Imagine an entire village being swallowed by the earth, forcing its residents to abandon their ancestral homes. This is the stark reality for the Yup’ik people of Nunapitchuk, a Native village in southwestern Alaska, where centuries-old traditions are under siege by a rapidly changing climate. But here’s where it gets even more devastating: the ground itself is turning into what locals call 'Alaskan quicksand,' leaving families like Edna Chase’s fighting a daily battle to keep their homes from flooding. And this is the part most people miss—this isn’t just about losing houses; it’s about losing a way of life that has endured for generations.
Summers in Nunapitchuk once echoed with the laughter of children playing in the river, while adults fished or hunted across the tundra—a scene unchanged for centuries. But Alaska’s temperatures are rising nearly four times faster than the global average, upending this delicate balance. The permafrost beneath the village is melting, blending with the soil to create an unstable, muck-like substance. Coupled with rapid coastal erosion, this has left critical infrastructure in ruins. After a typhoon in October further damaged electrical lines and raised water levels, Morris Alexie, the former tribal administrator, issued a plea: 'We need help now more than ever.'
Here’s the controversial part: While the Biden administration has allocated over $560 million to help tribes cope with the climate crisis, including relocation efforts, the Trump administration froze $100 million of that funding. This political tug-of-war leaves communities like Nunapitchuk in limbo. 'It’s like we were making steps forward, and then this was a step back again,' Alexie lamented. But the problem runs deeper—there’s no single federal authority coordinating these relocations, leaving over 20 agencies to navigate a fragmented, inefficient system. Is this bureaucratic chaos a deliberate oversight, or simply a failure of leadership?
Nunapitchuk is far from alone. A 2020 report by the Bureau of Indian Affairs revealed that 144 Native villages in Alaska face similar fates due to climate-induced infrastructure damage. For Edna Chase, a 60-year-old mother, the crisis is personal. Her home of 53 years is sinking into the ground, forcing her to rely on a makeshift pump to keep water at bay. 'There’s no more foundation—it’s under the ground,' she said, pointing to her floor. Her walls are adorned with Bible verses, a testament to her faith that things will improve.
The village’s struggles extend beyond sinking homes. The ground is so unstable that residents rely on rickety boardwalks for mobility, and the only playground—an elevated basketball court—is riddled with holes. In 2023, the community voted to relocate three miles away to higher, drier ground. The new site, built on sand rather than soil, could last centuries. 'It would be a joy, a relief,' Alexie said. But the move comes with a staggering price tag: $230 million. So far, the village has secured only a fraction of that, including $250,000 from the Bureau of Indian Affairs for relocation planning.
And this is where it gets even more complicated: The health of Nunapitchuk’s residents is also at stake. Thawing permafrost has damaged homes, allowing water and air to seep in, fostering black mold. Over 15% of residents have asthma, and more than 10% suffer from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Meanwhile, the sewage lagoon and dump site are eroding, contaminating the river with everything from battery acid to human waste—the same river where children swim and families fish for sustenance.
For the Yup’ik people, relocation isn’t just about moving houses; it’s about preserving a culture. 'What we want to preserve is the way of life we have known since time began,' Morris said. Moving to a city would mean abandoning their community and traditions, a prospect that longtime mayor James Berlin refuses to consider. 'It’s my home. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else,' he declared.
As Alexie prepares to address the international community at COP30 in November, the question lingers: Will the world listen before it’s too late? Here’s a thought-provoking question for you: Should climate relocation be a human right, and if so, why aren’t governments doing more to ensure it? Share your thoughts in the comments—this conversation needs your voice.
