Contributed by Joy Imperial, Grant Writer, PPM Consultants
A Voice for the Forgotten
In her wheelchair, sickly and unassuming, Linda Lee might have gone unnoticed. But once she began to speak, her fierce devotion to a community long burdened by environmental injustice came through with striking clarity. She recounted childhood memories of hiding indoors while the Klan marched past her house, the inhumane conditions endured by local farmworkers, and the heartbreak of families shattered by illnesses that claimed loved ones far too soon. As an advocate for the City of Apopka for over three decades, it was clear: this woman was a warrior.
I found myself, a native New Yorker, in the Apopka Historical Museum for a Community Day event—hosted by the Florida Brownfields Association the City of Apopka, and the East Central Florida Regional Planning Council (ECFRPC). I was there representing PPM Consultants where we provide support to ECFRPC, with their regional Brownfield Program—an initiative that helps communities like Apopka address legacy contamination and support redevelopment that reflects the needs and voices of those most impacted. What I heard wasn’t just history—it was a record of survival and resistance, etched into the lives of third-generation farmworkers from a predominantly Black community still fighting to be seen and heard.
A Legacy of Exposure
For decades, Apopka’s muck farms—wetlands drained and treated with heavy pesticides like DDT and toxaphene—supplied vegetables nationwide. But while the crops thrived, questions lingered about the toll on human health. Linda Lee and others recalled working the fields as planes sprayed pesticides overhead. The mist, a temporary reprieve from the sun, soon brought rashes, stinging eyes, and respiratory irritation. Over time, anecdotal accounts of chronic illness and reproductive disorders began to emerge in the community. Lake Apopka, once a world-class bass fishing lake, gradually became Florida’s most polluted body of water due to decades of pesticide runoff from surrounding farms. In 1979, a spill of DDT at a pesticide facility on the lake’s southern shore led to the site’s designation as a federal Superfund site. In the 1980s, researchers studying alligators in the lake found alarming rates of reproductive abnormalities—linked to persistent organochlorine pesticides. By 1998, the consequences had become undeniable. Nearly 1,000 birds were found dead after eating fish contaminated by years of agricultural runoff. A two-year investigation by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service confirmed pesticide exposure as the cause, and the EPA spent millions to study the wider impact on wildlife and the environment. But while wildlife sparked scientific attention, the farmworkers were left asking, “What about us?”
The Challenge of Correlation
While environmental justice advocates have long pointed to patterns of illness among former farmworkers, establishing a direct scientific correlation between chemical exposure and specific health outcomes remains extraordinarily complex. Agencies like the Florida Department of Health and the Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry (ATSDR) often struggle with this challenge. Factors such as insufficient longitudinal health data, overlapping environmental exposures, and varying personal health conditions make definitive conclusions elusive. Collaborative studies—by Rollins College, the University of Florida, and the Farmworker Association of Florida—have documented endocrine disruption, autoimmune disorders, and elevated cancer risks among former farmworkers. A local health department study noted higher rates of lupus and kidney disease. However, many findings like these often stop short of establishing causality—prompting continued calls for deeper, more robust epidemiological research. This ambiguity leaves many in the community feeling overlooked—especially when systemic barriers to healthcare access and economic opportunity persist.
Compounding Burdens
When the farms were shut down in 1998 as part of a state-led restoration effort to stop runoff and revive Lake Apopka’s ecosystem, approximately 3,000 workers lost their jobs. Economic hardship followed. The community remained burdened by environmental stressors, including proximity to the Lake Apopka Superfund site, a biomedical waste incinerator, and a wastewater treatment plant. Sewage sludge was dumped on fields in northern Apopka, where the odor was overwhelming and persistent—so strong it often permeated homes. In Apopka, funerals are heartbreakingly frequent. Families mourn not just individual lives lost, but a collective history of injustice—both environmental and economic.
Remembering, Reclaiming, Rebuilding
To ensure their stories aren’t forgotten, Linda Lee began going door to door, asking neighbors how they’d like their loved ones to be remembered. From those conversations came the Lake Apopka Farmworker Memorial Quilt—a growing collection of hand-sewn squares, each honoring a life cut short. A cousin fishing off the back of a truck. A friend who never made it past 40. Each square tells a story. Together, they form a collective voice that refuses to be silenced. Inspired by her sister Margie’s death, Linda Lee’s mission grew. Margie’s repeated complaints of illness were dismissed. Doctors offered Motrin, not tests. Only after Linda Lee was hospitalized elsewhere did she learn she had lupus. The quilt now travels to universities, hearings, and events. For Linda Lee, it’s not just fabric—it’s protest. A record. A remembrance.
A Path Forward
Despite the many hurdles, the community of Apopka continues to move forward. We’ve seen, through our work with the City of Apopka and ECFRPC, developers step up with brownfield redevelopment ideas ranging from pickleball courts to housing to new public spaces. City leadership has encouraged redevelopment by pointing developers and stakeholders to the ECFRPC Brownfield Program. We’re seeing a renewed energy to remediate contamination, foster inclusive redevelopment, and amplify residents’ voices in shaping their future. As someone from New York, unfamiliar with Apopka’s history, I didn’t expect to find a community with such a deep well of strength, heart, and history—people whose experiences carry both sorrow and an unshakable hope for something better. I saw a community reclaiming its future, one story at a time. Through the momentum of brownfield redevelopment, real transformation is in sight—breathing new life into long-neglected spaces and creating sources of pride, opportunity, and healing.
On a Personal Note
We can learn a lot from older people.
I leave you with Linda Lee’s closing remark—her two cents that was worth gold to me. It’s something her mom told her as a little girl, when Linda Lee was left in utter bewilderment after witnessing racial violence during a trip into town with her grandmother:
“Never hate. Love is the most important. Hate will kill you.”
In the end, perhaps the most meaningful form of community input is recognizing wisdom when it speaks—especially from someone who has walked where you haven’t—and being willing to listen and learn.