Louisiana is shrinking. Some tribes are fighting to protect what's left of their communities

POINTE-AU-CHIEN, La. (AP) — Cherie Matherne looked out into Bayou Pointe au Chien, wide enough for several boats to pass through. In the distance, a stand of dead trees marked where saltwater comes and goes during storm-driven flooding.

It wasn't always this way. The bayou was once shallower and just wide enough for a small boat to pass. Land that cattle once roamed is submerged now, and elders tell stories of tree canopies once so lush they nearly shut out the day.

The delicate lattice of Louisiana's coastline has been steadily retreating for generations. As it does, the Pointe-au-Chien Indian Tribe and other Indigenous people are fighting to protect what's left and to adapt to their changing environment. That includes a painstaking effort to build makeshift reefs that slow erosion and sturdier homes and buildings to better withstand storms.

“We want to be able to make it so that people can stay here for as long as possible, for as long as they want to stay,” said Matherne, who as the tribe's director of daily operations helped coordinate its response to the erosion threat.

They hope to avoid the fate of the Jean Charles Choctaw Nation, a nearby tribe that was forced to move three years ago about 40 miles (64 kilometers) north from the encroaching Gulf of Mexico. Isle de Jean Charles — their island home southwest of New Orleans — has lost 98% of its land.

Louisiana's coast has been steadily retreating for several reasons.

Levees along the Mississippi River have severed the natural flow of land-creating sand, silt and clay, starving wetlands of sediment they need to survive. Canals have allowed saltwater to flow into wetlands, killing freshwater vegetation that holds them together and accelerating erosion. Groundwater pumping is causing land to sink, and planet-warming emissions from burning coal, oil and gas are fueling hurricanes and accelerating sea level rise.

Since the 1930s, Louisiana has lost about 2,000 square miles (5,180 square kilometers) of land — sometimes fast, sometimes slow. A U.S. Geological Survey analysis found that when erosion was at its worst, a football field's worth of coastal wetlands was disappearing every 34 minutes.

It’s a difficult problem to solve without being able to count on the Mississippi River to periodically drop sediment to maintain the land, said Sam Bentley, geology professor at Louisiana State University.

“That’s going to displace ecosystems, it’s going to displace communities, it’s going to isolate infrastructure that’s along the coastline," Bentley said. "And there are going to be a lot of changes that are very hard to deal with.”

Indigenous burial and cultural sites risk eroding, and traditional ways of life — shrimping, fishing and subsistence farming — are under pressure. Without action, researchers estimate the state could lose up to 3,000 square miles (7,770 square kilometers) — an area larger than Delaware — over the next 50 years.

Reefs built from oyster shells are one attempt to stem the erosion.

The oysters are collected from restaurants, stuffed into bags and stacked just off shore to form the reefs. The program, launched in 2014 by the Coalition to Restore Coastal Louisiana, has recycled more than 16 million pounds (7.3 million kilograms) of shells in that time. That's enough to protect about 1.5 miles (about 2.4 kilometers) of shoreline.

Since the Pointe-au-Chien tribe had a 400-foot (123-meter) reef built in 2019 to protect a historic mound, the coalition has measured a 50% reduction in the rate of land loss where the reefs were built, said coalition spokesman James Karst.

But there are limits to what reclaimed oyster shells can do. There just aren't enough shells for Louisiana's estimated 7,721-mile (12,426 kilometer) coastline, said Karst, and moving them is expensive, so they have to be strategic. Many reefs they've built protect sites of cultural importance. They're also limited to areas where the water is salty enough for the oyster shells to last.

Their work might seem like a tiny drop in the bucket, "but when you are losing land at the rate you are,” Karst said, “you need all the drops in the bucket you can get.”

Some of the coalition's most recent work came about 30 miles to the southwest of the Pointe-au-Chien's land, in a project with the Grand Caillou/Dulac Band of Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw Tribe that wrapped up in November. It was built at the Louisiana Universities Marine Consortium, a location easy for the public to see and learn about oyster reefs, said Chief Devon Parfait.

When Hurricane Ida hit in 2021, it made landfall in the region with maximum sustained winds of 150 mph (241 kph).

