Elida Castillo: “This is hard work because it’s heart work…”
Elida Castillo is the Program Director for Chispa Texas, a program of the League of Conservation Voters, and a city council member in her hometown of Taft. Her advocacy is rooted in deeply personal experiences, from losing family members to preventable industrial disasters to witnessing the creeping industrialization of the Coastal Bend. Elida’s professional journey has taken her from union advocacy to environmental leadership, where she now works to ensure community voices are heard and respected. Her commitment to environmental justice, to transparency in governance, and to empowering others has made Elida a powerful force for change in South Texas.
The Current recently sat down with Elida and asked to her answer five questions. Here’s what she had to say:
What do you love about Taft?
Taft is where I was born, raised, and where I returned after years away. Like a lot of young people from small towns, I couldn’t wait to leave when I was younger. I thought there wasn’t much opportunity or excitement here. But every time I came back, I saw how things were changing — not always for the better. There was this moment when wind farms started going up around town, and I remember thinking that was real progress. But soon enough, refineries and industrial buildout started popping up in those same spaces, and it felt like we were going backwards. My parents both passed away in recent years, and returning to Taft after that felt different — heavier but also more rooted. My mom always said, ‘This is home,’ and after she passed, I understood what she meant. It's not just about geography. It’s about legacy, responsibility, and love. When you’ve lost people who shaped you, the place where they lived and are laid to rest takes on a new significance. That’s why I ran for office, and why I do this work — because this place is my home, and it deserves better.
What led you into environmental activism?
It was personal. My dad worked at Reynolds Metals and was burned badly in a work-related accident. They patched him up and sent him right back. No accountability. My cousin Lori died in the BP Texas City explosion in 2005 — it was her second to last day on the job, and she wasn’t even a plant worker, she was an admin. They had to identify her by her feet. That’s the kind of trauma my family carries. My grandmother developed a lung condition from asbestos exposure doing laundry for my grandfather, who also worked in industry. So I always had this awareness. But my involvement in the environmental movement really started during the fight against the Las Brisas Energy Center project around 2009. That plant would've been a disaster for Taft and the region. I joined others in organizing, speaking, and showing up. I even testified in front of the EPA, which was terrifying, but empowering. That victory — stopping Las Brisas — lit a fire in me. However, I see now how companies like Cheniere were taking advantage of the situation to lay down their foundation in our area – like giving donations to the local communities – while we were distracted by the Las Brisas fight. So, it showed me how these industries are always scheming, and the work never really ends.
What has it been like transitioning from advocacy into city government?
Running for office was something I’d always thought about. I was that kid who was more excited about turning 18 to vote than about turning 21. I saw public service as another form of ministry — something I ironically aspired to when I thought I could be a priest, until I found out at the ripe old age of 8 that girls weren’t allowed. So, I made the decision to run for city council, thanks to the encouragement from a forever role model, Sylvia Campos, who always took the opportunity to remind me whenever I saw her that I said I would run one of these days. The timing was right, so I ran in November and won. But it hasn’t been easy. It’s like being thrown onto a rollercoaster without a seatbelt. Decisions are made with little transparency, and frankly some colleagues don’t take the role seriously. I’ve tried to change that by asking questions, digging into budgets, scrutinizing policy changes, and pushing back where I need to. The attorney’s fees? I questioned them. New water meter loans? I voted for them, reluctantly, because they help us monitor leaks. You can’t fight everything — you must choose your battles. But I always try to make decisions with my community in mind. That’s the difference between being on the inside and outside of government — it’s so important it is to have informed, principled people in those seats, which isn’t always the case.
What motivates you to keep going, even when the victories are rare?
I’ve been doing this work for over 15 years, mostly as a volunteer, and yes, it can feel exhausting sometimes. But what keeps me going is knowing I can make a difference. When I speak at a meeting or organize an event and someone tells me they felt seen, heard, or inspired to get involved — that matters. This is hard work because it’s heart work. It takes time, energy, emotional investment, and a thick skin. But it’s also how we build power. I’ve seen people who never thought of themselves as activists or leaders step up because someone — sometimes me — said, ‘You belong here. You have a voice.’ And I’ve never forgotten how others mentored me, from Jim Klein and Sylvia Campos to union organizers who taught me how to write a grievance and speak truth to power. If I can be that for someone else, that’s a privilege, and that’s what keeps me going. Our community, our people, and planet are so worth it!
How do you view your legacy and the future of your community?
I think a lot about legacy. Not in an ego-driven way, but in a values-driven way. Every decision we make today shapes what kind of world we leave behind. We have a choice about what side of history we want to be on. And I want to be on the side that said, ‘No more sacrifice zones.’ Not here. Not where I grew up. Not where I lost my parents. Not where people’s health and safety and futures have been traded away for corporate profit. I’ve worn a lot of hats — organizer, director, council member, daughter, tía. And I wear them all because I know and love this place, and these people, and I’ve seen the cost of disinformation. The Coastal Bend is my home. Others may see it as a profit center, but I see it as sacred ground. We need more people to rise up, speak out, and believe that change is possible. Because it is. And because our communities deserve it.