Rising Tides and Falling Hope
CARLY KABOT: Hurricane Dorian made landfall in North Carolina more than two months ago, with the Outer Banks taking the hardest hit. While Dorian was only classified as a Category 1 hurricane when the storm reached the state, the ruin was disastrous. Though the news may have moved on, those impacted in the United States and beyond continue to deal with the wake of utter devastation Dorian left behind. The conversation surrounding the slow recovery of Ocracoke Island points to an alarming question America must face within the coming decades: When is it time to retreat?
The island community of Ocracoke is defined by a new normal. No longer are ferries carrying vacationers, fishermen, and residents. Since a seven-foot wall of water swallowed this low-lying community built on a foundation of shifting sand, everything has changed for the worst. From September 6 onwards, Ocracoke has been closed to visitors. The people of this community have lost everything but their pride. With less than 1,000 residents and a rich history dating back to the eighteenth century, abandoning the island has never been considered. The inhabitants are accustomed to riding out strong weather: Dorian was certainly not the first hurricane many O’cockers have survived. Yet when making it through one more hurricane becomes having to endure an infinite succession of increasingly severe storms, dignity is cast aside.
Raising homes, building higher seawalls, and building more resilient infrastructure can only go so far. Despite attempts to restore what once was, Mother Nature will prevail over human technology. Residents can not afford for their lives to become a series of beginnings–– to start anew with the reconstruction process after each progressively destructive storm. Township county commissioner Tom Pahl admitted that being in a constant state of recovery is not sustainable, but remains committed to giving it his best effort.
Aside from the lasting impact on the lives of Ocracoke locals, there is a political complication that may be a foreboding sign of troubles ahead. FEMA denied individual aid to the island without providing a clear national plan. For seasonal workers and those already unemployed, a future in Ocracoke is bleak. With greater proportions of taxpayer money needed after the growing number of climate crises, many are considering how this cycle can go on. There are a lot more Ocracoke’s out there, but only so many resources to be lent.
Similar to many coastal communities across the globe, Ocracoke is confronted with rising tides and falling hopes. People from the shores of the Outer Banks to the beaches of Tuvalu are confronted with impossible choices. To draw the line in the sand where life cannot go on is a difficult decision to make, for emotion overpowers rational thought. For many, their first instinct is to protect the only home they have ever known. However, with forces greater than that of man on the other side, some are beginning to view steadfast loyalty as a foolish danger. Jeopardizing everything one owns over everything one is becomes a risk not worth taking when face-to-face with a storm of unprecedented strength.
Perhaps the question should not be when to retreat, but when to act. The challenges of this North Carolina island embody an impending global threat that continues to be ignored. Neglecting, or more accurately rejecting, the role of human action in worsening storms is betrayal not only to the American people but to the world. President Trump may be able to move on, but the people of Ocracoke, of Puerto Rico, of Houston, cannot. As long as they struggle, we too cannot move on. We must remember that which we pretend not to see still exists.
Oceans rise, empires fall. Until America accepts culpability in the making of the climate catastrophe, the foundation of the country will be under threat.
Carly Kabot is a freshman in the School of Foreign Service from Westchester, New York. She is an aspiring political journalist.