A few hundred yards from the beach, the small southwestern town of Cameron empties into the Gulf of Mexico. Louisiana – My feet are crushed by four years' worth of detritus.
I stand among the battered pews of a Baptist church, looking at the shards of glass and wood scattered across the floor and the partially collapsed ceiling. Remnants of the repeated cyclones that hit this community in 2020 are still scattered here and across much of Cameroon. Residents have long referred to this remote part of the United States as “the end of the world,” but the saying seems more accurate now than ever. The population has dropped from nearly 2,000 to a few hundred since the storms; Bare foundations mark the location of many houses washed away by the waves; And on the horizon looms a gigantic gas export terminal.
On the street I meet Lerlin Roderick, who hears my footsteps and comes out to look for me. He lives in a mobile home next to the partially destroyed family home, which is still being rebuilt, and towards a nearby cemetery. She tells me that Hurricane Laura's storm surge “floated” her father's buried casket. It disappeared for years and was rediscovered only a few months ago; Now, finally, he is “back on the ground.”
“We're back,” he says of Laura's aftermath. “But if it happens again, I won't do it. I'm done.
The wetlands and coastal communities of Louisiana's Third Congressional District will not decide the outcome of this election. But they are more at risk than most of the country: they are on the front lines of frequent and extreme weather events; increasingly polluted by the expansion of the oil and gas industry; And there is the threat of extinction due to dangerous sea level rise. However, with Election Day fast approaching, it's unlikely much will be heard about life in these areas in the broader conversation, so Donald Trump is sure to win here and the Democratic Party hasn't done so in decades. .
But in 2016, after Trump's unexpected national victory, America's coastal elites began writing about the region to explain what had happened. In Strangers in Their Own Land, sociologist Arlie Russell Hochschild examines the popularity of the Tea Party movement in this part of the state. “The Great Contradiction.” In Hochschild's view, the idea speculates how voters who need help and regulation from the federal government, like those in climate-stricken Louisiana, can support the Republican Party. It's hell to completely eliminate that government oversight.
Roderick tells me he accepts climate science (Trump says it's a hoax) and is against blight and pollution from building more gas terminals (Trump will surely win next month), but how would he vote for the former president? that imposed tariffs on fishing products? China and many of her relatives? This, he says, is vital to protecting the dwindling shrimp community that has been part of it for generations.
FLocally, I see the Republican women of southwest Louisiana at an opulent country club, on the shores of a lake surrounded by chemical plants and watching the pollutants in the sky. Spending time with this group, Hochschild found a complex set of explanations for the conflict, including demographic changes, an unbalanced economy, religious dogma, and racial resentment. Most of them are on display here today and seem to have become more established.
Many women have also made great sacrifices in the face of extreme weather. I ask a participant who lost his home during Laura if he considers himself a victim of the climate crisis. She shakes her head. “I believe that Almighty God will dictate what the weather will be,” he says.
Republican Louisiana Insurance Commissioner Tim Temple delivers keynote address as state faces coverage crisis. Linked to frequent major hurricanes. Many here complain that their rates have doubled in the last year. But Temple gives an unmentionable speech and does not mention the climate crisis even once. Rather, he blames it on excessive regulation. In a later interview with me, he repeatedly refuses to acknowledge climate science.
It's reminiscent of the disastrous failures of conservative leaders in the state, some of whom, including far-right Gov. Jeff Landry, have echoed Trump's language on climate hoaxes. It also warns of the harsh reality that a second Trump term would bring, given his brazen promotion of lies and conspiracy theories that could have consequences for those who voted for him as much as anyone else after Hurricane Helen this month.
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Democrats' losses in Louisiana may be smaller than the tragic capitulation here in the last election cycle, essentially handing control of the state to the far right.
And yet, just a few miles from the country club, signs of renewed resistance are beginning to take shape. I met Sadie Summerlin, an abortion rights organizer who decided to run against an extremist incumbent here in Congress. Named after climate science denier Clay Higgins. Higgins, Joe Biden's Environmental Protection Agency chairman, recently suggested arresting him and sending him to prison for trying to regulate toxic emissions in the state.
It's clearly an uphill battle, but Summerlin likes the idea that progressive politics can't be promoted in communities that vote conservative. In the low-income Lake Charles neighborhood, where humidity is high, Summerlin's family members also serve as campaign workers. She listens intently as residents talk about their struggles to recover after the storms.
“We didn't show up,” he admits. “We don't talk. We're letting the Republican Party decide what we should and shouldn't say.
His campaign is about starting conversations, not necessarily winning. His honesty is refreshing. Talks cannot start soon enough.
