The Power of the People Heals

“It’s been two months since the storm,” Asheville organizer Sarah Nuñez told me. “Two months that felt more like six.”

In late September, Hurricane Helene triggered massive flooding across six states, killing at least 230 people as the storm gutted local infrastructure and swept away homes. 42 of those deaths occurred in Buncombe County, North Carolina, which is home to Asheville–a city previously regarded as a “climate haven.” As neighbors in Asheville rallied to rescue and care for one another, in the days following the storm, I spoke with local organizers who were establishing mutual aid hubs and delivering essential supplies. The volunteers echoed a recurring plea: don’t forget about us when the news cycle moves on. They stressed that recovering from a disaster of this magnitude would take years. Many feared their communities would be left without the sustained attention and support they would need to fully recover. 

Recently, I had the chance to catch up with one of those volunteers. Sarah Nuñez is an organizer with the Aflorar Herb Collective. In the storm’s aftermath, Sarah spoke to me from her car, between supply runs, as her phone’s battery power dwindled. This time, we talked via Zoom, as Sarah explained how conditions have improved in Asheville and what obstacles residents are still facing. Sarah also imparted some lessons that organizers on the ground in Asheville have learned from their ordeal–lessons that we should all consider in this era of crisis and catastrophe.

“The first time we talked, it felt like everything was spiraling,” Sarah told me. In the immediate aftermath of Helene, mutual aid work in Asheville involved “a lot of moving parts,” and “a lot of things had to happen simultaneously.” Sarah and her co-organizers were extremely overworked in those early days but also highly effective. “We were getting a lot done,” she said. However, Sarah found the relentless pace of the work dizzying. She was in constant communication with her neighbors and other relief volunteers about the needs of stranded community members and what supplies were available. Gasoline, groceries, and water arrived in sporadic intervals, and the work of delivering and distributing supplies was exhausting.“

It was this big, spiraling moment,” she said. “Everything was happening.”

Today, the situation in Asheville remains serious, but conditions on the ground have improved. Electricity and most internet services have been restored, and clean running water is available. However, amid so much destruction, local organizers still have their work cut out for them. “Now, we're dealing with folks with no homes, folks without access to resources, people without jobs, businesses completely demolished, farms completely demolished,” Sarah explained. “It’s the work of rebuilding your personal life and also rebuilding an entire community.”

Sarah noted that for people living in Asheville’s rural outskirts, the situation remains bleak. “Yesterday, I was coming back from a trip from Louisville, Kentucky, and I had to take an hour-and-a-half detour because the highway's closed,” she said. “I drove through Hot Springs, and it's pretty bad. The town's not even open, and there's just debris everywhere.” Sarah took a solemn pause as though contemplating the destruction. “In most of the more rural places like Swannanoa and Barnardsville, or Hot Springs… on a personal level, it’s just heartbreaking, and it doesn't quite feel real.”

While continuing to support community efforts to keep her displaced neighbors housed and nourished, Sarah is now moving at a more sustainable pace. “At some point, there was enough,” Sarah said. “It's like everybody got set up, it seemed like all the churches, everyone was mobilized. You could see the support chains linking in. Everyone was doing it.” Amid so much mobilization, Sarah and her crew finally had room to breathe. The group was able to refocus on its primary purpose: healing work. Aflorar Herb Collective provides activists, organizers, and community members with free herbal care kits, teas, salves, tinctures, plants, and opportunities for rest and reflection. The group also partners with acupuncturists to create pop-up healing spaces. For an exhausted community, this kind of care work has proven essential. 

Sarah explained that community members, including mutual aid volunteers, are dealing with high levels of stress, anxiety, and other mental health struggles. Aflorar Herb Collective provides herbs to address these issues, along with other concerns, such as insomnia. For people who have been engaged in the arduous work of collective survival, herbal care work can be a significant source of comfort. “It's a really nice practice to sit with a cup of tea, or to soak your feet in an herbal bath, or to take a spiritual bath, or have a face steam, as a way to help your parasympathetic system calm down,” Sarah said. “Then, maybe you can have it together enough to delve into some of the things that you need to work on, or maybe just rest and take a break. Because we don't get enough of those.”

Sarah emphasized that people in working-class communities are often overworked, even in the best of times. “When people are struggling to make ends meet, health tends to be the last thing folks are thinking of,” she said. “So if you can grab an elderberry syrup, take a shot of it in the morning, maybe have a nice cup of Tulsi rose tea at night before bed, it can help make your day a little bit better.”

Aflorar Herb Collective formed in the aftermath of Breonna Taylor’s murder in Louisville, Kentucky, where Sarah lived at the time. After weeks of protest, local activists were experiencing burnout, and Sarah and others recognized that care work was needed. “We still have a small hub outside of Louisville in Shelbyville, Kentucky, and I have the hub here in Asheville,” she explained. Sarah notes that her collective’s practice of care is tied to the land. Aflorar acquires some of its herbs through donations, but the group also grows and harvests its own materials. “We gather and make medicine together,” Sarah said. “So part of it is both remembering the lineage of Indigenous wisdom and how to heal each other through herbs and art. So it's this communal work.”

