Kristina Cullen

Ten years ago, I become one of the first sustainability professionals at California State University, Sacramento (Sac State). Sustainability was a newly emerging field at that time, and it has been rewarding to see sustainability go from a siloed approach to a flourishing lens to embed in culture change across the campus. I saw this mindset shift in students who began to expect the connectivity and intersectionality of sustainability to be interwoven across issues and as a pillar in their education. We developed hands-on areas of learning for field trips, including a sustainability walking tour, vermiculture, a beekeeping program, composting, and gardening. But it was when working on a committee to establish a food pantry for students, I was surprised to find it evoked memories from my childhood that I had suppressed. Growing up, our family did not have abundant financial means, and access to food was difficult, let alone fresh, healthy foods. We were on public assistance, and sometimes our food would run out. It was a moment when my professional work crossed over into the personal in a powerful way—and I had to reckon within myself that there was a deeper motivation coming from my own experiences growing up in poverty, which I now recognize has deeply shaped how I view this work and my motivation for equitable solutions.

Now in my role at UC Davis Health as Director of Sustainability, I draw from these earlier inspirations to lead sustainability efforts in ways that demonstrate the intersectionality of health access, equity, and climate justice. My office, located on the health campus, is home to our hospital, clinics, and medical and nursing school, where doctors and medical professionals see real patients everyday—and who understand the intersectionality of climate change because they see it firsthand. Students who will become the next generation of doctors are passionate and want to prioritize sustainability in their practice. 

One student at UC Davis who worked with patients at Shifa Community Clinic suggested that the clinic, the only accessible healthcare for some of the surrounding community, could greatly benefit residents by including dental services. Much of the clinic population consists of immigrants and vulnerable populations that rely on government aid. A Shifa Clinic survey found 923 patients had not seen a dentist within the past year. Together we sought grant funding so the clinic could expand dental services, reducing the emissions from traveling to clinics outside of the community and reducing missing a day at work for a community already experiencing lower incomes. Dental health is part of full-body health, and access to more centralized healthcare services increases community climate resilience.

Now working on health equity and sustainability, clinics like Shifa provide insights about climate-related impacts of air quality, heat, and pollution on human health, the socio-economic disparities exacerbating health inequities, and access to resources to help. I began to recall how I understood at an early age that access to healthcare and resources was not equal for all, through my upbringing. As a family, we relied on government programs like Medi-Cal. My mom died when I was 16. I wonder if we had better healthcare and more options if there would have been a different outcome for her. As a family, we did not have a car, and we could only go places we could walk to. When I think about the Shifa Clinic, I realize that we were a family that would not have been able to travel to a dentist for care outside our community. These memories again showed me that my drive for equity in climate work comes from a core place in my life.