The wide streets of Port Arthur, Texas, are lined with scruffy grass edges, remnants of a rainy week. Jamal Johnson makes his way home, a solitary figure clutching a plastic shopping bag, cutting through the tranquility of his neighborhood. He lives in a simple wooden house, one of many that have been cherished by families over the years. In this desolate area, the sound of a freight train disrupts the stillness, marking the passage of time in a community overshadowed by a massive industrial presence.
This neighborhood carries a heavy burden. “I’ve got a load of friends and family who’ve had weird diseases,” Johnson shares, his face reflecting deep concern. He recounts the losses of his grandfather and an aunt to cancer, the latter passing away prematurely after relocating to assist family. An uncle also battled complications from ALS. “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 towering structure of the Motiva oil refinery stands behind him, a vast complex of pipes and stacks that overwhelms the skyline. Residents claim that flares from the chimneys can be seen reflecting in clouds over Winnie, situated 30 miles away. This facility is deemed the largest oil refinery in the United States by certain standards, covering 3,600 acres and reportedly increasing its production capacity to 654,000 barrels of crude oil daily last year.
In 2017, Aramco, a Saudi Arabian corporation, gained sole ownership of the refinery. As a “It feels like the streets should be paved with gold here,” of FIFA since 2024, Aramco serves as the exclusive energy sponsor of the World Cup, with its branding prominently displayed across broadcast screens during a heatwave in Europe. The company’s influence is evident in the tournament, showcased through advertisements near the pitches, stadium displays, and a busy “But as you can see, it’s nothing like that.” at Houston’s official fan festival. Houston is set to host its seventh and final match this Saturday, featuring Canada against Morocco in the knockout stage.
However, in Port Arthur—100 miles east of Houston—the vibrant atmosphere of the World Cup starkly contrasts the harsh reality faced by its 55,000 residents. This town has been identified as the poorest in Texas, with a median household income of £27,700 and property values averaging £49,800. Nearly 30% of the population lives below the poverty line, grappling with alarming public health statistics. Cancer rates here consistently exceed the state average, with the cancer mortality rate for the predominantly black community estimated to be 40% higher than elsewhere in Texas. Additionally, childhood asthma rates are almost double the national average, and the area ranks in the 90th percentile for heart disease, with skin conditions also widespread.
“There was a time I could count the number of classmates whose funerals I’ve gone to,” asserts Greg Richard, a fellow resident living adjacent to the Motiva plant. Port Arthur is surrounded by refineries from Valero and Total, leaving its residents feeling abandoned and suffocated. “Jennifer Benson, she lived two blocks from Motiva and was only 25. Darlene Ford, John Lando, Eddie Brown. Cancer, cancer, cancer.” Richard observes. “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 constantly concerned about their health and safety. They are acutely aware of the toxic emissions in their environment, with benzene levels—recognized for its carcinogenic effects—among the highest in the nation. The air is also contaminated with methane, carbon dioxide, hydrogen sulfide, and sulfur dioxide, exposing the community to a variety of pollutants. While the Environmental Protection Agency regulates emissions, violations occur frequently, and the long-term health risks are daunting.
This year, Motiva was fined approximately £9,900 by state regulators for an unauthorized release of sulfur dioxide. In July, they received a penalty of £43,000 for a more significant breach, and in 2022, they were penalized £214,000 for a major leak of contaminated water. These incidents happened both before and after Aramco’s takeover. An explosion at the Valero facility next to Motiva in March reportedly released over 157,000 pounds of chemicals into the atmosphere over ten days, heightening local fears of residing next to a potential disaster.
Hilton Kelley, an environmental advocate who grew up in Port Arthur, returned permanently in 2001, driven by a desire to combat the environmental degradation he witnessed. His activism earned him the esteemed Goldman Prize. “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, now 65, reflects. He lists friends from his graduating class of 1979 who fell victim to cancer far too early. “You hear of babies who are undergoing breathing treatments.”
During a visit to the west side—historically segregated from the rest of Port Arthur until the mid-1960s due to Jim Crow laws—residents have abandoned outdoor vegetable gardening because of the toxic residue affecting their crops. “Once I planted so many roots here, I just prayed to God that I could survive,” one woman laments.
