Early this month, in the wake of Hurricane Ian, U.S. Federal Emergency Management Agency Administrator Deanne Criswell advised Americans to “make informed decisions” about rebuilding in vulnerable areas hit by natural disasters intensified by the climate crisis.

“People need to understand what their potential risk may be whether it’s along the coast, inland along a riverbed or in tornado alley,” Criswell said.

The only surprising thing about the FEMA official’s comment was what a mild cautionary note it conveyed.

Ian had just dropped more than 20 inches of rain over central Florida and lashed its Gulf Coast communities and barrier islands with 150 mile-per-hour winds and 12-foot storm surges, causing an estimated 100 deaths and tens of billions in property damage.

In the wake of that disaster, Criswell should have been shouting to the storm’s victims, “You’re living in a danger zone. Don’t even think about rebuilding in the same place!”

While I appreciate the allure of residing near Florida’s white-sand beaches and blue-green ocean waters, particularly when I’m enduring the snow, ice and freezing temperatures of Maine’s winters, I find it astonishing that so few Floridians have learned any lessons from having placed themselves in harm’s way. After all, even children come to understand not to touch a hot stove after getting burned by one.

Hurricanes are nothing new in Florida. According to the Florida Climate Center, every part the state’s coastline has been impacted by hurricane activity since record-keeping began in 1850, including Category-5 storms in 1935, 1992 (Andrew) and 2018 (Michael). But climate change has created conditions which are making these storms ever more destructive.

Citing a white paper from Florida State University’s Department of Earth, Ocean and Atmospheric Sciences, the Climate Center noted key trends in hurricane activity due to climate change:

• “Coastal flooding from storm surge is expected to increase regardless of changes in storm intensity due to future sea level rise.”

• “A notable trend of slower-moving storms has recently emerged.”

• “A larger proportion of storms have reached major hurricane (Category 3-5) strength in recent years.”

• “The locations where hurricanes reach their peak intensity has shifted away from the equator poleward and toward the west, or closer to land in the Atlantic basin.”

In other words, Floridians should expect future hurricanes to arrive more often in their vicinity, reach greater intensity, linger longer and bring higher storm surges.

People in the Sunshine State, however, are not getting the message. Florida’s coastal population should be shrinking as its residents depart for safer ground. Instead, whether as a result of psychological denial, inability to grasp the implications of climate change, or sheer inertia, just the opposite is occurring. The population grew from about 17.8 to 21.8 million between 2010 and 2021, most of it near the coast.

This curious blind spot is confirmed by a 2021 Marist poll, which found that two-thirds of Americans say they would rather rebuild than relocate if their home is hit by a natural disaster.

In the end, it will probably take government regulation and economic disincentives to slow or reverse Florida’s coastal population growth. Tougher shore-land zoning laws based on updated flood-zone maps, more stringent building codes, and higher homeowner’s and flood insurance premiums will make homes there increasingly unaffordable for many.

It’s not just residents of Florida who should be concerned. On the Atlantic shore, vulnerable areas of the Carolinas, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York and New England are all in increasing danger from climate change.

The National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration recently predicted that sea levels along the U.S. coastline will rise, on average, 10 to 12 inches over the next 30 years. Quite apart from adding to the destructive power of severe storms, this rise will increase seasonal flooding in low-lying coastal areas, accelerate coastal erosion and lead to the salinization of tidal rivers.

Even coastal Maine can’t feel secure from the threat of hurricanes, though much of its coastline pitches down to the sea rather than pancaking like Florida’s.

Caribbean tropical storm Fiona, which intensified into a Category-4 hurricane in late September, gave a taste of what a hurricane might do to Maine’s coast. By the time it hit Canada’s Eastern Provinces, it produced wind gusts clocked in excess of 99 miles per hour and waves of up to 26 feet. The storm caused major flooding, uprooted thousands of trees and left 500,000 customers without electric power.

One only has to picture the low-lying houses, strung out like pearls along the sand beaches of Maine’s southern coast from Scarborough to York, to envision the damage Fiona could have wrought there had it taken a slightly different path.

Our oceanic coastlines are exquisitely beautiful, and one should never miss the opportunity to sail them, swim in them or stroll along them. But living beside them has become a sure way to court disaster.

Elliott Epstein is a trial lawyer with Andrucki & King in Lewiston. His Rearview Mirror column, which has appeared in the Sun Journal for 16 years, analyzes current events in an historical context. He is also the author of “Lucifer’s Child,” a book about the notorious 1984 child murder of Angela Palmer. He may be contacted at epsteinel@yahoo.com

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