Rising: Dispatches from the New American Shore

Following Nicole’s powerful testimony, Rush details the reasons behind why coastal communities, including Oakwood Beach and other communities on the eastern side of Staten Island, were vulnerable to rising sea levels and more severe storms. These communities were located on former wetlands. Similar to much of the Northeast Corridor, which represents the most densely populated portion of the United States, population increases pushed the development of these wetlands into residential areas. Because these lands had been polluted by landfills, these communities were considered undesirable, so developers put in public and low-income housing.

Wetlands are important because they absorb storm surges, acting like giant sponges. When they are paved over, water from storm surges still needs to go somewhere, which is why these communities are prone to flooding. One of the specialists that Rush speaks with, a geologist, states that “none of those homes should have been built in the first place” (119).

Sandy is a testament to the reality that water from storm surges needs someplace to go. The size of Sandy and its unusual route were unprecedented in human memory. Water had never risen so high in the city. In Oakwood Beach, the storm surge reached record-breaking heights of 14 feet.

After Sandy, residents of these communities petitioned the state government to bulldoze their homes and allow the land to return to tidal marsh, something that deeply surprised Rush. Rush asks, “What did these residents of right-leaning, climate change–denying, low-lying, working-class neighborhoods know that the rest of us did not” (115). It turns out that these residents recognized that their location in areas formerly zoned as tidal marshes is partly what made their communities vulnerable to extreme storms such as Sandy. They also understood that their communities had long been neglected by the city and state government, further contributing to their vulnerability. While the idea of retreat would not have been a popular disaster recovery strategy beforehand, residents of Oakwood Beach had reached their limit. They were tired of the constant flooding, destruction of their homes, and lack of government support. To them, “retreat began to sound like relief” (121).

In this chapter, Marilynn Wiggins illustrates what it means for her and the other residents of the Tanyard, a neighborhood in Pensacola, Florida, to be vulnerable and marginalized citizens in the face of rising sea levels and increasingly severe weather. She recounts how even when she was younger and drove school buses for a living, the flooding in her community was bad. Over the years, though, it has become worse. Compounding the vulnerability of her community is its location next to old sewage treatment and mosquito control plants. These two plants have poisoned the soil, including a local park; black dust comes from faucets, and sewage still leaks during storm surges. Thus, the primarily Black residents are dealing not only with increasing flooding, but also with a poisoned environment.

Marilynn emphasizes that “because we’re a black neighborhood the city doesn’t pay us no mind” (133). The mayor of Pensacola refuses to visit the town to see what is happening, and the people who tested the water from faucets have not told the residents the results. Marilynn notes how government officials are placing retention ponds, often in parks, in Black and minority neighborhoods to try and control the water. However, these ponds are not a great solution because they take away playground areas for children. Even worse are flood insurance policies, which force residents to rebuild in the same area that is already prone to flooding. Marilyn does not have insurance because she cannot afford it, although she notes the whole community might soon be forced to carry this insurance.

Rush visits the Tanyard home of Alvin Turner, who is living in a trailer after Hurricane Ivan damaged his house so badly that he and his wife had in torn down. When Alvin answers the door, Rush is taken aback by his sickly appearance: “I am ashamed to say that for a second I considered turning around—that for a second I am afraid of this poor, elderly, ailing, black man” (138). While Rush, “as a white woman and a non-fiction writer” (138), has long followed the rule that if she feels uncomfortable in a situation, she leaves, in this case she realizes her own biases are likely at play, so she stays. She proceeds to ask Alvin about the many different hurricanes that have hit the neighborhood, encouraging him to recall the inundations, evacuations, losses, rebuilding, and his reasons for continuing to return.

