, with numerous barriers before any meaningful engagement can occur. Nonetheless, there are a few signs of progress. Kelley acknowledges that Motiva has begun renovating several surviving downtown buildings that were at risk of demolition, including the towering, ghostly Hotel Sabine. The aim is to make them usable for locals. He recognizes this effort and believes that Motiva has made strides in pollution control. “There’s no reason for Port Arthur to be like this.” he notes. “But they can still do better.”
Beard remains unconvinced. “There has been some improvement, but I compare it to drinking half a gallon of poison instead of a gallon,” he states. “They’re better than the others to some extent, but they’re still polluting the air. They should aim for zero emissions.”
Aramco and other FIFA sponsors are required to adhere to the football governing body’s sustainable sourcing code. This code mandates that they manage and mitigate greenhouse gas emissions and ensure the safe discharge of wastewater. Sponsors must “manage the environmental impacts of their activities in line with local and national environmental laws and demonstrate year-on-year improvement.”
FIFA did not respond to inquiries regarding whether it believes Aramco—along with Motiva—complies with the key aspects of the code. They also did not clarify whether Aramco’s operations in Port Arthur align with the environmental goals of the World Cup’s sustainability and human rights strategy.
No number of pledges, vague objectives, or carefully crafted strategy documents can aid Port Arthur. Without a dramatic re-evaluation of fossil fuel companies’ operations and a fundamental change in their relationship with the area that generates immense wealth for them, hope seems elusive. “We are in the belly of the beast,” Beard concludes. “There’s no reason for Port Arthur to be in this condition.”
- World Cup 2026
- Aramco
- World Cup
- Texas
- Energy industry
- US sports
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