Louisiana is shrinking. Some tribes are fighting to protect what’s left of their communities

POINTE-AU-CHIEN, Louisiana — Cherie Matherne looked out over Bayou Pointe au Chien, wide enough for several boats to pass through. In the distance, a grove of dead trees marked by the comings and goings of salt water during floods caused by storms.

It was not always this way. The bayou was once shallower and just wide enough for a small boat to pass through. The lands that cattle once roamed are now submerged, and elders tell stories of treetops once so lush they almost shut out the day.

The delicate latticework of Louisiana’s coastline has been steadily receding for generations. In doing so, the Pointe-au-Chien Indian Tribe and other indigenous peoples are fighting to protect what remains and adapt to their changing environment. This involves a painstaking effort to build makeshift reefs that slow erosion and stronger homes and buildings to better withstand storms.

“We want to be able to make sure that people can stay here as long as possible, as long as they want,” said Matherne, who as the tribe’s director of daily operations helped coordinate its response to the erosion threat.

They hope to avoid the fate of the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation, a neighboring tribe that was forced to relocate about 40 miles (64 kilometers) north to the Gulf of Mexico three years ago. Jean Charles Island – their home island southwest of New Orleans – lost 98% of its land.

Louisiana’s coastline is steadily retreating for several reasons.

Levees along the Mississippi River have interrupted the natural flow of sand, silt and clay creating land, depriving wetlands of the sediment they need to survive. The canals allowed salt water to flow into wetlands, killing the freshwater vegetation that holds them together and accelerating erosion. Groundwater pumping causes land subsidence, and global warming emissions from burning coal, oil and gas fuel hurricanes and accelerate sea level rise.

Since the 1930s, Louisiana has lost about 5,180 square miles of land – sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly. A U.S. Geological Survey analysis found that when erosion was at its peak, a football field’s worth of coastal wetlands disappeared every 34 minutes.

It’s a difficult problem to solve without being able to rely on the Mississippi River to periodically dump sediment to maintain the land, said Sam Bentley, a geology professor at Louisiana State University.

“It’s going to displace ecosystems, it’s going to displace communities, it’s going to isolate infrastructure that’s along the coastline,” Bentley said. “And there are going to be a lot of changes that are going to be very difficult to manage.”

Indigenous burial and cultural sites are at risk of erosion and traditional ways of life – shrimping, fishing and subsistence farming – are under pressure. Without action, researchers estimate the state could lose up to 3,000 square miles (7,770 square kilometers) — an area larger than Delaware — over the next 50 years.

Reefs constructed from oyster shells are an attempt to stem erosion.

Oysters are collected from restaurants, put in bags and stacked just offshore to form the reefs. The program, launched in 2014 by the Louisiana Coastal Restoration Coalition, has recycled more than 16 million pounds (7.3 million kilograms) of shells during that time. This is enough to protect about 1.5 miles (about 2.4 kilometers) of shoreline.

Since the Pointe-au-Chien Tribe had a 400-foot (123-meter) reef built in 2019 to protect a historic mound, the coalition has measured a 50% reduction in the rate of land loss where the reefs were built, said coalition spokesperson James Karst.

But there are limits to what salvaged oyster shells can do. There simply aren’t enough shells for Louisiana’s estimated 7,721 miles (12,426 kilometers) of coastline, Karst said, and moving them is expensive, so they have to be strategic. Many of the reefs they built protect sites of cultural significance. They are also limited to areas where the water is salty enough for oyster shells to persist.

Their work may seem like a small drop in the ocean, “but when you’re losing land at the rate you’re doing it,” Karst said, “you need every drop of water you can get in the ocean.”

Some of the coalition’s most recent work took place about 30 miles southwest of Pointe-au-Chien land, in a project with the Grand Caillou/Dulac Band of the Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw Tribe that ended in November. It was built at the Louisiana Universities Marine Consortium, an easy place for the public to see and learn about oyster reefs, Chief Devon Perfect said.

When Hurricane Ida hit in 2021, it made landfall in the region with maximum sustained winds of 150 mph (241 km/h).

Dozens of homes in Pointe-au-Chien and surrounding areas were damaged or destroyed. Some families moved inland or left the area altogether, but most returned. With the help of groups like the Lowlander Center, a nonprofit working with indigenous and coastal communities facing risks like climate threats and land loss, the tribe is rebuilding stronger.

Homes are taller and reinforced with hurricane straps, sturdy windows and doors that can withstand harsh winds and water. Electrical equipment is elevated to stay above storm surges. They rebuilt or repaired 13 houses; about five new houses are planned and they are raising money to fortify the remaining dozen.

“We know that building just one house in a community doesn’t make the community safe. It’s only safe if the entire community participates in increasing that level of safety,” said Kristina Peterson, director and co-founder of the Lowlander Center.

But challenges remain. State-recognized tribes have had difficulty gaining federal recognition, they said, and without that recognition, it is difficult to obtain grants and other aid from the federal government. Rather, they rely on partnerships with organizations and institutions.

Funding cuts imposed by the Trump administration also make it harder for tribes to achieve their goals.

The Grand Caillou/Dulac Band of Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw has applied for a federal grant to build a community center supplied with emergency food, water and renewable energy, designed to withstand hurricanes. When there were cuts, their request was tabled.

Similarly, the municipality of Pointe-au-Chien has requested money to install solar panels in each house, but it does not hope that its request will be approved.

Pointe-au-Chien senior Theresa Dardar said a lot has changed in the five decades she has lived there. The pond behind her house grew larger and she was once able to identify Chien and Felicity Lakes. Now it’s just a big body of water. In the past, people hunted deer and walked in wooded areas.

What hasn’t changed is the calm and close ties. Everyone knows everyone. And people still fish like generations before them did.

“This is where our ancestors were, and we feel like we would be abandoning them” by leaving, Dardar said. “We have sacred sites that we still visit.”

By slowing erosion and building more homes, the tribe hopes young families will move to Pointe-au-Chien. They also know that protecting their land from dumping will protect areas further inland.

As Dardar says: “We are the buffer.”

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