Rush details how the National Flood Insurance Program (NFIP), an arm of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), has made residents of Pensacola and elsewhere more at risk to flooding. Founded in 1968, the NFIP sells flood insurance to people who live in flood-prone areas. Rush notes that because these policies were subsidized, “the NFIP inadvertently made living in the floodplain seem much safer and cheaper than it actually is” (140). Today, nearly a trillion dollars in property assets are located in wetlands along the eastern shore of the United States. The law requires that those with insurance must use their policy payout to rebuild in place, even when flooding repeatedly damages their home. As a result, NFIP is billions of dollars in debt.

Residents of coastal communities are worried about this situation. They recognize that if NFIP is going to survive, it will have to raise insurance costs and legally force more people to carry insurance. However, most of these residents cannot afford higher costs. They would be forced to leave their homes. Even some who have insurance policies are not sure if they will maintain them because getting a reduced rate requires jumping through additional hoops. Changes to NFIP run the risk of increasing economic inequality among already impoverished and marginalized communities. The government is failing these communities by not providing them with the resources to mitigate, overcome, or even leave their flood-prone homes.

Rush then recounts a visit to a beach on the Gulf of Mexico with a senior colleague, Samuel, who studies how at-risk homeowners decide whether to buy insurance and makes policy recommendations to reduce losses. In attempting to learn as much as she could about the NFIP, Rush sought out Samuel, “the expert in risk calculation himself” (144). Both were heading to Pensacola and decided to conduct their research together. While they are on the beach, Samuel kisses Rush while she is looking away. Samuel, she notes, was with her in Alvin’s trailer, there to give her a sense of protection. Now he has harassed her—not only on the beach but earlier, by flattering her and offering her grant money, asking to leave his luggage in her hotel room, and suggesting the trip to the beach.

Back in Alvin’s trailer, Samuel asks Alvin whether he has insurance and specially flood insurance. Alvin explains that on his meager earnings, he can’t afford another type of insurance; Rush calculates that flood insurance would cost 10% of his yearly income. Samuel looks surprised, but Rush is not.

In the final two chapters of Part 2, Rush returns to Isle de Jean Charles. In this chapter, Chris describes the government-paid plan to relocate the residents of the island to a different location. Like many other residents, Chris found it extremely difficult to leave. The island was not just his home but a place where he felt he truly belonged. However, he acknowledges that the island holds no future for his niece and nephew. The water is only going to keep rising, which means the island will eventually slip underwater. To him, he was “making a decision today for tomorrow” (164).

The community’s tribal chief was able to secure a $48-million grant to help the community move. This grant gave residents more freedom and more choices, which was critical to many agreeing to the relocation project, including Chris. Chris describes the project as the “rebirth of the community of the Isle de Jean Charles” because even residents no longer living on the island were able to participate (163). His community has already lost so much, but this is an opportunity for them to rebuild in a less risky area.

Having heard that most community members from Isle de Jean Charles are participating in the relocation project, Rush returns to the island one last time. She visits with Edison Dardar, who gave her a cluster of oyster shells from his alter during her first trip. In return, she brought him a hand-painted ceramic rooster from Providence, which is supposed to bring luck into a house. He mentions that a flood wiped out the altar. During her visit, two agents from the Department of Housing and Urban Development also stop to talk to Edison. He tells the two agents that he does not want to move because he is not able to pick the location. One agent then tells Edison that the roadway into town will stop being repaired once the rest of the residents are relocated. Edison takes this statement as a threat and expresses his distrust of the government. It is in this moment that Rush realizes how complicated relocation projects are. While they are an attempt to mitigate risks associated with rising sea levels, they are also tearing people from their homes and their identities.

After talking with Edison, Rush returns to Chris’s house one final time. She also brought him a ceramic rooster. He tells her that television and movie crews are visiting him and other residents to capture their story. He also shows her his photo book, which is now better organized that it was during her first visit. During this visit, Rush realizes that while the island will likely disappear, those who loved it will keep its memory alive. She concludes this chapter by imagining Chris’s descendants saying, “Long ago the island was a magical place. So magical that many who once lived there moved here to keep its memory alive” (180).