Nashville lies low in the Central Basin, a divot in Tennessee’s topography that’s a little like a sink. The Cumberland River pulls water from across the city via tributaries like Mill Creek, which crisscross dense residential neighborhoods.
While Tennessee is shielded from the superstorms of the Gulf and drought in the West, the latest research from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change predicts a less stable climate. Rain will fall harder and in bursts, the recipe for flash floods. Hot and cold air masses will collide more often, spawning more and stronger tornadoes.
Several major natural disasters have struck Tennessee in the past decade-and-a-half. Two days of rain in 2010 fueled a 1,000-year flood that claimed 31 lives across three states and cost more than $2 billion in property damage — as longtime residents recall, downtown Nashville was underwater. In 2016, wildfires torched Sevier County for almost two weeks, and Middle Tennessee’s March 2020 cluster of tornadoes made national headlines. Those were followed shortly by a derecho, which left thousands without power. In 2021, floods hit Antioch in March and Waverly in August. More tornadoes ripped through West and Middle Tennessee in December.
In the wake of events like these, the community — sometimes the nation — typically snaps into action to help survivors. But the way that happens — who gets help, why and from whom — is a constantly changing combination of agencies, resources and systems. The 2020 tornadoes provide a helpful lens for understanding what happens after an extreme, destructive climate event.
Nashville’s clearinghouse for aid money is the Middle Tennessee Disaster Response Fund. Managed by the Community Foundation of Middle Tennessee, that fund has taken in $12.5 million since March 2020 and disbursed $9.5 million across dozens of organizations. In the immediate aftermath of the tornado, a flurry of $30,000 checks went out to dozens of groups across Davidson County. Since then, the vast majority of allocated funds have gone toward home repairs and rebuilds. The Community Foundation is the financial anchor of the Davidson County Long Term Recovery Group, a combination of stakeholders that includes disaster case managers, volunteer groups and direct-aid organizations like Second Harvest Food Bank of Middle Tennessee.
After the tornadoes, government efforts struggled to fit in. Metro’s Office of Emergency Management delegated fundraising to the Community Foundation after the 2010 floods, and deferred to the Long Term Recovery Group. Vice Mayor Shulman’s Special Committee on Tornado Relief met a handful of times, but lacked a clear mandate or role in recovery.
The Federal Emergency Management Agency is perhaps the most famous punching bag for critics of government bureaucracy. All told, FEMA approved $2.9 million in individual aid for survivors of the 2020 tornadoes. Applications and appeals require a level of detail comparable to a legal brief. FEMA can be a bit like the IRS: A survivor needs an experienced guide to navigate all the red tape without making a clerical error, otherwise start over. Allocations are historically disproportionate along lines of race and completely exclude undocumented survivors.
Geovani Lopez immigrated to Tennessee from Mexico in 2003. He lived in Lebanon, Tenn., when 2020’s deadly tornadoes hit. Lopez says he didn’t know what a tornado was, much less how to prepare for a direct hit.
“We didn’t get alerted until our phones started sounding with warning signs,” Lopez tells the Scene via a translator. “I put my shoes on and went outside. There was already debris floating around — my wife told me to get in the closet and take cover.”
Afterward, Lopez and his neighbors started on the long road to recovery.
“There was the ability to apply for FEMA and the Red Cross, but as immigrants, we don’t do that because of the rigorous requirements,” he says. “That scares people away. I did apply for the Red Cross only to be denied.”
Lopez, who is undocumented, was not able to apply for FEMA because he doesn’t have a social security number. He was given the option to apply with his child’s social security number, which he declined, because he thought it might have future credit repercussions. Ever since that day, Lopez and his family spring into action at any sign of heavy rain or strong winds.
“The psychological damage is something you will never get out of your mind,” says Lopez.
Efforts to mitigate damage, smooth recovery and prepare for the next disaster are underway. In March, the Tennessee Immigrant and Refugee Rights Coalition joined a national partnership uniting climate justice efforts with concerns specific to immigrants, like status-based exclusions and language barriers.
“As a result of having to respond to all these climate disasters, we realized we can’t just be responding,” says TIRRC executive director Lisa Sherman Luna. “We have to look at the systems change we need.”
Changes will be necessary if Nashville hopes to respond to its climate future. The Metro Council adopted expanded FEMA floodplain maps in February, requiring thousands more homeowners to carry flood insurance. Flood mitigation efforts, gaining traction across the Southeast, could protect low-lying areas like South Nashville and preclude developments in flood zones like the East Bank. Transportation and electricity account for the vast majority of carbon-dioxide emissions, by far the largest contributor to climate change. Expanded transportation infrastructure, like light rail and bike lanes, could take cars off the road. A serious, organized effort between local power companies and the federal government could stop TVA from burning natural gas and coal.
Meanwhile, extreme climate events are becoming a fact of life in Middle Tennessee. But survivors are still searching for a quarterback to coordinate recovery.
Taking a look at co-housing agrihoods, disaster preparedness and recovery, local eco-friendly businesses and services, and more