Scores of homes in and around Pointe-au-Chien were damaged or destroyed. Some families moved inland or left the area entirely, but most came back. With help from groups like the Lowlander Center, a nonprofit working with Indigenous and coastal communities facing risks such as climate threats and land loss, the tribe is rebuilding in a stronger way.

Homes are higher off the ground and fortified with hurricane straps, heavy-duty windows and doors that can take pummeling winds and waters. Electrical equipment is elevated to stay above storm surge. They've rebuilt or repaired 13 homes; about five new homes are planned and they're raising money to fortify the remaining dozen or so.

“We know that doing just one home in a community doesn’t make the community safe. It’s only safe if the whole community is included in raising that level of safety,” said Kristina Peterson, director and co-founder of the Lowlander Center.

But challenges remain. The state-recognized tribes have struggled to get federal recognition, they said, and without it, it's hard to get grants and other help from the federal government. Instead, they rely on partnerships with organizations and institutions.

The Trump administration's funding cuts are also making it harder for tribes to meet their goals.

The Grand Caillou/Dulac Band of Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw applied for a federal grant to build a community center stocked with food, water and renewable energy in case of emergencies that's designed to hold up during hurricanes. When cuts happened, their application was tabled.

Similarly, the Pointe-au-Chien applied for money to install solar panels on every home, but they're not hopeful their application will get approved.

Pointe-au-Chien elder Theresa Dardar said much has changed in the five decades she's lived there. The pond behind her home has gotten bigger, and she could once identify lakes Chien and Felicity. Now it’s just one large body of water. People once hunted deer and walked through wooded areas.

What hasn't changed is the quiet and the close ties. Everybody knows everybody. And people still fish like generations did before them.

“This is where our ancestors were, and we feel like we would be abandoning them” to leave, Dardar said. “We have sacred sites that we still visit.”

By slowing erosion and building more homes, the tribe hopes younger families will move to Pointe-au-Chien. They also know that protecting their lands from going underwater will protect regions further inland.

As Dardar put it: “We're the buffer."

The Associated Press receives support from the Walton Family Foundation for coverage of water and environmental policy. The AP is solely responsible for all content. For all of AP’s environmental coverage, visit https://apnews.com/hub/climate-and-environment

Volunteers fill mesh containments with oyster shells during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

An egret sits on a tree that died from salt water intrusion, showing the fragility of the ecosystem, during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

Volunteers fill mesh containments with oyster shells during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

Grand Caillou/Dulac Band of Biloxi-Chitimacha-Choctaw Tribal Chief Devon Parfait scoops oyster shell into a bucket during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

A volunteer pours oyster shells into a wire containment during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

Volunteers set up wire mesh containment during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

Volunteers fill buckets from piles of oyster shells during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

FILE - An oil sheen drifts between a sunken shrimp boat and pieces of a destroyed home along Bayou Pointe au Chien in the aftermath of Hurricane Ida in Pointe-aux-Chenes, La., Tuesday, Sept. 14, 2021. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert, File)

Volunteers maneuver a small barge during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

Volunteers fill buckets from piles of oyster shells during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

Volunteers fill mesh containments with oyster shells during a reef barrier project organized by the Coalition To Restore Coastal Louisiana in Cocodrie, La., Friday, Oct. 24, 2025. (AP Photo/Gerald Herbert)

DETROIT (AP) — When Mayor Mike Duggan announced his plan to run for Michigan governor, he did so from a tower in the iconic but aging Renaissance Center overlooking Detroit.

It's not the same city that Duggan inherited in January 2014.

No longer defined by blocks of vacant houses, empty downtown storefronts, rampant crime and scores of broken streetlights, many believe Detroit is finally experiencing its renaissance.

“I wish he would stay,” 40-year-old plumber Thomas Millender said of Duggan, who will step down in January after serving three terms as mayor.

“Duggan did a good job from what the city was to how it has been revamped," Millender said from his father's porch in a neighborhood where many homes are dilapidated. Private renovation crews buzzed in and out of once-vacant houses, preparing them for sale.

“There is not any neighborhood in this city that hasn’t had blight reduced, that hasn’t had street lights on, that hasn’t had parks renovated,” Duggan told The Associated Press.

