Twenty years ago, Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast, leaving a trail of devastation that would change countless lives forever. For the small city of Waveland, Mississippi, the storm was more than just a headline—it was a dividing line. Residents there often talk about life in two parts: before Katrina and after. As the twentieth anniversary of the hurricane’s landfall arrives, the scars—both physical and emotional—are still visible, and the journey toward recovery continues.
On August 29, 2005, Katrina’s fury was unleashed upon Waveland with a nearly 30-foot storm surge, according to NPR. The force of the water was so immense that it reached three miles inland, swallowing homes, businesses, and landmarks in its path. The city, with a pre-Katrina population of about 7,800, became ground zero for the storm’s wrath. As Bernie Cullen, chairperson of the Ground Zero Museum, put it: "Here, we were ground zero." She pointed to an aerial view of the city taken after the storm, recalling, "There's nothing, you know—absolutely nothing, you know."
For the Waveland Police Department, Katrina was a trial by water and willpower. Then-assistant chief Michael Prendergast remembers the moment the storm surge reached the police station. "When the water started coming in the PD, we couldn't get out," he told NPR. The force of the water made it impossible to open the doors, and the windows were boarded up. With no time to spare, Prendergast and his fellow officers grabbed heavy chairs, smashed the glass, and battered away the boards. In a desperate bid for survival, they formed a human chain, floating up as the water surged in. They swam out the window, searching for higher ground, but found only more water. Some climbed onto the roof, while others clung to a row of crape myrtle trees, waves lashing around them. "Everybody, like, hung on to the trees. You know, the guys were, like, just shivering, so we, like, hugged on each other, tried to keep each other warm and, you know, everybody, like, mentally stable," Prendergast recalled. For four or five hours, 27 people clung to life until the water finally receded.
But survival was just the beginning. The police force, like the rest of the community, lost nearly everything. Lisa Parker, the chief's administrative assistant, described the aftermath: "We're the ones who supposed to keep the law and order, and everybody's coming to us for help, 'cause that's what you do, but, you know, we were in the same boat as everybody else. You only had so much things you can do with no means to do it—no guns, no radios, no cars, no anything." The storm didn’t discriminate. "Rich, poor, it didn't matter, you know, how you lived or whatever. Katrina, like, wiped out the whole city," Prendergast said.
In the months and years that followed, Waveland’s residents clung to small victories. Bernie Cullen remembered the sense of hope that came with the reopening of Walmart. "There's always hope, even in the bleakest times. You know, you take one day at a time. You say, I'm going to rebuild," she said. But not everyone found the strength to return. Over the decades, Waveland lost nearly 20% of its population. Today, empty slabs still dot neighborhoods, and the once-bustling downtown business district is mostly deserted.
Mayor Jay Trapani, who has witnessed the city’s struggle firsthand, summed up the challenge: "Ninety percent of the city was destroyed in Hurricane Katrina. I remember driving in from where I evacuated and hearing on the radio it would take 10 years for the coast to come back. And here we are sitting at 20, and we're still trying to recover." Recovery, he explained, has been hampered by stricter building requirements for the high flood risk zone. For example, Trapani had to rebuild his beachfront house on concrete pilings 24 feet above sea level—a costly necessity. The mayor also noted that the city’s economic engine has sputtered. "We had three restaurants, a couple of barrooms. We had a post office, a bank, a gas station, convenience store, liquor store, laundromat, all in this three-block area. And it's taken a long time, but right now, we got a lot of things in the works."
Yet, the losses weren’t just material. Katrina wiped away cultural touchstones, too. The United Methodist Gulfside Assembly, a historic waterfront retreat for African Americans, was completely destroyed. Executive director Cheryl Thompson described the devastation: "It hit Gulfside like a brick wall. There was essentially nothing there. You know, it was—felt like a relative or somebody I knew had died. It was just very emotional." For generations, Gulfside Assembly had been a sanctuary—a place for weddings, reunions, and civil rights strategy meetings. Thompson, who spent her childhood summers there, recalled, "There were no other places for us to go where we felt free to stay in the hotel, to swim in the water, to have our own place. You know, there weren't places where we could go to stay in hotels. I'm 77 years old, and so when I was growing up, that was not a thing. And so it was special to my family." Even now, two decades later, the organization is still working out of a donated church building and struggling to regroup. "You grieve, but you have to—we have to move on, you know. It's not going to be what it was before, but we can still do our ministry," Thompson said.
Each year, Waveland marks Katrina’s anniversary with a sunrise remembrance service overlooking the Gulf, now held at a newly built pavilion at Gulfside Assembly. The ritual is a testament to the city’s resilience and a reminder of all that was lost—and all that remains to be rebuilt.
For Waveland, the recovery from Hurricane Katrina is not just a matter of restoring buildings or businesses. It’s about reclaiming a sense of community, of hope, and of home. The city’s journey is far from over, but its story is one of perseverance, memory, and the quiet determination to rebuild, one day at a time.