El Hurricane Helene struck western North Carolina in the early morning hours of September 27, 2024, becoming, at that time, the most impactful, deadly, and devastating natural disaster in the state's history.
Entire villages have been swept away by the river. Thousands of people have been left homeless. A once-in-a-century storm. Almost three months later, it is still a disaster zone. Almost like a war, the West is now a land of devastated towns and cities, in this case by water.
And on the front lines of this battlefield, Latino-led community organizations became the necessary bridge to reach the Hispanic community, the last link in the chain of aid.
According to the organization Caminos, approximately 50 Latinos live in western North Carolina.
In counties like Henderson, the percentage of the Latino population exceeds 12 percent and Buncombe reaches more than 8 percent.
However, the figure for the Latino community is not fully known, due to undocumented immigrants and the community's reluctance to participate in censuses or surveys.
That is why the role of local organizations led by the community itself has been crucial in building bridges and bringing help to a community that most of the time prefers to remain unnoticed.
“We are not the same anymore”
Andrea Golden (Emma Power) and Dulce Morales (CIMA) took a break from their daily work to talk with Enlace Latino NC on the challenges facing the Latino community in Buncombe County following Hurricane Helene.
They also spoke of the strengths that have emerged in a context where crises have continued to accumulate.
“We have neighborhood councils and one of the things that caught our attention is that the teenagers said they missed the days without electricity because it made them feel more connected to their family,” Golden explains. For many, those moments of adversity created spaces for family unity and strengthened community ties.
For Morales, community networks are essential, especially for those without close relatives in the region.
“It was like I had a whole new family at that time,” she says, recalling the solidarity that blossomed after the hurricane.
Emma Power and CIMA work in the Emma and Erwin neighborhoods, a predominantly Latino area located near downtown Asheville, but with particular needs.
The Latino community, which relies heavily on the service industry and tourism, faces layoffs and months of lost paychecks following the hurricane.
Morales highlights one of the biggest challenges: ensuring that the community has access to resources.
"I think our role as organizations is to support without overwhelming," she says, referring to the importance of trust and building relationships. That's why the program stands out.
"Consulta a tu compa" (Consult Your Companion), an initiative that has been connecting resources with families for 10 years, in Spanish and through trusted networks led by neighbors.
“People trust us and the community leaders because they are their neighbors. That trust allows them to seek help in times of need, something they often wouldn’t do alone,” Morales explains.
After the hurricane, the fear of deportations
As the community tries to recover from the impact of the hurricane, new threats loom over them.
With the recent election results and the implementation of the HB 10 in North Carolina, many families, especially those with mixed immigration status, fear promises of mass deportations made by President-elect Donald Trump.
“We are not who we were before the hurricane, we are not the same. We are not who we were before the election results either,” Golden reflects. Uncertainty and fear are added to the economic challenges, leaving many families in a state of constant alert.
Despite everything, both Golden and Morales see in their work an opportunity to sustain the community.
“We have to keep celebrating, having these little moments of happiness, of dancing, of meeting,” says Golden. “Life is like that: moving between moments of joy and sadness, of fear and anger.”
The importance of language
At dusk, on a nearly deserted street in Swannanoa, Viviannette Ortiz Caraballo stopped her truck in front of two women walking through a hurricane-affected area.
“Good evening, do you need anything?” he asked them from the van. The women shook their heads, but Ortiz Caraballo insisted:
“Do you have medicine, water, candles?” At each question, the women hesitated before answering: “Yes, we need them.”
Then he got out of the vehicle and began to hand them what he had available, while he told them: “Make a list so that when someone asks, you know what to ask for.”
That scene sums up the work of Latinos Aventureros, a nonprofit led by Ortiz Caraballo, which traveled more than 5 miles and visited countless communities in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene.
“We started with my SUV, filling it to the brim. On the weekends we would get volunteers, but during the week it was just us, door to door, asking what they needed,” Ortiz Caraballo recalls.
The need was evolving over time.
“First they asked for water and food, but as we returned, they asked for more specific things, like oil or heaters for the cold,” he explains.
Each visit strengthened the bond with families, many of whom had never received personalized help.
Ortiz Caraballo also learned to overcome cultural and linguistic barriers. On one occasion, he found a team of English-speaking volunteers handing out food in an empty parking lot.
“They had been coming for weeks and no one came out. They didn't knock on doors or speak Spanish,” he says.
Instead, Latinos Aventureros talked to families, listened to them and tailored the help to their real needs.
