There is no such thing as a climate haven
I have to admit that I sat staring at a blank document for a long time this morning wondering what or how to compose or even process the wake of Hurricane Helene. Or whether I even should.
Looking at videos of the completely submerged River Arts District in Asheville, I got that sinking grief feeling in my whole body that one gets when you first hear of someone you admired had died. I once felt like an honorary resident of Asheville in the mid- to late-aughts when an ex lived there and I traveled there from Washington, DC as a Peace Corps recruiter, so it felt close to home in some ways.
Yet the question still lingered: Do I need to comment on every single climate disaster? The answer, of course, is no. But I still feel compelled to respond to this one—partly because it feels close to home and partly because we must not look away. For the sake of the people who are still trying to survive, and partly to know how we can survive. As I write this, the death toll has reached over 120 (over 45 in the one country of Buncombe County where Asheville is), there are 200 roads out across North Carolina, power and cell service are out all over the state, there is no water in a lot of places, and very little federal aid has reached to a lot of places. Asheville is a town with a river running through it and bridges are down making rescues treacherous. Hearing about the devastation, it feels straight out of the first section of The Light Pirate that begins with a historic hurricane. A hurricane that marked the change of everything to come.
The thing is, though, no one could have predicted that a place like Western North Carolina and much of Appalachia could have experienced this kind of devastation from a hurricane. Asheville is 300 miles from the ocean and over 2,000 miles above sea level. It’s a mountain town with an average annual rainfall between 45-50 inches. By all intents and purposes it could be thought of as a climate haven. When I would visit, I always felt a sense of relief when I got up into those mountains, especially in the summers, as the humidity and heat dissipated the higher you went and the fresh mountain air filled my lungs. I had been there when it rained, but it’s clear in the aftermath of Helene that nothing has ever happened like this in Appalachia. There are other environmental challenges for sure, but two feet of rain in the matter of a couple of days? Unheard of. There is no way the region could have predicted this type of disaster.
It’s a grim reminder, though, that with the oceans warming and the climate changing, there is no normal. Certainly we can predict some constants will just be worse such as fire in the West, hurricanes in the Gulf and East Coast, and drought in the Southwest. But this disaster shows us that no one is completely safe.
It’s also a reminder that there are certain things we can do to prepare for the kind of aftermath that millions of people in North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida are dealing with now. While many people escaped the immediate devastation of the storm, we’re seeing that people being cut off from everything, potentially for days (maybe weeks?!) is something we should all have on our radar.
It’s another reason to be prepared. And I sound like a broken record, but when the people who have the privilege to prepare have what they need, that helps keep resources available for the most vulnerable. For example, water was trucked into Asheville on Sunday, but they limited it to three gallons per person per day. If you had that amount saved for you and your family, that will leave more stores of water for people who hadn’t or couldn’t prepare.
There are plenty places to start, but Brekke Wagoner and I put together a preparedness series that might be useful in this moment.
But also, what we’re seeing and hearing from people on the ground is the beauty of community helping community. It’s an example of a disaster community that Rebecca Solnit wrote about in A Paradise Built in Hell. And in that vein is the sentiment contained in this Seeding Sovereignty Instagram post.
What I know from everything I’ve read about rebuilding after a disaster is that people on the ground are the most effective and efficient at working together to get things done. The best assistance comes from mutual aid. And that’s where our money should be going.
While we do need to prepare ourselves, we can see what happens when community supports one another and to lift those people up in any way we can from afar. And so, I will leave you with as many ways as I can find to support the people of Appalachia as they work to rebuild.
Mutual Aid Networks to Support
Beloved Asheville: Venmo–@BeLoved-Asheville; Cashapp–$BeLovedAsheville
Asheville Survival Program: Venmo–@AppMedSolid; CashApp–$Streets1de
Mutual Aid Disaster Relief: PayPal–mutualaiddisasterrelief@gmail.com; Venmo–@MutualAidDisasterRelief (these folks do good work all around the country–I talked with them for this story in The Progressive).
Charlotte COmmunity Care Collection: CashApp–$MutualAid704; Venmo–@MutualAid704
East Kentucky Mutual Aid: Paypal & Venmo: @ekymutualaid; Cashapp–$ekymutualaid
Thank you for posting links where we can help! It's hard to know where our money will be best served.
I'm originally from Arizona (greater Phx area) and I have family, including my dad, and best friends who still live throughout the state, and though I had pondered moving back when I retire down the rode, I know I could never do that now.
Have you ever read The Water Knife? It focuses on water wars, and a water knife is an assassin who takes out competition, but part of the book's main focus is on who actually owns the rights to water, including the Colorado River. It won't be the best fiction you ever read, but I think about it all the time. It really hits home in an almost tangible way with the story taking place in neighborhoods I know.
Certainly phrases like "unprecedented" or "faster than expected" are becoming more irrelevant. However, what's coming out following this hurricane are as close to unprecedented as we could be.
While there won't be climate havens, I do feel some places will be better positioned than others. How and why people are still moving to places like Florida and Arizona is beyond me. (As much as I personally love the northern AZ area around Flagstaff, living there is a no-go.) Here in the upper Midwest near a Great Lake, I'm expecting to see climate refugees within the next decade or so. We won't be immune by any means, but I'm staying put for a reason.