Driving across Lake Pontchartrain on I-10 just a week after Hurricane Francine swept through felt surreal. Chenier “Klie” Kliebert, a lifelong New Orleanian, was at the wheel. As we moved over water in every direction, Klie pointed to remnants of a once-important lighthouse, now just piles of sticks left behind by another storm.
Kliebert, dressed casually in a T-shirt and shorts, had a warm presence. They defy easy classification, blending subtle humor with a sense of calm. In their words, they’re just a “LA gumbo human.”
That day, Kliebert was tireless. Their nonprofit group, Imagine Water Works, had been busy supporting the community through another challenging aftermath. After Francine hit on September 11, many faced uncomfortable heat without power, flooded streets, and disrupted supplies. Claiming no evacuation was needed, the city still felt the storm’s stress intensely.
They jumped into action, organizing food and supplies while providing support via social media. A “Community Power Map,” showing charging stations and distribute essentials like ice and cooling gear, became crucial in those sticky days post-storm. The community response was heartwarming; many LGBTQ+ folks proudly participated, knowing they would receive help without question.
But storms were not done yet. The coming months brought Helene and Milton, each causing destruction and upheaval across the South. Kliebert’s team understood the reality: the struggle often doesn’t end with the storm. It unfolds painfully afterward, characterized by community support battling to prevail amidst chaos.
A few months before I met Kliebert, they had shared their insights during a “Queer Climate Justice” seminar. They opened up about their own challenges, recalling the anxiety of being in a hotel that had sheltered evacuees amid the pandemic. “We want to leave you with joy and a sense of belonging even though we are doing hard stuff,” they had said then. That resonated profoundly.
Curious about Kliebert’s resilience, I sought out their team during the storm recovery. After spending time observing their efforts, I finally asked how they maintained such a composed demeanor. With a smirk, Kliebert attributed part of their calmness to their autism. But it was clear their strength came from their deep-rooted passion for their community.
On a trip to their family’s old farmhouse, marks of past hurricanes became painfully visible. It was heartbreaking, yet Kliebert held onto spirit and memories hard-fought. They recalled how neighbors used to gather for Christmas Eve bonfires, making it clear their bond to the land and community, even as they navigated the difficult reality of “Cancer Alley.” Their mission was clear: to pivot the dire narrative into one of life, family, and cultural richness.
As climate disasters escalate, statistics paint a troubling picture. According to a recent study, LGBTQ+ individuals face almost double the risk of displacement during disasters compared to their straight counterparts. Kliebert’s work directly confronts this, uncovering the complexities of climate change on marginalized communities.
After years of research, Kliebert and their team published a groundbreaking paper titled “Queer and Present Danger,” highlighting disparities faced during disasters. It highlighted that the myth of gay affluence overlooks many within the LGBTQ+ community who experience poverty and isolation. Access to safe evacuation shelters remains a challenge, further exacerbated by social discrimination. Persecution in shelters can be common, making the journey to safety even more precarious.
Experts have weighed in as well. Dr. Michael Mendez, who collaborates with Kliebert, tirelessly advocates for better inclusion of LGBTQ+ perspectives in emergency management. Acknowledging struggles for marginalized folks can lead to better policies and support systems. “Not everyone experiences climate change equally,” he emphasizes, showcasing the need for systemic change.
As Kliebert envisions a hopeful future, their guiding philosophy resounds: community, joy, and resilience amid storms. This dedication shines through all their initiatives, whether it’s setting up disaster readiness projects or creating resources tuned to the needs of queer neighbors. Resilience is not just about surviving but nurturing bonds that uplift and sustain.
With each storm, each challenge, they strive for something deeper: a sense of belonging that binds communities together as they face an uncertain future. One thing is clear: the fight for climate justice and community solidarity is just beginning.
