Sep 3, 2021 08:59 PM
https://www.theatlantic.com/science/arch...on/619971/
EXCERPTS: . . . The urge to rebuild is common after major disasters, but for many people in Terrebonne Parish, hometown devotion may soon lose out to the cold, hard logic of economics. When a disaster leaves a community homeless, many of its members wind up moving rather than sticking around for the next calamity. These moves can take place across short distances, and sometimes they start out as semi-permanent relocations, but over time, they add up. Many Americans still think of “climate migration” as a global phenomenon, one that would displace the residents of low-lying Bangladesh or scalding Yemen, but even before Ida hit, distinct migration patterns were taking shape in the United States too. In most cases, these moves are involuntary—the product of economic displacement—but climate change is now playing a role in voluntary movement as well: A recent study from Redfin found that about half of Americans who planned to move in the next year said natural disasters were a factor in their decision.
[...] That’s exactly what already seems to be happening after Ida. The storm ripped apart 72-year-old Milton Thibodeaux’s roof and caused water to leak into his house, but he told me he’s not leaving. ... he likes the privacy and tranquility of living down the bayou. There’s another reason he’s sticking around, though: He’s close to retiring from his security job, and he’s not sure where else he can afford to live. “I got this house for about $100,000, but if I went to Houma, to the city, it might cost three times that,” he said. “At my age, I don’t know if I could start over again.”
... the tens of thousands of residents who evacuated the area have largely not yet returned to the homes they left behind. When they do come back, though, they will need a place to stay, and they may not be able to find one where they lived before. They may have no choice but to leave. Others who are fortunate enough to still have a home will take advantage of the disjuncture to relocate, perhaps to a bigger city or to a place farther away from the water. The destruction caused by Ida seems poised to supercharge the long-term process of inland movement, and with each future storm, the population of bayou towns like Bourg may continue to dwindle.
For the rest of the country, Ida is a warning. As natural disasters grow more severe and more frequent, they will destroy more property, turning life in the U.S. into a massive game of migratory musical chairs. It will cleave populations along the lines of class and race. The story will be the same in burning California, flash-flooded New York, and drought-ravaged Arizona as it was in Louisiana: When the storm passes and the skies clear, many people will not be able to stay. Where can they go next? (MORE - missing details)
EXCERPTS: . . . The urge to rebuild is common after major disasters, but for many people in Terrebonne Parish, hometown devotion may soon lose out to the cold, hard logic of economics. When a disaster leaves a community homeless, many of its members wind up moving rather than sticking around for the next calamity. These moves can take place across short distances, and sometimes they start out as semi-permanent relocations, but over time, they add up. Many Americans still think of “climate migration” as a global phenomenon, one that would displace the residents of low-lying Bangladesh or scalding Yemen, but even before Ida hit, distinct migration patterns were taking shape in the United States too. In most cases, these moves are involuntary—the product of economic displacement—but climate change is now playing a role in voluntary movement as well: A recent study from Redfin found that about half of Americans who planned to move in the next year said natural disasters were a factor in their decision.
[...] That’s exactly what already seems to be happening after Ida. The storm ripped apart 72-year-old Milton Thibodeaux’s roof and caused water to leak into his house, but he told me he’s not leaving. ... he likes the privacy and tranquility of living down the bayou. There’s another reason he’s sticking around, though: He’s close to retiring from his security job, and he’s not sure where else he can afford to live. “I got this house for about $100,000, but if I went to Houma, to the city, it might cost three times that,” he said. “At my age, I don’t know if I could start over again.”
... the tens of thousands of residents who evacuated the area have largely not yet returned to the homes they left behind. When they do come back, though, they will need a place to stay, and they may not be able to find one where they lived before. They may have no choice but to leave. Others who are fortunate enough to still have a home will take advantage of the disjuncture to relocate, perhaps to a bigger city or to a place farther away from the water. The destruction caused by Ida seems poised to supercharge the long-term process of inland movement, and with each future storm, the population of bayou towns like Bourg may continue to dwindle.
For the rest of the country, Ida is a warning. As natural disasters grow more severe and more frequent, they will destroy more property, turning life in the U.S. into a massive game of migratory musical chairs. It will cleave populations along the lines of class and race. The story will be the same in burning California, flash-flooded New York, and drought-ravaged Arizona as it was in Louisiana: When the storm passes and the skies clear, many people will not be able to stay. Where can they go next? (MORE - missing details)