i am scared. and i think we need to pay attention

 

i am scared. and i think we need to pay attention.

I have been studying hurricanes for many years, ever since learning about Hurricane Pauline (Paulina), which devastated Mexico's Pacific coast in 1997, and the destruction it brought to places including the region around Shambhala.

My dear friend Gloria once told me about being trapped in a room during a hurricane with a young man. For hours, she had to hold the roof down with one arm because, if she let go, it threatened to blow away.

Imagine that. Holding a roof over your head while a hurricane tries to tear your world apart.

Then came Hurricane Agatha in 2022, which struck the Oaxaca coast. I watched it hit Zipolite, a place I love, and tried to warn people as the storm approached.

Then I watched the little green lights on Messenger disappear, one by one.

No power. No communication. No way of knowing who was safe.

Days of watching, waiting, wondering and worrying.

Finally, after five days, I heard from my friends. They were okay.

But the restaurant where I had painted all my murals was destroyed.

I have experienced major storms in British Columbia and in Mexico. I have watched the weather, studied the patterns and listened to people who have lived through things most of us can barely imagine.

I also watched the Spike Lee film When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, about Hurricane Katrina and the catastrophic failures surrounding it.

People told to evacuate without having the means to leave. People sent to shelters that could not adequately protect them. Families stranded, people dying, loved ones left behind. Communities abandoned while they waited for help.

And now I watch what is happening in Mexico and the United States, and I worry.

Because a hurricane is one thing. What happens when the power goes out, communications fail, roads flood and emergency services cannot reach people is another.

What happens when governments aren't prepared, when resources don't reach those who need them, and when vulnerable people are left to fend for themselves?

I worry about Vancouver. Are we truly prepared for a major disaster?

I remember what happened in the Fraser Valley during the November 2021 atmospheric river. Floodwaters overwhelmed communities, roads and farms. Millions of dollars in agricultural losses were reported, including devastating livestock losses. People were cut off, and supply chains were disrupted.

We have seen what extreme weather can do here, too.

And we know that climate change is increasing the risks associated with many extreme weather events, although no one can tell us exactly when or where the next catastrophe will strike.

LOOK. LEARN. PAY ATTENTION. PREPARE.

Learn what happened before. Learn from the people who survived. Ask difficult questions about evacuation plans, emergency shelters, communications, food supplies and who will help people who cannot help themselves.

Don't wait until the power goes out to wonder what you will do.

I hope I am wrong about how serious things could become. I really do.

But I have watched friends disappear from the radar during a hurricane. I have waited days to find out if people I love were alive. I have seen places I care about destroyed.

I know these things are not just headlines.

They are people's lives.

And if we repeat the failures of Katrina on a large scale, the consequences could be catastrophic.

We cannot stop every storm. But we can learn from the last one. We can prepare. And we can refuse to accept that people being abandoned is simply the way things have to be.

Please take this seriously. Look around. Ask questions. Pay attention to what is happening.

I hope I am wrong. ❤️

10 questions Vancouver and Surrey need to answer before the next big storm

I keep thinking about Hurricane Katrina, the film When the Levees Broke, and the terrible lessons we should never forget.

We have our own history here. The 1962 Columbus Day windstorm brought destructive winds to the Lower Mainland. In 2021, an atmospheric river flooded highways, isolated communities and devastated farms across British Columbia.

So I have some questions for our local governments and emergency planners.

1. If a storm like the 1962 windstorm hit Vancouver or Surrey today, how prepared are we? Are our buildings, trees, power systems and emergency services ready?

2. Where do people go when their homes become unsafe? Are there designated emergency shelters, and how will residents find out which ones are open?

3. What happens to people who have no car? How will seniors, people with disabilities, families with children and people experiencing homelessness evacuate safely?

4. What is the plan if the power goes out for days? How will people access drinking water, food, heating, medical supplies and reliable information?

5. What happens if mobile networks and internet services fail? Will emergency information be broadcast over radio, delivered door to door, or made available through other reliable methods?

6. Are Vancouver and Surrey prepared for major flooding? What happens if roads are underwater, bridges are closed, and neighbourhoods are cut off?

7. What happens to people who have nowhere else to go? Will emergency accommodation be available to people who cannot stay with friends or family? What about their pets and essential belongings?

8. How will emergency services cope if several neighbourhoods need help at once? Are there clear priorities, backup resources and plans for prolonged emergencies?

9. Who checks on the most vulnerable residents? What happens to people living alone, people who are ill, and those who cannot receive or act on emergency warnings without assistance?

10. Have we genuinely learned from Katrina and the 2021 floods? Are our emergency plans tested, publicly understood and properly resourced, or are we hoping that nothing this serious will happen here?

I am not asking these questions because I know a disaster is coming. I am asking because we cannot predict every storm, and preparation is not something we should leave until the last minute.