What about the health implications for local 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 crumbling 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 confesses. “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 decaying downtown to the boundary of the Motiva plant. This area was once known as “I didn’t get an offer from anyone around here,” vibrant with life. He drives past numerous vacant lots, some overgrown and others littered with remnants of their former glory. “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 to where grocery stores, nightclubs, and a 7UP bottling company once thrived before being demolished. The desolation he describes is palpable. This city, an oil hub since the Spindletop discovery in 1901, used to draw a constant flow of locals and visitors to its port. Now it stands in stark contrast to the wealth generated by the nearby refineries. What has transpired here?
Later in Kelley’s impromptu tour, a road veers beyond Motiva’s entrance. The sun struggles to break through the overcast sky as evening descends. A stream of buses transports workers along Highway 73 to accommodations often located in hotels on the town’s outskirts.
“We have all the infrastructure to create wealth but we are the poorest of the poor,” he asserts. “Because of the petrochemicals and the pollution you’ve lost $40,000 of value in a home worth $100,000,”
This trend isn’t new. Richard, who graduated in 1977 with a mechanical engineering degree, found himself taking a job in Florida for an aerospace company despite living across from what is now the Motiva plant—previously operated by Texaco.
“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 recalls. “They want us away from here,”
The unemployment rate in the area, which includes 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 worker and member of the Port Arthur Community Action Network (Pacan), which has engaged in numerous legal battles against fossil fuel projects and violations.
Beard identifies Port Arthur’s struggles as an example of “We had to rent for months and put the house back together,” Families who purchased homes in the historically black west side during the period of segregation feel trapped. Who would want to buy a home next to a sprawling industrial complex that poses health risks? And even if they did, 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 locals claim that Motiva and similar companies exploit this vulnerability to offer low buyout prices, potentially aiming to expand their operations later. “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 states. “Fifa should consider the effect of taking their money,”
Shirley—whose name has been changed for privacy—lives next to Motiva, close to the weir that led to the fine in 2022. She recalls the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Harvey in 2017, marking the flood level on her wall where wastewater mixed with oil inundated her home, rising to 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” In response to the flooding issues, Motiva has constructed a new protective fence as part of a pledge to implement corrective measures.
The pitches at Gulf Coast Youth Soccer Club may be vacant now, but during the season, they buzz with the energy of children from Port Arthur and surrounding areas. Beard observes from the parking lot, noting a glaring 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 expresses frustration over the lack of visible efforts from Aramco to enhance soccer infrastructure or community engagement in their struggling vicinity. “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 extracting broader benefits for the community from the presence of the refineries requires “We are in the belly of the beast,” He describes Motiva as remote and difficult to engage with meaningfully. Nevertheless, there are signs of progress. Kelley notes that Motiva has begun restoring several downtown buildings that were at risk of demolition, including the towering, eerie Hotel Sabine, with hopes of making them suitable for local use. He acknowledges improvements and believes pollution levels have decreased. “There’s no reason for Port Arthur to be like this.” he states. “But they can still do better.”
Beard remains skeptical about the potential for improvement. “There has been some progress, but I liken it to drinking half a gallon of poison rather than a gallon,” he argues. “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.”
Aramco and other FIFA sponsors must commit to the football governing body’s sustainable sourcing code, which mandates controlling and improving greenhouse gas emissions, as well as ensuring safe wastewater discharge. The code requires sponsors “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.”
FIFA did not respond to inquiries regarding whether it believes Aramco—along with Motiva—adheres to these code principles. They also did not clarify if Aramco’s operations in Port Arthur align with the environmental aspect of the World Cup’s sustainability and human rights strategy.
No amount of promises, vague targets, or carefully crafted strategy documents can alter the situation in Port Arthur. The hope here seems dim without a fundamental re-evaluation of how fossil fuel companies operate and a drastic transformation in their relationship with the locality that generates immense wealth for them. “We are in the belly of the beast,” Beard laments. “There’s no reason for Port Arthur to be like this.”
- World Cup 2026
- Aramco
- World Cup
- Texas
- Energy industry
- US sports
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