Part of my role as climate justice reporter is trying to understand who gets left behind after extreme weather events like hurricanes and wildfires, so my photographer colleague Thalia Juarez and I spent a few days visiting some of the most affected mountain hollers.
In Barnardsville, North Carolina more than 50 homes, including an entire trailer park, were literally swept away when the usually calm Ivy Creek transformed into a roaring river that engulfed entire neighbourhoods. Thalia and I found displaced families living in donated RVs, sheds and tiny homes – insulated huts without plumbing constructed by volunteers who had come from out of town to help. Four months on, and the creek remains a menacing presence without its protective tree line.
“It changed the landscape of the place. I am 56, and I don’t think this area will recover in my lifetime,” David Crowder, a Baptist pastor whose church became a major relief hub, told me. “We have very poor people living in what are effectively lawnmower sheds and campers … these are mountain people – they are prideful and resilient but you can feel depression setting in.”
In January, Ivy Creek flooded again after only a couple of inches of rain. No one had flood insurance, and we found widespread frustration with the government, especially the federal disaster management agency (Fema) – even among those who have received some financial help. On one mountain, swirling winds brought down hundreds of trees, including four that fell on top of Sharon Jarvis’ house. Volunteers helped remove the trees but the damaged roof needs urgent repairs – which neither the home insurance nor Fema payout will cover. “There are so many loose trees that I don’t feel safe any more; my nerves are shot when it rains, with every gust of wind,” said Jarvis. “It’s unreal how many people have come here to help, when the government didn’t help us at all.”
Scores of rivers, mountainsides and bridges across southern Appalachia still require major engineering work to stop further erosion – and reduce the risk of future floods and landslides. Anxiety levels are high; faith in government is low; disinformation is rife.
About 30 miles south of Barnardsville, the area around the Swannanoa River still looks like a war zone, with trees, broken buildings and crushed vehicles piled high as if time stood still. Donald Trump visited Swannanoa during his second week in office (pictured above), and mused about potentially dismantling Fema just metres away from where the founder of a Christian nationalist militia group has set up camp to spread baseless conspiracies about the US military intentionally causing Helene.
There’s been a notable rise in rightwing and fossil fuel friendly conspiracy theorists spreading falsehoods in the wake of recent climate disasters, with impacted communities bombarded with false messaging designed to sow doubt, Sean Buchan, research director at Climate Action Against Disinformation, told me.
Only one person I interviewed on this trip believed human-made global heating played a role in the devastation caused by the storm, while many are taking comfort from a belief that Helene was a once in a lifetime storm. The science is clear: the intensity of the wind and rain during Helene was supercharged by the climate crisis, and the frequency and severity of such storms will increase if the planet continues to warm. I left Appalachia thinking we have to find more effective ways to communicate this to ordinary people.
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