“I’ve learned to realize that we’re still very much left behind in rural areas — that we don’t have the same opportunities, that somehow we’re still not prepared even though we’ve been through so much and learned a lot.”
That’s how Ricardo Bello Ball, a Latino leader with the organization Unidxs, reflects one year after the worst natural disaster in the region’s history. The experience left an uncomfortable lesson: if another hurricane were to hit the southern Appalachian Mountains, his organization — one of the few Latino-led groups in the area — would once again be overwhelmed.
Unidxs works with immigrant families in rural communities across western North Carolina, providing support, guidance, and basic assistance in times of crisis.
With limited resources, it has become a point of reference for those facing emergencies without immediate access to public services. The organization is based in Bryson City and serves the seven most rural counties in the region: Jackson, Cherokee, Clay, Graham, Haywood, Macon, and Swain.
”If another emergency happens, we’re not prepared,” Bello Ball sums up. He explains that although they have a physical space to receive families, the lack of communication and adequate vehicles would limit their response.
“Right now we have two vehicles that can’t handle unpaved roads. For that, you need a good car — and we don’t have one,” he says.
Communication is another limitation. “It’s not like we have communication equipment or a plan in place right now — we don’t,” he admits. And although a long-term recovery group was formed, that process is still in the learning stage.
“Not only in rural areas, but throughout western North Carolina,” he says. In this part of the state, an estimated 56,000 Latinos live there, though the actual number may be higher because many do not participate in the census due to their immigration status.
When Helene struck, the organization was made up of only two people. Today, there are six and they have their own office. Still, Bello Ball acknowledges that it remains insufficient to respond to the magnitude of a new disaster.
“We Are the First Line of Help”
Alan Ramírez, coordinator of Casa de Apoyo Mutuo in Asheville, recalls, “The hurricane was something we didn’t expect to face, but somehow we had to… everyone in the community took responsibility and did what we could.”
Today, more than a year later, he’s sure of two things: that he’s still working in that same mode, and that the anxiety about another hurricane — and how to face it — keeps growing.
“Right now I feel proud, but also very anxious that we’re not prepared for the next time something like this happens,” he says.
Casa de Apoyo Mutuo coordinates networks in the Emma neighborhood and other parts of Asheville, home to one of the city’s largest and hardest-working Latino communities.
Just two days after Helene hit, the community building El Porvenir opened its doors to help the community. Until then, it had been a space for cultural gatherings, but after the storm it became an improvised shelter — a place where people could charge their phones, use a clean restroom, and get a hot meal.
The importance of that work becomes clear with one fact: in Asheville, it took 53 days for clean water service to be restored. From El Porvenir, trucks set out carrying well water jugs, bags of rice, and flashlights. That’s also where Casa de Apoyo Mutuo — now coordinated by Alan — was born.
In the months that followed, more than 400 volunteers joined the effort. The improvised storage area was transformed into a small community market, open three times a week.
The work continues as part of a new normal. But behind it remains the central question: What would happen if another storm hit? For Ramírez, the anxiety of not being prepared still lingers.
And the only certainty is that if it happens again, the community will once more have to respond on its own: “We are the rapid response. We are the first line of help — not someone else. We can’t wait for another person, another group, another government.”
“We’re Only Just Starting to Recover”
“It’s already been a year since Hurricane Helene, and it feels like it was yesterday,” says Víctor Álvarez of the Comité Popular de Asheville por la Justicia Social. He says that if another hurricane as strong as Helene were to hit, it would be nearly impossible to be prepared.
Víctor lives with his family in Arden, a working-class area with a large Latino community west of Asheville. Every morning, he says, he feels sad passing by Biltmore Village and seeing the McDonald’s where he used to have breakfast before work — the building remains closed and in ruins, a daily reminder of what Helene left behind.
In his neighborhood, the storm’s effects are still visible. “We’re still out there supporting families who haven’t been able to recover because they lost everything — even their jobs. So when you fall behind a month or two, you end up in a tough situation. Now imagine that after a year.”
When asked whether they would be prepared for another storm, Álvarez doesn’t hesitate: “I want to be honest — I don’t think we are. We’re only just starting to recover.”
The experience left at least one warning: “To say that we’re prepared to face another hurricane of that magnitude… no, I don’t think we would be ready. But I do think we’re more aware now of what could happen.”
He’s referring to western North Carolina’s vulnerability to flooding — and to the importance of working together among Latino organizations, which, in his view, was difficult to achieve after the storm.
“I think we need to look for more unity among ourselves… because when the hurricane happened, we were all fighting on our own, since that unity wasn’t there.”
For Álvarez, that lack of coordination among Latino organizations is part of the fragility that would resurface if a similar situation occurred.
A year later, his feeling is not one of readiness, but of unfinished business: “There are many people who don’t know me or the work we’ve been doing here for 20 years — and there are also many institutions we don’t know,” he concludes.
“We Need a Communication Plan”
Before Helene hit, Vecinos had dropped off water and food at farmworker camps — enough supplies to last two or three days, based on what they thought would be the worst-case scenario for the storm.
But the reality was far worse. When the power went out and the wells that relied on electric pumps stopped working, that water and food ran out quickly. Migrant farmworkers were forced to drink from rivers and springs.
“As an organization, we had never experienced anything like that before. So we didn’t consider that it would be as extreme as it was,” says Marianne Martínez, director of Vecinos, which works in Jackson, Macon, Haywood, and Transylvania counties.
On September 30, three days after the hurricane, outreach teams returned to the fields. “In many areas, we couldn’t get there until several days later — and the biggest issue was access to water,” she recalls.
Communication was the other major problem. The clinic has a system to send alerts to patients, but in the fields, most farmworkers — especially those who are seasonal — only use WhatsApp. With roads blocked and no signal, there was no way to reach them.
“In those circumstances, there was simply no way to get to them,” Martínez acknowledges.
>>> A year of scars: Hope for a better future and a slow recovery in the western Latino community
More than a year later, the underlying situation hasn’t changed. “We’ve learned from the lessons. But it’s been such a busy year for us that we haven’t had the space to plan strategically. So we have draft plans… but nothing complete,” Martínez says.
The director stresses that the most urgent need is a crisis communication plan and staff training. “We need a communication plan for crises — one that’s done thoroughly and tested — and for our staff to be trained with that plan.”
That work is set to begin in 2026. “In February, we’re planning to set aside time just to plan and create those plans and staff training,” she says.
Martínez admits they can’t claim to be prepared. But she does believe the communities they serve — rural workers in isolated areas — are now more aware of what could happen if another hurricane strikes.
Related links
>>> Vecinos web site
PODCAST
Después de la tormenta
Hace un año, el huracán Helene golpeó al oeste de Carolina del Norte. La comunidad latina respondió con algo más fuerte que la tormenta: solidaridad.
🎧 En este episodio, conoce cómo las organizaciones latinas transformaron la crisis en resiliencia.
▶️ ¡Dale play para escuchar!
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