I have watched hurricanes hit places I love in Mexico. I have watched friends disappear offline as the power failed, waited days to hear they were safe, and seen places I cared about destroyed.

I have also watched what happened when people were left waiting for help after Katrina.

We cannot afford to assume that someone else will take care of everything when disaster strikes.

Vancouver. Surrey. British Columbia.

Where is the plan? Where do people go? And how do we make sure nobody is left behind?

I would genuinely like to hear from our emergency planners and local governments. What provisions are in place, what gaps remain, and what should residents know now?

Please look, learn, ask questions and prepare. I sincerely hope we never need these plans on a catastrophic scale. But I would rather ask these questions today than wish we had asked them yesterday.

#EmergencyPreparedness #Vancouver #SurreyBC #ExtremeWeather #StormReady #FloodPreparedness #DisasterPlanning #ClimateResilience #CommunitySafety #NobodyLeftBehind

Alaska Villages Flooded by Unprecedented Typhoon

 🌊 Alaska Villages Flooded by Unprecedented Typhoon: Climate Change & Displacement Collide 🌎

Last weekend, western Alaska faced a storm unlike anything residents had ever seen. The remnants of Typhoon Halong brought record-high water to remote Alaska Native villages, devastating communities, displacing hundreds, and claiming lives. For families in Kipnuk and Kwigillingok, the flooding was more than a natural disaster—it was a harsh reminder of the compounded challenges of climate change, historical displacement, and loss of traditional ways of living. 💔

Alexie Stone, a resident of Kipnuk, described the chaos vividly. From a single dry room, he could see waves smashing against homes 🌊 and sheds drifting like ships past windows 🏠. His own house floated off its foundation but was stopped just in time by another building. Despite narrowly avoiding further destruction, the house—and many others—became uninhabitable ❌. Across the region, over 1,000 residents had to be evacuated, leaving behind homes, belongings, and winter food supplies like halibut, salmon, moose, and goose 🐟🦌🪶.

The scale of the disaster is staggering:

• Kipnuk, a village of about 700 people, lost 121 homes 🏚️.
• Kwigillingok lost three dozen homes 🏠 swept away by floodwaters.
• Floodwaters rose more than six feet above the highest normal tide line 📏.

Infrastructure was heavily damaged:

• Water, sewer, and well systems failed 🚱
• Fuel tanks leaked, spreading a pungent petroleum odor ⛽
• Entire landscapes of lives disrupted 💔

Evacuations were massive. Residents were flown first to Bethel ✈️ and then onward to Anchorage, 500 miles away. Military transport planes carried hundreds, while the Red Cross and local authorities provided shelter in arenas, convention centers, and recreation facilities 🏟️🛏️. Amid the chaos, villagers demonstrated remarkable resilience, helping one another, salvaging belongings, and maintaining a sense of community 💪❤️.

Yet, as a young local woman pointed out, many of these families are not even supposed to be living in these flood-prone areas ⚠️. Over decades, Indigenous communities have been forced into locations that disrupt traditional ways of life, through government policies, relocations, and land pressures 🛑. The very homes and neighborhoods now under water were chosen out of necessity, not desire. With the storm, these communities have lost not only property but also ancestral lands, hunting grounds, and cultural practices vital to their identity 🏹🌿🪶. This disaster is layered—environmental, social, and historical.

This event also underscores the impact of climate change 🌡️🔥. Typhoons and tropical storm remnants rarely, if ever, reached western Alaska before. Their appearance signals a shifting climate and increasing extreme weather events worldwide. Alaska’s Indigenous communities, already marginalized and displaced, are now on the frontlines of climate upheaval 🌎⚡.

The situation also highlights systemic vulnerabilities. Federal funding meant to help small Indigenous villages prepare for disasters has been cut 💸❌. For example, a $20 million EPA grant intended to protect Kipnuk from flooding and erosion was terminated. Without these protections, communities remain exposed to hazards they did not choose 🚨.

Despite the challenges, Alaska Native communities continue to show extraordinary strength 💪✨. Residents like Alexie Stone are determined to rebuild—repairing boardwalks, salvaging belongings, and supporting neighbors 🤝❤️. Yet the question looms: how long can communities repeatedly recover from disasters that are only intensifying, and how much support will they receive from outside institutions? 🤔

This flood is a stark warning ⚠️. It reminds us that climate change is real, its impacts are accelerating, and those most vulnerable are often least responsible 🌍💔. It’s also a call to honor the rights, traditions, and lands of Indigenous peoples, who have already endured centuries of displacement and marginalization ✊🪶.

For the people of Kipnuk, Kwigillingok, and other affected villages, rebuilding is not just about homes—it is about survival, identity, and reclaiming a way of life 🏠❤️🌿. Their resilience is inspiring, but it should also be a call for broader society to recognize the intertwined forces of climate change, displacement, and injustice—and act before more communities face similar fates 🌎🔥💔.