The trucks come early – long before most alarm clocks ring. They rumble through neighborhoods or down nearby highways, carrying tons of trash and trailing diesel exhaust that hangs in the air, drifts through open windows, and settles into daily life.
Neighbors swap stories of headaches, strange tastes in the tap water, gardens that don’t quite bloom like they used to. They talk about the smell – sharp and chemical some days, sour and earthy on others. But more than that, they talk about the feeling. Like something’s wrong. Like someone else made a decision about their neighborhood, and now they’re the ones living with it.
You could be standing on a misty back road in Old Town near Juniper Ridge, the largest landfill in Maine – or on a residential street in the Pine Hill Acres neighborhood of New Bedford, Massachusetts, where a new waste transfer station threatens to bring even more garbage into a community that already feels surrounded.
Two different stories. But the details blur. And the deeper you look, the more the story repeats.
These projects keep showing up in the same kinds of neighborhoods for a reason. And we’re here to stop that cycle.”
– Alex St. Pierre, CLF’s director of communities and toxics.
This month, CLF will argue in Penobscot Nation v. Maine Department of Environmental Protection that a proposal to expand Juniper Ridge goes against state law and violates environmental justice for the Penobscot Nation.
And in New Bedford, state officials have moved to approve the facility – ignoring community voices and siding with profit over people. CLF condemned the decision as unconscionable and will continue to challenge it at every step.
But these cases are bigger than these two sites. They are part of a long, familiar pattern – where trash facilities keep getting placed in the same kind of communities.
It doesn’t have to be that way.
Tracing the Trash Trail
Old Town sits on the banks of the Penobscot River, where generations of the Penobscot Nation have lived, fished, and passed down culture rooted in the water. And, today, the Penobscot people continue to seek that connection – a living bond to their ancestors, to the healing power of the river, and to a future where their culture and identity can thrive. But that same river now flows near Juniper Ridge Landfill, a mountain of buried trash Casella Waste Systems wants to make even bigger. The company is proposing to add space for about 11.9 million cubic yards of waste – that’s about 8.6 Empire State Buildings stacked full of trash. It’s a staggering amount for a landfill that’s already overflowing with waste trucked in from other states – and the subject of long-standing cries to shut it down for good.
To Penobscot Nation Chief Kirk Francis, the proposal to expand the landfill is the latest chapter in a long pattern of harm to the health of the people of the Penobscot Nation – including its oldest citizen, the Penobscot River. “Our sacred river is under constant assault,” he says. “We are forced to choose between being true to our traditions while risking the health of our tribe or moving away from our centuries-old culture.” It’s not a theoretical fear. “Our people experience cancer at a much higher rate than other Mainers,” he adds, “and we believe this is related to the proximity to pollution both historically and present-day.”
Five hours south of Old Town, New Bedford faces a similar story. In this Massachusetts community, neighbors look out for one another, generations have built lives in the area – many living in the homes where they grew up – and people are determined to shape their future. But instead of Casella, here it’s South Coast Renewables taking center stage. The company wants to transform its current recycling site into a massive trash transfer station that would process about 1,500 tons of garbage daily. That means hundreds of large, waste-filled trucks would pass through residential neighborhoods every day. They will add noise, air pollution, and traffic to an area already struggling with environmental burdens – including multiple hazardous waste sites and an active landfill within just a couple of miles of the proposed facility. While waiting to be shipped out of state, the waste would release toxic odors and emissions, leaving residents to deal with the fallout.
For Jessica Morgado, the news hit hard. “I feel very angry that the proposed waste transfer station is located close to my home, my son’s new school, and my community,” she says. “I do not want everybody’s trash coming to New Bedford. Even if I lived elsewhere, I still would not want this here.”
Despite the geographic distance, both communities face the same unsettling truth: Waste – and the industries that profit from it – always seem to land in neighborhoods where families work hard to build safe, decent homes, but don’t have the wealth or political power to shield themselves from harm. And while the details vary, the impact is the same: families forced to live with invisible toxins.
Breathing Invisible Threats
Contrary to what may come to mind when thinking about trash facilities, in these neighborhoods, trash doesn’t simply show up as piles of plastic bags full of waste. It seeps into daily life. At Juniper Ridge, runoff from the landfill carries PFAS – toxic “forever chemicals” – at levels more than 20 times what’s considered safe to drink. Nearly 15 million gallons of runoff from the landfill reach the Penobscot River each year. These chemicals don’t go away. They build up in our bodies – and have been linked to cancer, thyroid disease, and more.
