I remember the sound of chainsaws. It was the morning of September 16, 1995, after Hurricane Marilyn hit St. Thomas, one of the U.S. Virgin Islands. The 105 mph winds of the Category 3 storm blew away a neighbor’s home, and parts of it hit ours, smashing the top floor. I huddled with my parents and younger sister in a closet downstairs as the storm hit. The winds pushed our car, an Isuzu Rodeo, through the downstairs door; a large chunk of our neighbor’s roof landed on it, trapping us inside our shelter. When the storm passed, a friend came to check on us, and when he saw we were trapped, cut through the roof and Rodeo with a chainsaw and pulled us out. I was seven years old.
Nearly 22 years later, on September 5, 2017, Hurricane Irma hit the Virgin Islands—and it was a Category 5. The damage is devastating: According to CNBC, 40,000 people are currently homeless on St. Thomas—out of a population of 52,000. Damage was most widespread in St. John, the smallest U.S Virgin Island. I still see people posting on Facebook asking about friends and family on St. John that they have not heard from. Since so much of the island is without cell phone service or Wi-Fi, exact numbers of displaced people are difficult to come by. St. Croix, the largest U.S. Virgin Island, is home to 50,600 people. “We were lucky to just experience down trees here,” St. Croix resident DJ Many says. “St. Thomas and St. John had it the worst.” The USVI death count is at least four, and that number could easily rise.
Families won’t be able to find their own—or rebuild their lives—without more emergency funding and media attention. While outlets such as The New York Times and USA Today have ramped up their coverage, many U.S. Virgin Islanders still feel ignored. “After Irma passed, I asked a friend to send me storm updates. She said they are focusing on Florida and there was no more information on the USVI. In fact, before Irma hit us, The Weather Channel had already begun reporting that Florida was bracing for Irma as she prepared to hit the U.S. To say I am dissatisfied is an understatement,” Zenzi H., an entrepreneur and author born and raised on St. Thomas, says.
“We are the U.S.—yes, U.S.—Virgin Islands. Say our name. Find us on the map. Acknowledge us.”
Many residents that I spoke to said they worried that what little national media coverage there has been will only worsen the inequalities that exist thanks to U.S. colonialism. “The lack of media coverage does speak to a larger problem that begins with us not having a voice. As a territory, we do not vote for the president nor do we have a voting member of congress. That is a part of that voicelessness,” Zenzi H. says. However, do not mistake that for powerlessness. “We are a strong and resilient people; we will move forward, but every little bit from the outside will help,” my childhood friend Nicole Joie Smith writes to me on Facebook messenger by candlelight. Electricity is out. When phones are charged through generators or the few places with power, service is limited and texts are delayed. Smith was born and raised on St. Thomas, where the former Miss USVI United States still lives today.
Smith says she spent the first part of the storm in her closet with her dogs, and when foundational beams began to groan, she curled up against a wall underneath a futon for hours. When Irma finally left St. Thomas, her house was flooded—but standing. “The aftermath is dire; I won’t sugarcoat it for you. I have no power. I count my blessings to still have a place to call home. But others are not nearly as fortunate as I,” Smith says.
“Even Hurricane Marilyn, who ripped through St. Thomas like a bat out of hell and left many displaced in her wake, didn’t really faze my seven-year old self,” says Smith. “Months without electricity and running water aren’t high on the scale of concerns for a child.” The mother of another childhood friend of mine, Jasmine Francis, was forced to spend the storm outside, huddling underneath a stairwell, after her entire condo collapsed around her. Thankfully, she survived.
PHOTO: Courtesy of Shaina Rae Pomerantz
Many “statesiders” think of the USVI as a tourist destination. A recent Washington Post article, while doing its part to spread awareness, described the USVI as “a haven for cruise ships and those in search of a good piña colada.” Zenzi H. says that she would love for people first to know who the USVI are and what we are—more than just a playground. “We are not ‘the islands’ or ‘the Leeward islands.’ We are not some hodgepodge of random land masses. We are the U.S.—yes, U.S.—Virgin Islands. Say our name. Find us on the map. Acknowledge us.”
