As Hurricane Ike moved toward a landfall destination in Texas, it pushed an 8 to 10 foot surge into coastal communities of Louisiana where tribal members of the geographically-dispersed United Houma Nation live.

These are people who were driven out of their historic homeland by white colonists, but who made the best of Louisiana’s rich coastal environment of marsh and cypress forests, abundant in wildlife and seafood. This tenacious, resilient community has managed to retain its cultural pride, while accommodating and absorbing the culture of others who settled here, like the French-speaking Acadiens. In fact, many members of the Houma Nation tribal communities who live here only speak French, and carry on with the only livelihood they know: fishing and shrimping.

Now, once again, the tribal members are being driven out of their homes. The cause this time — at least nominally — is the double assault of Hurricanes Gustav and Ike, and the destruction to homes is not unlike the what happened to the Lower Ninth Ward when the federal levees failed during Hurricane Katrina. A deeper historical understanding of their plight, however, reveals that their natural environment is disappearing due to oil and gas activities which benefit the rest of the United States.

In a very tangible sense, billions in profits are extracted from this region, while the costs are being borne disproportionately by those least capable of paying them. The coastline is disappearing, hurricanes are getting closer, and the Houma Nation tribal communities are being driven out of their land once again. To those who suggest that the United States needs its oil and gas, and that we need to “drill, drill, drill,” the response doesn’t necessarily have to be that we should sacrifice people’s homes to support oil and gas activities. Nobody tells oil or automobile executives that they’re going to lose their homes as a result of their activities. Why should it be any different for communities that live in the center of the United States’ energy coast? Losing your home to support the bottomless oil addiction of the rest of the country shouldn’t be part of the bargain.

While helping to deliver Red Cross supplies down Bayou Pointe au Chien last week, I was told by a resident that it used to take an hour and a half by boat to reach the Gulf of Mexico. Now, the Gulf is literally at his doorstep. Criss-crossing the entire region are the geometric hash marks of canals dug by the oil and gas industry, conduits for Gulf salt water that kills marsh grass and cypress seedlings.

The access road from LA 665 to Isle de Jean Charles used to be surrounded by marsh. Now, it’s open water on either side of the road. One side of Island Road is salt water, the other side is fresh water.

An assessment of the destruction caused by Hurricane Ike remains incomplete because of the difficulty of travel to the most remote areas. The area was already severely-damaged by Hurricane Gustav. Now, because of the reticence of federal and state officials to help people finance their Hurricane Gustav evacuations, and the bureaucratic mess they’ve created to apply for assistance, it’s certain that there will be casualties among the residents of the United Houma Nation who couldn’t afford to evacuate another time. Houma Nation communities will require much more assistance, and a lot more attention than they’ve received from the national press to raise awareness of their plight and their needs.

What happens to the Houma Nation residents in the future needs to be their decision. They need to be included in the discussion of such controversial topics as whether they should continue to live outside of a levee protection system, and whether extending the Morganza to the Gulf levee system is more harmful or beneficial in protecting communities. They deserve to be included in the conversation because they didn’t cause this problem. As the Terrebonne Parish President Michel Claudet explained, “These are not rich people who decided to build down there. The sea came to them.” Or as a tribal resident of Lower Plaquemines Parish asserted as a complaint to the rest of America, “You took this from us.”

There may already be solutions to the problem of protecting property in areas with changing water levels, an issue which will be increasingly problematic as climate change causes sea levels to rise. The Dutch have pioneered the architecture of floating amphibian houses which adjust to tide levels. And Brad Pitt’s Make It Right Foundation produced affordable designs for homes which copy the concept of floating houses. In fact, I suggest that the Make It Right Foundation should explore the possibility of doing another pink house project in the marshes of coastal Louisiana to raise awareness of the problem of Louisiana’s disappearing coast, and to help the residents of the area to rebuild sustainably. The visual of striking pink houses against the background of golden marshes and rich blue skyline would be impressive.

It would be a beautiful gesture to help these residents rebuild. Houma Nation Chief Brenda Dardar Robichaux related a comment made by a resident of Isle de Jean Charles after Hurricane Gustav, as he pushed mud out of his house, and stood under a roof open to the sky, “This is heaven to me, and I’m going to rebuild.”

If you want to save New Orleans, then save the United Houma Nation. Save coastal Louisiana.

Levees alone won’t save New Orleans. Every three miles of coastal wetlands reduces storm surge by one foot. And the ideal storm surge barrier is cypress, with tall flexible foliage to slow winds, and broad trunks and knees to reduce surge.

If the America isn’t willing to fight to support the United Houma Nation, then it isn’t willing to fight to save New Orleans, or to share in the costs of a rational energy policy. And if the America isn’t willing to reverse Louisiana’s coastal land loss, then it can forget about places like Miami and Lower Manhattan which will go under water as the planet warms up.

The fight to restore the marshes and cypress forests which protect the United Houma Nation, and New Orleans, is the first battle in the war against climate change.

In the delivery of supplies to the United Houma Nation last week, I’d like to express my gratitude to Leigh, who was the first to answer the call, and who always somehow squeezes in time in between mom duties. She’s seen here outside the United Houma Nation relief supply store, sporting her FYYFF T-shirt, making a kind of Flamenco girl-power gesture.

And I am also indebted to Valerie, without whose stamina the supply delivery wouldn’t have been possible, for she showed up with exactly what was needed — a big old Toyota Land Cruiser, and arms of steel.

Update: Valerie posted more photos here.