“I used to regularly eat local fish and fiddleheads,” says Charles “Chuck” Leithiser, who lives near Juniper Ridge, “but now I cannot risk my health by consuming plants and animals exposed to PFAS.” He’s also stopped hiking at Hirundo Wildlife Refuge – once a regular activity – out of fear that “the Juniper Ridge Landfill-produced odors and poor air quality would harm my health.”
In New Bedford, those same fears take on a local shape. “On trash days on Mondays in the spring and summer, I do not go for walks because the leachate that comes out of the trucks is disgusting,” says Dorene McHugh.
And then there’s the risk of disaster – not just in theory, but in memory.
Fires at landfills aren’t rare – fueled by flammable gases like methane, they pose serious risks that can erupt without warning.
In May 2023, one such fire broke out at Juniper Ridge Landfill, sending ash raining down on nearby homes and exposing residents to immediate and frightening dangers. “When Juniper Ridge Landfill was on fire, no one notified us – even as ash fell onto people’s yards,” says Leithiser.
In New Bedford, residents recall the 2024 fire at 100 Duchaine Boulevard – the site of the proposed waste transfer station – managed then by the same company seeking the expansion. Michael McHugh says, “our community is just east of the property with winds coming from the west… It is scary to think what could happen if the proposed waste transfer station gets their permit to operate.”
“Across both places, people describe the same pattern: pollutants, fire risks, unbearable odors – and silence from those in charge. What’s missing isn’t just clean air, it’s accountability,” notes CLF’s St. Pierre.
Pollution Is Displacing People
The danger doesn’t stop at air and water. For many, the deeper fear is being forced to leave the communities they’ve spent decades building – pushed out not by rent hikes or gentrification, but by trash.
In Old Town, this fear also resonates. As Chief Francis puts it, “Our people are living in fear.” The cultural and environmental stakes are intertwined. “The toxins change our waters,” he says, “and the water loses its ability to heal and to sustain life.”
For Michael McHugh, the building of the waste transfer station in New Bedford would push him away from the place he has called home for decades: “I have lost seven friends within 200 yards of the house due to cancer, all before 60 years of age,” he says. “If the proposed waste transfer station is permitted to operate, I will likely move away from the area.”
And the fear isn’t unfounded – research shows that living near landfills and hazardous waste sites increases the risk of cancer, especially kidney, bladder, liver, and blood cancers. A recent study found that people living within just a few kilometers of these sites were up to 2.5 to 4.6 times more likely to develop certain cancers, including among children. These aren’t isolated cases – they’re warning signs.
People are being displaced not by choice – but by systems that put profit over safety.
These Communities Know What They Want
And it’s not complicated.
“I only wish Maine would put as much energy into waste reduction as it does into waste expansion,” says Leithiser. “I miss being able to enjoy the outdoors, and I’d resume these activities if Juniper Ridge Landfill eliminated the odor from the landfill and improved the air quality.”
Christine Kelley, who has lived in New Bedford for decades, puts it simply: “I just want to live somewhere peaceful again. I want quiet. I want safety. I want my neighbors to feel like we matter.”
They’re not asking for luxury. They’re demanding what every family deserves: clean air, safe water, and the ability to stay and thrive where they are.
“But it’s not just pollution that’s threatening these communities – it’s the systems enabling it, including processes that actively exclude residents,” adds St. Pierre.
In Old Town, the state approved a landfill expansion that disregards its own waste laws. Landfills should be the last resort for dealing with trash, not the go-to solution. But by allowing Juniper Ridge to grow, Maine has turned that principle on its head. CLF is taking the state to court on behalf of the Penobscot Nation to demand that environmental justice for Tribal communities be treated as a legal right – not a checkbox.
And in New Bedford, the company failed to translate key documents regarding the proposed facility. Public meetings lacked interpreters. Entire communities – particularly Portuguese- and Spanish-speaking residents – were left out of the conversation entirely. That’s not an oversight. That’s a civil rights violation. While our complaint to the EPA was unsuccessful, the agency didn’t condone the expansion of this transfer station. The harm to the community was the same – exclusion from important decisions that affect their lives and livelihoods.
“What we’re seeing isn’t an isolated case,” says Britteny Jenkins, CLF vice president for environmental justice. “This is part of a long history of dumping harm on communities least equipped to fight back. But these communities aren’t backing down – they’re organizing, testifying, and demanding a future they get to shape.”
The Déjà Vu We Deserve
We’ve seen this pattern too many times: Communities speak up. Polluters push forward. Officials claim their hands are tied. And the people left behind live with the consequences.
“No matter where you live, you should be able to wake up in a place that feels safe, clean, and truly yours,” says CLF’s St. Pierre. “That’s what these communities are fighting for – not just freedom from pollution, but the chance to decide what kind of neighborhood they live in.”
Let’s make that our new normal. Because everyone deserves a neighborhood worth waking up in.