President Donald Trump is currently in Florida, on the third leg of his “Hurricane Tour.” While he [eventually tweeted] about the U.S. Virgin Islands on September 6, basically as Irma was on top of the USVI. Governor Kenneth Mapp said during a press conference Monday that Trump will visit “in six or seven days.” FEMA has made their way there, and wrote to me that “46,000 liters of water, 56 rolls of blue tarps, and 13 infant kits were transferred to St. Thomas and St. John.” The U.S. Army is also now in the USVI aiding in recovery. The help is valued, although more is needed. 31 percent of USVI children live below the poverty line (compared to a 21 percent national average). Including all citizens, 22 percent of the USVI lives in poverty, compared to the national level of 14.5 percent. Perhaps the most striking disparity between these figure is how infrequently the former is mentioned in national media.
Even before help started coming from the U.S. mainland, locals were on it. “Virgin Islanders are not going to sit back and wait for FEMA or the government,” my stepmother, Sandra LaPlace-Duensing, who was born and raised on St. Thomas, says. The LaPlace family and others used chainsaws to help clear roads to Hull Bay, an area on St. Thomas known as a local hangout and fishing location. They’re certainly not the only locals engaging in such grassroots efforts.
PHOTO: Courtesy of Shaina Rae Pomerantz
“Our street was cleared by people who live in the neighborhood. There are still lots of downed trees, poles, and wires but we can drive in and out. We can do this because of the men and women who took on the task of clearing the road. I have seen people traveling with machetes and chainsaws, not to do anything dastardly, just the opposite,” H. says. There may be a shortage of food and water, but residents stressed that reports of violence on the islands are mostly just fear mongering.
Local restaurants such as Gladys Cafe and The Tap & Still on St. Thomas are handing out free food, Shaina Rae Pomeranz, one of my childhood best friends, says. She and countless other locals have done their part by gathering in parking lots to also help dole out food and. When I asked her about the atmosphere and any violence, she texted back that: “Atmosphere was good. Everyone needs food and water. Minor fight over who got what but everything was split up evenly. Didn’t have nearly enough stuff but coming back with more tomorrow.” The U.S. Virgin Islanders aren’t bad, dangerous people; they’re hungry and scared, and they need help.
My parents moved to St. Thomas when I was less than a year old. I lived there until high school, when I moved with my mother to Virginia. I go back often to visit my father, friends, and step-family. While I continue to feel a deep connection to the islands and the people—and at home the second I step foot on the island—it’s my experiences or voice are not nor should be representative of U.S. Virgin Islanders as a whole. Even if my experiences with Hurricane Marilyn sound scary, I cannot stress enough how good my family had it. I should not be the only, nor the last, voice to talk about Irma’s devastation.
I’ve spent the past week running around New York City to find chainsaw parts and medical supplies such as insulin to get to family and friends through Puerto Rico. However, certainly not all U.S. Virgin Islanders in need have that kind of access. Multiple trusted sources say the best place to donate to is the Community Foundation of the Virgin Islands. “Our focus from the Community Foundation is really families and children,” says Katrin C. Braddell, the foundation’s development director.
The last time I flew to St. Thomas to visit my dad, as I looked out the window of the plane, I could still pick out a few unmistakable blue FEMA tarps used as roofs—likely from Hurricane Marilyn, two decades later. Irma’s 150 mph winds make the Marilyn experience seem like a bad thunderstorm. “We are still looking for food, water, fuel, and ice. Many of us are just realizing that we will have to find new jobs. And many are just trying to find clothes to put on our backs,” Smith says. “The blood of my people lies within these emerald rocks, and I refuse to let them die out. So I ask, hell I even beg, please help any way that you can.”
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