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So very sad-
We’re still finding dead neighbors in North Carolina. We need help
Hurricane Helene was devastating and so far the government emergency response hasn’t been nearly what we had hoped
The morning that Hurricane Helene tore Asheville, North Carolina, apart, the first faces I saw were half a dozen of my neighbors preparing to break into my home to see if I was alive. A 40ft oak – ripped from its roots from the next yard – lay on my bedroom roof, dewy green scalloped leaves resting against my window. Just meters below the buckling ancient fascia from my century-old home’s roof, my cattle dog Teddy and I slept. It seems like we should have been crushed there, in bed.
Many were. At least 227 people have died, and that toll is only going to get higher. The rivers are giving up the dead; landslides are yielding corpses. The destruction is grotesque and, in some cases, total, with bridges condemned, roadways eviscerated, and whole towns – Swannanoa, Hot Springs – obliterated. The personal terror I felt that morning is nothing compared to the rage I feel on behalf of those lives unnecessarily lost, those displaced, those struggling to access too few services, and at a governmental response that has seemingly prioritized the most privileged.
am one of those most privileged. The Federal Emergency Management Agency (Fema) showed up to my affluent, resource-secure neighborhood of Asheville on 1 October. However, I have been without power, water and wifi, and had only spotty cell service, since 27 September. There is a curfew in place, there are gas shortages and everyone is living with a profound feeling of disconnection from the rest of the world.
Mutual aid has been a lifeline for me and many others. Several friends and I centralized operations at a home my friend rents that has a gas stove, hot tub and an unoccupied Airbnb apartment. We combined our headlamps and food, and raided the Airbnb for bottled water and disposable cutlery. We’ve flushed toilets using hot tub water. Haywood Road, the neighborhood’s main thoroughfare, is a hub for mutual aid. BeLoved Asheville fed me free cheesy grits on Wednesday. The acclaimed chefs of Neng Jr’s and Good Hot Fish served free congee, braised vegetables and fresh muscadines on Tuesday. Mental health aid, a free market and water can be found in front of dive bar The Double Crown while Firestorm, an anarchist co-op on the other end of Haywood, has held daily community meetings with hot food and bike mechanics available. Kind neighbors have been putting up signs with whatever they have to offer: diapers, charging stations, produce from their gardens.
But what about those not within walking distance of a mutual aid utopia? The mutual aid comes to them. BeLoved has called for volunteers to hike into the mountains’ jagged topography to bring supplies, news and comfort to those whom vehicles cannot reach. Mules have been dispatched with insulin to traverse into Black Mountain. Barriers to services are not just geographic: Poder Emma is an organization aiding Spanish speakers with everything from diabetic testing strips and infant formula to chainsawing through downed trees.
Complete text: We’re still finding dead neighbors in North Carolina. We need help | Morgan L Sykes | The Guardian
Companion article:
‘We look after our neighbors’: how mutual-aid groups are filling the gaps after Hurricane Helene
The federal government, state governments and larger non-profits have had a slower – and, say some residents, insufficient – response
‘We look after our neighbors’: how mutual-aid groups are filling the gaps after Hurricane Helene | Hurricane Helene | The Guardian
We’re still finding dead neighbors in North Carolina. We need help
Hurricane Helene was devastating and so far the government emergency response hasn’t been nearly what we had hoped
The morning that Hurricane Helene tore Asheville, North Carolina, apart, the first faces I saw were half a dozen of my neighbors preparing to break into my home to see if I was alive. A 40ft oak – ripped from its roots from the next yard – lay on my bedroom roof, dewy green scalloped leaves resting against my window. Just meters below the buckling ancient fascia from my century-old home’s roof, my cattle dog Teddy and I slept. It seems like we should have been crushed there, in bed.
Many were. At least 227 people have died, and that toll is only going to get higher. The rivers are giving up the dead; landslides are yielding corpses. The destruction is grotesque and, in some cases, total, with bridges condemned, roadways eviscerated, and whole towns – Swannanoa, Hot Springs – obliterated. The personal terror I felt that morning is nothing compared to the rage I feel on behalf of those lives unnecessarily lost, those displaced, those struggling to access too few services, and at a governmental response that has seemingly prioritized the most privileged.
am one of those most privileged. The Federal Emergency Management Agency (Fema) showed up to my affluent, resource-secure neighborhood of Asheville on 1 October. However, I have been without power, water and wifi, and had only spotty cell service, since 27 September. There is a curfew in place, there are gas shortages and everyone is living with a profound feeling of disconnection from the rest of the world.
Mutual aid has been a lifeline for me and many others. Several friends and I centralized operations at a home my friend rents that has a gas stove, hot tub and an unoccupied Airbnb apartment. We combined our headlamps and food, and raided the Airbnb for bottled water and disposable cutlery. We’ve flushed toilets using hot tub water. Haywood Road, the neighborhood’s main thoroughfare, is a hub for mutual aid. BeLoved Asheville fed me free cheesy grits on Wednesday. The acclaimed chefs of Neng Jr’s and Good Hot Fish served free congee, braised vegetables and fresh muscadines on Tuesday. Mental health aid, a free market and water can be found in front of dive bar The Double Crown while Firestorm, an anarchist co-op on the other end of Haywood, has held daily community meetings with hot food and bike mechanics available. Kind neighbors have been putting up signs with whatever they have to offer: diapers, charging stations, produce from their gardens.
But what about those not within walking distance of a mutual aid utopia? The mutual aid comes to them. BeLoved has called for volunteers to hike into the mountains’ jagged topography to bring supplies, news and comfort to those whom vehicles cannot reach. Mules have been dispatched with insulin to traverse into Black Mountain. Barriers to services are not just geographic: Poder Emma is an organization aiding Spanish speakers with everything from diabetic testing strips and infant formula to chainsawing through downed trees.
Complete text: We’re still finding dead neighbors in North Carolina. We need help | Morgan L Sykes | The Guardian
Companion article:
‘We look after our neighbors’: how mutual-aid groups are filling the gaps after Hurricane Helene
The federal government, state governments and larger non-profits have had a slower – and, say some residents, insufficient – response
‘We look after our neighbors’: how mutual-aid groups are filling the gaps after Hurricane Helene | Hurricane Helene | The Guardian
