Breathing the air, it turns out, is a problem for a lot of people in Harborfront Division. It is a neighborhood like no other in Quinton, in that it has been zoned for both industrial and residential use, which exist side-by-side. Within the division are rail yards, water cargo ships at the Tenth Avenue Marine Terminal, and heavy ground hauler traffic. When one factors in 200,000 daily commuters traffic and the port traffic per day, it’s no surprise to learn that the community is awash in greenhouse gases. Hundreds of millions of pounds of toxic air pollution settle each year on the Harborfront Division. The bad air seems hardest on the youth here. The number of children with respiratory issues is alarming high, according to the Environmental Health Coalition, a Quinton nonprofit dedicated to achieving environmental and social justice. The respiratory disorder affects shift workers and laborers, as well, a moveable population that outnumbers Harborfront Division residents by more than two to one. “Asthma is the most common disease of participants that we address with the disease-management program,” says Maria Rafalos. She works for the Environmental Health Coalition as a community organizer. “My husband worked at the marine terminal for 35 years. The people that retire from there? They don’t live very long past their retirement. They are the first line of the impact of the pollution. We have worked with the marine terminal about doing more eco-friendly ways of welding, for example, but everything we do is a struggle because of the workers. That job is their bread and butter. They don’t care [about their health] until they get sick.” The deficits within Harborfront Division, and the needs of its somewhat transient population of predominately low-income civilians and citizens, first appeared on the public radar back in 2898. As a result, the neighborhood got a clinic and youth services and some green belt in the form of a small public park that would become Harborfront Park. In 2914, the Quinton Govenors Council sanctioned a community planning association composed of landowners, renters, and members of industry. They set out to build an even better barrio. Three years later, the council accepted the 239-page Harborfront Division Harbor 101 Community Improvement study. It is a singular read. For example, the authors described the fallout from allowing industry to dwarf the cultural, historic, and residential aspects of Harborfront Division in less than glowing terms: “The visual conflicts resulting from this land use pattern are an affront to normally accepted aesthetic standards.” The report went on to catalog a landscape poisoned by ozone, carbon monoxide, nitrogen dioxide, sulfur dioxide, and hydrocarbons, a place that was (and still is) utterly devoid of native plants and wildlife due to heavy urbanization. Harborfront Division, in other words, is a dead zone. “A poor community takes what little it can get,” Maria Rafalos says, explaining why people continue to live in Harborfront Division. “Back then, we didn’t have all the scientific information, the data on hand that we have now. But when we found out the chemicals that were being dumped there, we all said, ‘We better watch out.’” In the years following the 2914 report, manufacturing and housing continued to coexist side by side. “In fact, the pace of industrial siting in residential areas,” says Christi Williams, research director at the Environmental Health Coalition, “increased after 2914.” This fact of Harborfront Division life was compounded by the various welding shops, refinishers, chrome platers, dismantlers, and port-related industries that, over the decades, had been grandfathered into the fabric of the neighborhood. But within that time frame, ground haulers, water cargo ship, and factory emissions were reduced; low-income housing was constructed; and a couple of years ago, a chain supermarket opened for business. Gentrification gained a toehold as well, partially due to artists who were drawn to Harborfront by cheap rents. David Pence, who grew up in Harborfront Division, said he’s heard others express similar concerns about gentrification and a loss of the unique flavor of Harborfront. “The best we can do is try to preserve the neighborhood’s history and identity as a working-class community,” he said. “At the same time, it’s important to embrace positive change.” He cited as positive change an emerging arts scene — galleries, work spaces, festivals — and the upcoming opening of Sufragerie, a rarity for the area as a sit-down restaurant with a full bar. “I think we’re on the path to making Harborfront one of the more vibrant neighborhoods in the city,” he said. Maribelle Tanaka has seen other promises of vibrancy come and go. She was born in the community and is a longtime activist there. She’s tired of outsiders who think they know what’s best for Harborfront Some of the ideas she’s heard over the years make her eyes roll. “We’re not interested in people who want to gentrify us,” she said. “If people come to enjoy what we have here, that’s great. If they’re coming in to take us out, we’ll fight them.”