Palos Verdes in Crisis
A Landslide Victory for Climate Change
Teslas, Corvettes, G-Wagons, and a $300,000 imported Aston Martin speed down this road, with multimillion-dollar mansions and the Pacific Ocean on either side. The pristinely manicured Trump National Golf Club sits among countless gated communities full of countless men and women (in carefully curated athleisure wear) walking their designer dogs. The marine layer shrouds all of this in a fog, obscuring and mystifying our glimpse into the lives of the one percent. Birds above float on the wind as waves crash just beneath the cliff. In early spring, lush greenery fills the parks lining the coast. As we drive along, the road beneath us pops the bubble- constant jolts and dips make it out of place in this city where everything else is strikingly in place. We are cruising along Palos Verdes Drive South, or at least trying to without damaging the suspension of my comparatively decrepit used car.
Welcome to sunny Rancho Palos Verdes, only 30 miles from downtown LA, though you have to cross a tax bracket to get there. The landscape here offers a preview into the fate of the California coast as a result of climate change and hubris.
The Palos Verdes Peninsula is home to four cities: Rolling Hills, Rolling Hills Estates, Palos Verdes Estates, and the epicenter for climate change-fueled devastation- Rancho Palos Verdes. Prior to the development of these cities, the peninsula was home to ranch and farmland. Grains, tomatoes, and oranges grew plentifully at the hands of Japanese farmers. Cattle and sheep roamed the open fields. This tranquility was only briefly interrupted in the years leading up to the Great Depression when a New York businessman made plans for the development of an exclusive, luxury community. Luckily, economic turmoil and the Second World War halted these plans, but it seems that the peninsula could not escape its fate forever.
The city of Rancho Palos Verdes was granted cityhood in 1973, nearly 35 years after the first of the peninsula’s cities was incorporated. Lying beneath the city are 4 ancient landslides, named the Portuguese Bend, Abalone Cove, Klondike Canyon, and Beach Club landslides. The lands have been shifting since the times of ranchers and farmers, but the landscape’s intensifying rainy seasons are only worsening these conditions. As the land becomes saturated with increased rainfall, the landslides activate and wreak havoc.
Were city developers aware of these landslides when the area was first developed? Yes, they were. Human hubris and desire to curate this coastal sanctuary into a getaway for the richest of the rich propelled development regardless of the potential dangers. Rather than working with the landscape, developers sought to build in spite of it; flash forward 51 years and homes are falling from their cliffside perches into the Pacific. For a mere $14 million, some lucky person could have the keys to an eight-thousand-square-foot house with breathtaking ocean views…that is one rainy season away from sliding down the cliff. Yes, it’s beautiful, but it isn’t sustainable.
I was fortunate enough to attend a town hall meeting for the city of Rancho Palos Verdes via Zoom, while the politically active citizens of Rancho Palos Verdes gathered in the newly constructed Ladera Linda Community Center (which according to city records, cost $8.8 million to construct). Here, city council members and environmental scientists explained the dichotomy between the climate and the city’s inadequate infrastructure. At the forefront of everyone’s minds was finding possible ways to address the oversaturated water table; everything from mechanical pumps to drilling holes in the bedrock for drainage to increasing the 20 operating water-extracting wells was discussed. Fundraising possibilities were touched upon for only a few minutes. Plans for repaving the Drive South again were assured. But that was it. The meeting ended following a short Q&A and the city is no closer to saving itself from plummeting into the ocean.
To most, this situation probably invokes a feeling of twisted glee. Isn’t it nice to know that the rich are no more immune to the whims of nature than we are? Why should we care? If it’s really so bad, people should just move. It’s admittedly hard to shed a tear at a mansion sliding down a cliff when you know that the cost of building a new one would be pocket-change for the owner. Yet, if one of the wealthiest cities in Southern California is a helpless victim of the decimation of climate change, one can only imagine what the rest of us have in store. When and if this crisis travels inland from the coast, how will those of us without money in excess afford this upkeep? With all of the resources and funds Rancho Palos Verdes has, roads are still cracking, houses are still moving feet at a time, and people are still living in a high-threat area. We are faced with a chilling realization- no amount of money can buy asylum from climate change.
Back on Palos Verdes Drive South, looking at the slivers of the ocean that shine through between houses, I wonder how long until all of this will be gone. How long until Portuguese Bend, Abalone Cove, Klondike Canyon, and Beach Club have broken free from their captors and reclaimed what is theirs? At this point, it seems inevitable. Only time will tell.
The road beneath us is rough and patchy from the numerous repavings necessitated by the constantly shifting lands. This stretch of road is relied upon by the community, acting as a main thoroughfare for the city, but more than that, it is indicative of the state of this entire stretch of coastline, it is the harbinger of change. Suddenly, the cool ocean air feels almost melancholic. The trees sway in the wind as if they are one brisk breeze from toppling. Each dip in the road might be the last before it caves in. Each rain might be the last before the houses fall.