“We have a network of growers, and we make tea blends, bath salts, breathe steams, and we give away care kits.” Sarah notes that her work is largely focused on supporting communities of color. In addition to providing care and herbals locally, Sarah also sets up healing spaces for activists and organizers in other parts of the country. “I'm currently supporting the National Network of Abortion Funds for their regional gatherings,” she said. Sarah noted that when people in other cities realize she’s from Asheville, they’re often surprised. “They say, ‘How is it that you're even here? You have a crisis in your own home, and here you are supporting us.’”

Resuming her group’s herbal care work, in and outside of Asheville, has been an affirming experience for Sarah. “After moving with so much urgency and intensity, now that more of the infrastructure people need is in place, we felt like, ‘Let’s do what we’re here to do,’” she said.

The group’s efforts were complicated for weeks by a lack of clean water. In the storm’s immediate aftermath, Asheville had no running water. When the city’s water service was restored, the water available to residents could be used for flushing toilets and for some chores, but for two months, the water remained unfit for human consumption. “We could make teas and bath salts and steams, but we couldn't make our salves or things that require water and proper sanitation,” Sarah explained. During that time, herbalists around the country began donating goods for Aflorar to distribute. “Hundreds of donations have poured in,” Sarah said. “So, that’s been beautiful.”

Sarah was upbeat as she discussed the power of community and what she and other local organizers have accomplished. However, when we discussed the recent presidential election, her spirits briefly faltered. “It's hard to fathom, honestly,” she said. “It really breaks my heart to think about what we're about to go through.” Her voice cracked as she contemplated what Trump’s policies might mean for Asheville’s struggling communities. “It's really tough because I work with a lot of immigrant communities, poor communities, elderly families, and folks that just don't have access to resources,” she said. “I don't know what people are going to need or how we're going to do it.” 

Ultimately, Sarah believes the community will need “more herbs, more volunteers, more people, and more infrastructure” to support the work of collective survival in the years ahead.

In thinking about the kind of work that’s needed, Sarah reflected on the evolution of her collective. “How do we build systems outside of the state that are going to support us and not become dependent on this or that organization, whose values we maybe don’t align with,” she asked. She explained how her collective has lessened its dependence on donated herbs over the years by creating its own network of growers. “We've got two growers in Kentucky, and I'm in my third year of growing herbs and flowers. Next year, we plan to expand our grower network to ten growers across Appalachia,” she said. “We have an industrial dehydrator, the land for rest and reflection, and some of the expertise that we bring, just having been organizing and mobilizing resources for a while now.” Sarah seemed to regain her strength as she took stock of what her collective had built.

“The medicine is stronger when we grow it ourselves, and the people become stronger because they connect with the land and start to build a deeper relationship to the plants, which in itself is a healing modality,” she said.

Now that her work has become more sustainable, Sarah has had time to consider some of the lessons that the aftermath of Helene has imparted. She has practical suggestions, like encouraging people to think about how they would survive for a month without power, water, the internet, or access to a car. “It’s helpful to have a plan and a way to communicate with your people,” she said. She mentioned how important her hand-crank radio had proven during those early days without electricity or internet.

She also talked of emotional and spiritual concerns, such as the need to take deep breaths and “release what we’re holding” and to participate in soothing, creative activities. “I have used art–doodling, coloring, and collaging–as a way to help move the energy of fear, heartbreak, and devastation,” she said. “It’s helpful to have art to use as a visual, as a place to put my feelings.” Sarah also emphasized that making art with other people can be a healing experience. Her collective recently engaged in a screenprinting session, making prayer flags. The flags bore messages like “we are the relief” and “the power of the people heals.” “We all felt so moved by the art and process of making art together,” she said.

Sarah also noted the importance of grief as a practice. “Start your grief work. It will help as you encounter daily attacks, climate disasters, and struggles. Things you never thought you would have to live through can hit hard on the body, mind, and spirit, so it’s helpful to get ready.”

For Sarah and her co-strugglers, connecting with the land has been an important coping mechanism. “Plants, nature, and these mountains give us so much strength and an energy that keeps giving,” she said. “In the stories I heard from many people on the ground they have shared how they were held, felt supported, and remembered who they were through the land.”

Sarah’s neighbors have also taken comfort in each other. “There's a lot to be said about faith and trust in who we are as people and who we are as humanity,” she said. “I know right now it's a really hard thing to wrap our heads around, but people are really inherently good. In the last few weeks, I’ve seen people show up to support each other in ways I've never experienced.“

Those life-giving connections, like the herbs Sarah and her friends grow, need to be cultivated and nourished. “Get to know your neighbors and organize with them,” she said. “Gather your people, trust that we have each other, and the resources and support will come.” 

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