“Language and time to listen are essential,” he says.
For Ortiz Caraballo, the key is not only to provide aid, but to build trust.
“People don’t know how to ask because they are not used to receiving. Our job is to teach them that it is okay to ask, that there are people willing to listen and help. If you don’t make that effort, you end up with a truck full and the need is still there.”
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A personalized help
In the mountains of western North Carolina, where Latino communities face geographic isolation and cultural barriers, Hurricane Helene left a devastating trail.
For Ricardo Bello Ball, executive director of Unidxs WNC, the impact was not only measured in destroyed houses, but in the disconnect between the aid offered and the real needs of families.
“Our community often works three jobs to cover the basics. They don’t have time to go to offices or know how to fill out forms, and that leaves them outside the aid system,” she explains.
Unidxs WNC operates in one of the regions hardest hit by the hurricane, covering rural counties such as Cherokee, Swain and Macon, where tourism and construction, economic pillars, were paralyzed.
“People lost weeks of work because tourist cancellations put many jobs on hold. This created enormous economic pressure for families who were already living day to day,” Ricardo explains.
Faced with this reality, Ricardo’s organization adopted a direct approach: bringing resources to the doors of families, one by one. “We don’t have large offices or a formal structure like other organizations, but we knock on doors. We listen to people. And it is that closeness that makes the difference,” he says.
Lack of funding is one of the biggest challenges for Unidxs WNC. Ricardo points out how large national organizations receive millions of dollars, but lack the cultural capacity to connect with communities like his own.
“We received $10,000 and it took us a month to get it, while large organizations, which don’t even have bilingual staff, receive the majority of the funds,” he says with frustration.
However, their determination does not stop. In just two years, Unidxs WNC has managed to establish a support network for hundreds of families in the most remote areas, traveling long distances with limited resources.
“When we arrive, we are often the first ones. That tells us how important our work is,” says Ricardo.
Beyond distributing aid, the work of Ricardo and his team is based on generating trust and connection in often forgotten communities.
“If we don’t understand the culture of our people, we can’t help. That’s the difference that small organizations like ours make,” he concludes.
The challenges of the Latino community
In Marion, a city in McDowell County where the Latino community represents approximately 15.43% of the population, the consequences of Hurricane Helene added to the structural inequalities that this community faces.
Although floods swept away homes and fallen trees destroyed property, the impact is not only measured in material damage, but in the daily challenges of a community struggling to recover.
For Margarita Ramírez, executive director of the Latin American United Center in Marion, the disaster exposed both the vulnerabilities and resilience of Latinos in the region.
“Many Latinos have no other option than to return to their trailers, even though they are not safe. It is the only thing they have and they have built it with great effort. There is a very strong attachment because for them it is their entire heritage,” he explains.
Lack of affordable housing
Lack of affordable housing is a serious problem. Families who once paid between $300 and $500 for their trailers now face rents of more than $1,500 in non-flood zones.
For many, returning to their damaged trailers, despite the risks, is the only option.
The Latin American United Center works with limited resources, offering between $400 and $5,000 per family for repairs or materials, an insufficient amount compared to needs such as rebuilding roofs, which can cost $10,000.
“We can only cover half of it,” Margarita laments. In addition, many families do not have access to government aid such as FEMA due to legal barriers and fears about their immigration status.
Even those who do get help face other challenges. FEMA-assigned hotels are more than 50 minutes from schools and jobs, forcing families to return to damaged homes and make piecemeal repairs.
“Families are forced to do what they can with what they have. It is a constant struggle,” says Margarita.
Despite these difficulties, the resilience of the community shines brightly.
“It is amazing to see how families support each other. Brothers, neighbors and friends share their homes and resources. This shows the strength and unity we have as Latinos,” he says.
Centro Unido is not alone. Community organizations and local leaders have provided water, food and essential resources, but the lack of state and federal support remains a significant barrier.
“The work of small organisations like ours is crucial. We are the only ones who reach remote places where no one else can. The relationship we have with our community allows us to make a real impact,” Margarita concludes.
Marion's case reflects a broader problem affecting rural communities across the state: lack of infrastructure, language barriers and limited access to resources deepen inequalities, especially for Latino and immigrant communities.
PODCAST
After the storm
A year ago, Hurricane Helene struck western North Carolina. The Latino community responded with something stronger than the storm: solidarity.
🎧 In this episode, learn how Latino organizations transformed crisis into resilience.
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