“We have it going in the right direction, but the next mayor’s gonna have to go build on what I do and the following mayor is gonna have to build on that mayor,” Duggan said. “It’s going to take decades to bring the city all the way back.”

Duggan, a former prosecutor and health center chief, ran for mayor in 2013, when Detroit was broke and saddled with billions of dollars in long-term debt.

It was tough to keep basic services running. City employees were forced to work fewer hours and take pay cuts. More than a third of Detroit residents lived in poverty.

“We’ve hit bottom,” then-Mayor Dave Bing said flatly.

Bing, a successful business owner and basketball Hall of Famer, was elected in 2009 after a scandal involving once-popular Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick roiled City Hall and forced Detroit's financial straits into the spotlight.

By early 2013, the state had taken over city finances and installed an emergency manager who filed for bankruptcy that summer. Because of the depths of the city's debt, there was no way “to get any relief on that without bankruptcy,” Bing said.

He didn't seek reelection and the city, looking for new leadership, found it in Duggan.

Detroit exited bankruptcy in December 2014, after wiping away $7 billion in long-term debt. For several years after, a state review team monitored the city's finances and made sure its bills were paid.

Detroit has since recorded more than a decade of consecutive balanced budgets.

Violent crime, including murders, is trending down.

There were more than 40,000 vacant houses and other empty buildings in Detroit when Duggan took office. Using mostly federal funds, his administration spearheaded the demolition of more than 24,000. Thousands of others that were teetering and unlivable have been saved.

“Some neighborhoods are in better shape than others,” said Wayne State University Urban Studies and Planning Professor Jeff Horner. “There are still blocks of terrible destitution and poverty.”

But the biggest hurdle overcome during Duggan's tenure is the city's massive population loss. Detroit’s population reached 1.8 million people in the 1950s. By 2010, it had plunged below 700,000.

“The city lost a million people since 1957,” Duggan said. “That is a lot of years of decline. It’s going to take decades of growth to get all the way back.”

A census estimate placed Detroit's population at 645,705 in 2024, showing an increase of about 12,000 people since 2021, according to the city.

“When he ran in 2012-13, he said, ‘Judge me by one thing and one thing only: whether Detroit can gain population,’” Horner said of Duggan. “He kept that promise.”

Jay Williams, 36, acknowledges there is less blight, but he would like to see alternatives to tearing down houses and leaving lots vacant.

“There is a lot of open space,” he said. “You can do new developments. A majority of the money is focused downtown.”

Detroit megachurch pastor the Rev. Solomon Kinloch argued during his unsuccessful mayoral campaign this year that every neighborhood should share in Detroit's revival.

“You can’t make all of the investments downtown,” Kinloch said. “It has to reach the whole town.”

City Council President Mary Sheffield, who was elected this month to succeed Duggan and will take office in January, says she will build on his success and ensure “Detroit’s progress reaches every block and every family.”

Any mayor's first responsibility is to attend to the “entirety of the civic fabric,” said Rip Rapson, chief executive of the private Kresge Foundation, which provides grants and invests in cities nationwide.

“It’s not like you can just fix roads or improve police response time or build 25 units of affordable housing,” Rapson said. “As mayor, you have to attend to the need for complete vitality of neighborhoods ... making sure neighborhoods have adequate housing, safe housing stock, small business cultures, educational opportunities that anchor a neighborhood.”

“People will have quarrels with bits and pieces, but he’s done all of those things,” Rapson said of Duggan. “He leaves quite a powerful and positive legacy.”

FILE - Detroit Mayor Mike Duggan comes outside after a news conference to announce a new Detroit home mortgage program in Detroit, Mich., Feb. 18, 2016. (David Guralnick/Detroit News via AP, File)

FILE - Detroit Mayor Mike Duggan is applauded by City Council members before delivering his first State of the City address, Feb. 26, 2014, in Detroit. (AP Photo/Carlos Osorio, File)

FILE - Mayoral candidate Mike Duggan speaks at his election night celebration in Detroit, Nov. 5, 2013. (AP Photo/Paul Sancya, File)

FILE - Detroit Mayor Mike Duggan speaks to city employees in Detroit, Nov. 13, 2024. (AP Photo/Paul Sancya, File)