When the tide gets exceptionally high in Charleston, South Carolina, coastal streets start to run with seawater. After homes in one low-lying neighborhood flooded three times in four years, the city offered to buy out 32 flood-prone town homes and turn the land back into open space that can be used for managing future floodwater.
It’s a strategy coastal cities from Virginia to California are contemplating more often, as climate change and new construction lead to more frequent floods. In Delaware, Bowers Beach purchased two flood-prone homes and turned the land into a bocce ball park, where future floodwater can pool without doing much harm.
Managed retreat — purposefully helping people move away from highly hazardous places — is one of the most effective ways to protect people in the long term. Delaware has shored up its eroding coasts with sand for many years, but that doesn’t stop the water from reaching homes and roads.
Managed retreat can be controversial, particularly in the United States. But it isn’t only about moving — it’s about adapting to change and building communities that are safer, addressing long-overlooked needs and incorporating new technologies and thoughtful design for living and working in today’s world.
We argue in a special issue of the journal Science that managed retreat is an opportunity to preserve the essential, while redesigning high-risk areas in ways that are better for everyone.
What managed retreat can look like
U.S. Marine Corps Gen. Oliver P. Smith famously said of a retreat he led during the Korean War: “Retreat, hell! … We’re just advancing in a different direction.” Like Gen. Smith’s maneuver, retreat from climate change-related hazards, at its core, is about choosing a new direction.
Managed retreat could involve turning streets into canals in coastal cities. It could mean purchasing and demolishing flood-prone properties to create open spaces for stormwater parks that absorb heavy rains or retention ponds and pumping stations.
In some cases, managed retreat may involve building denser, more affordable housing that’s designed to stay cool, while leaving open spaces for recreation or agriculture that can also reduce heat and absorb stormwater when needed.
Managing retreat well is challenging. It affects numerous people — the residents who relocate, their neighbors who remain and the communities where they move — and each may be affected differently. Soldiers Grove, Wisconsin, relocated its flood-prone business district in the late 1970s and used the opportunity to heat the new buildings with solar energy, earning the nickname, “Solar Village.” The move reinvigorated the local economy; yet while the project is hailed as a success, some residents still miss the old town. For managed retreat to be a viable strategy, relocation plans must not only help people move to safer ground but also meet their needs. This may involve a wide range of social issues, including cultural practices, affordable housing, building codes, land use, jobs, transportation and utilities.
Since high-risk areas are often home to low-income communities and Black, indigenous and other communities of color, addressing climate risk in these areas may also require addressing a national legacy of racism, segregation and disinvestment that has put these communities at risk and left many with few choices to address floods, fires and other hazards.
At its simplest, managed retreat can be a lifeline for families who are tired of the emotional and financial stress of rebuilding after floods or fires but cannot afford to sell their home at a loss or don’t want to sell and put another family at risk.
Talking about managed retreat
Even if an individual or community decides not to retreat, thinking critically and talking openly about managed retreat can help people understand why remaining in place is important and what risks they are willing to face to stay.
The losses involved in moving can be obvious, including cost, but there are losses to staying in place, too: physical risk of future hazards, increased emotional and financial stress, potential loss of community if some residents or businesses leave to find safer ground, pain from watching the environment change and lost opportunities to improve.
If people can articulate why it is important to remain in place, they can make better plans.
Maybe it is important to stay because a building is historic and people want to protect that history. That opens up creative conversations about the ways people have preserved risk-prone historic buildings and sites. And it invites others to help document that heritage and educate the community, perhaps through oral histories, video records or 3-D models.
Maybe it is important for owners to stay because the land has been in the family for generations. That could kick-start conversations with the next generation about its goals for the land, which may include preservation but may also include changes.
Maybe a deep, emotional attachment to a community or home could make a person want to stay. Conversations could focus on moving nearby — to a new house that’s safer but still part of the community — or physically relocating the house to a safer place. It could also mean finding strategies, like life estates, that allow people to stay in their home as long as they want but would prevent a new family from moving in and putting their kids at risk.
If staying seems important because the local economy depends on the beach, that could start a conversation about why moving back from the beach can be the best way to save the beach and its ecosystem, to prevent walls from narrowing it and to maintain public access without homes on stilts hovering over the tide.
Thinking carefully about what parts of our lives and communities should stay the same opens space to think creatively about what parts should or could change.
A.R. Siders is an assistant professor in the Joseph R. Biden Jr. School of Public Policy & Administration and in geography and spatial sciences at the University of Delaware, as well as a core faculty member of UD’s Disaster Research Center. Katharine Mach is an associate professor at the University of Miami’s Rosenstiel School of Marine and Atmospheric Science and a faculty scholar at UM’s Abess Center for Ecosystem Science & Policy, focused on environmental science and policy. This was first published by The Conversation.
