Surviving the Storms — and the Lies

It is no small feat to survive in a world where storms bear down not just from the skies but from the mouths of men who would rather see our people confused, hollowed, and without hope. I have walked through neighborhoods after the waters recede, where broken branches and soaked furniture line the streets like gravestones, marking lives that have endured what should be unendurable.

And in these neighborhoods — these Black, Brown, Indigenous, and lower-wealth communities—the work of rebuilding is often done quietly, with hands as tired as they are determined. The winds may howl, but nothing screams louder than the silence that follows, where hope has to be gathered up and pieced together like a broken roof.

Here, in these spaces of survival, the danger does not end when the storm passes. Instead, it transforms. It becomes insidious, the way lies are filtered down from the voices of those in power.

When a former president, a man with a bullhorn louder than the thunder, sows seeds of confusion and disinformation, he adds layers to the floodwaters already drowning these communities. For those doing their best to live another day, these lies are another storm they did not ask for and cannot afford.

We see it clearly: how climate change has marked our earth with its rising tides and relentless fires, how hurricanes like Helene and Milton carve scars across neighborhoods already stretched thin. But now, there is an additional storm, one of misinformation, designed to disorient the already struggling, to shake their confidence in what is real and true. When our people need clear guidance on where to go, how to rebuild, or even where to find safe shelter, the last thing they need is a barrage of falsehoods from someone who cares more about chaos than compassion.

Agencies like FEMA have evolved, incorporating environmental justice into their priorities.

Despite the challenges, hopeful actions are benefiting our communities now and in the future. Under the Biden-Harris Administration, we’ve seen resources dedicated to addressing the climate crisis with a level of urgency that hasn’t just been words but has translated into real, concrete support. Agencies like FEMA have evolved, incorporating environmental justice into their priorities to acknowledge the additional needs of communities that have been unseen and under-resourced for too long. FEMA now looks at these neighborhoods with more than a passing glance, recognizing the legacies of neglect and the layers of disadvantage these communities carry, like scars.

These changes matter because they mean that when storms come, there are more intentional efforts to ensure those on the margins aren’t left behind. There’s now an understanding that it isn’t enough to simply respond to disaster; we need to respond to injustice, too. By prioritizing the vulnerable by setting aside resources specifically for communities that have borne the brunt of both the elements and history, the Biden-Harris Administration has planted seeds for a future where resilience isn’t just a personal struggle but a collective mission.

But let’s not be satisfied too soon. Because as much as we have moved forward, we’re still far from safety. These steps are promising, but they are only steps. We need more than progress; we need transformation. For every dollar invested in resilience, too many families are left out, and too many neighborhoods are rebuilding with scraps when they need steel. It’s not enough to pave over the cracks; we need to repair the very foundations, reimagine what preparedness looks like, and ensure that every plan includes those who have always been ignored.

When the storm ends, these communities face something even more dangerous: the lies that flood in.

I’ve been a part of emergency response teams and seen the wreckage firsthand. I’ve seen how limited resources and scarce transportation turn every decision into a choice between risk and greater risk. I’ve seen evacuees with no place to go because there was no family member, emergency fund, or way out that wasn’t paved with fear. And when the storm ends, these communities face something even more dangerous: the lies that flood in, promising easy answers, twisting reality into a puzzle they don’t have time to solve.

These lies matter because they are not harmless. They poison the air, they dilute the truth, they prey upon uncertainty. Vulnerable communities are asked to do so much: to endure the worst, to survive without, and now, to discern truth from fiction when all they need is a lifeline. But the ones spreading these falsehoods are doing more than just talking; they are creating a smokescreen of deceit that prevents real aid from reaching those who need it most. They distract from the problem’s urgency, making it harder to see the storm for what it is—a call for change, not an opportunity for divisive games.

Real support means providing equitable access to evacuation plans.

All is not lost, and we can fight back. Not with anger, though it would be deserved. Not with the same deceit, though it might feel satisfying. We fight back with clarity, intentional support, and a steadfast commitment to those who have been left to fend for themselves for too long. We don’t need the untruths; we need investment, community-centered action, and leaders who will stand in the storm with us, not against us. We need policies that don’t just whisper promises but build walls strong enough to keep the water at bay and foundations resilient enough to withstand the weight of what is to come.

Let’s talk about what real support looks like because it is not enough to offer well-meaning words when the rains come. Real support means providing equitable access to evacuation plans that don’t require a car or a credit card. It means ensuring that when the waters recede, they are met with a flood of resources — not just prayers and pity. It means providing mental health services to address the invisible wounds left long after the streets have dried. It means doing everything we can to cut through the fog of lies and create pathways of truth so that our communities have the tools to protect themselves, no matter who stands at the microphone.

We owe it to our most vulnerable to weather the storms that have been placed upon them and actively tear down the barriers that keep them in harm’s way. Let us unite in solidarity, arms entwined, to create a future where no one has to face these storms alone, and no one has to wade through rivers of deception just to locate the truth. We are not just fighting for survival at this moment — we are fighting for a world where everyone can live with dignity without the weight of disinformation clouding the skies. We are fighting for a future that lifts us all above the waters and into the light.

Dr. Mustafa Santiago Ali is a thought leader, strategist, policymaker, and activist committed to justice and equity. He is the founder of Revitalization Strategies, a business focused on moving our most vulnerable communities from “surviving to thriving.” Mustafa was previously the senior vice president for the Hip Hop Caucus, a national non-profit and non-partisan organization that connects the hip-hop community to the civic process to build power and create positive change.

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