A tornado came for Cave City. Would Trump’s FEMA?

Debris from a March storm and tornado that ravaged the small town of Cave City, Ark., May 2, 2025. At a moment when the Trump administration is openly discussing dismantling the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) and has sharply reduced staffing, it has taken months to make decisions about disaster declarations. (Houston Cofield/The New York Times)

By Emily Cochrane

Veda Rose Knappenberger lost everything in March when a tornado tore up her house in Cave City, Arkansas, leaving her bruised and shaken to the core.

A neighbor, Kathy McLeod, invited Knappenberger, 78, to sleep on her couch until help arrived. But by then, the Federal Emergency Management Agency had delivered startling news: It was denying assistance to residents of the nine counties hit by the storm system, saying the damage appeared contained enough for state and local officials and volunteers to handle.

Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders, a Republican who served as President Donald Trump’s press secretary in his first term, appealed the denial. Another month passed. Sanders made a personal appeal in a phone call with her former boss. Shortly after, on May 13, Trump announced he had approved a disaster declaration for Arkansas, allowing residents to apply for a type of FEMA aid known as individual assistance.

“They shouldn’t have denied it — they should have at least said, ‘We’re working on it,’” McLeod said upon learning that federal help was coming after all. “That way, people wouldn’t have thought they were just forgotten.” She would tell Knappenberger the news when she picked her up from physical therapy, which she needed in part for injuries she suffered during the storm.

Disaster experts and government officials have long wrestled with where to draw the line for federal assistance, especially as climate change makes severe weather events more frequent and costly. Indeed, FEMA has denied aid requests in the past, under both Democratic and Republican presidents.

But at a moment when the Trump administration is openly discussing dismantling FEMA and has sharply reduced its staff, it has taken FEMA months to make decisions about disaster declarations. At one point, before a series of approvals Friday, there were about twice as many outstanding disaster declarations as that time last year.

And even as disaster-struck states waited to hear from the federal government, some in FEMA had proposed quadrupling the amount of damage that communities must incur to qualify for federal funds to rebuild roads, schools and other public infrastructure.

In Arkansas, Knappenberger and others whose homes or businesses were damaged by the tornadoes that struck March 14 and 15 are now eligible for housing assistance, rental money or help with other expenses that insurance doesn’t cover. But another type of FEMA aid that Sanders had requested — to help repair public infrastructure — was denied soon after.

On Thursday, she announced that the state would cover 35% of costs to repair infrastructure and that local governments would cover the rest. “The state of Arkansas is going to step up,” Sanders said in a news release.

Arkansas’ experience has further deepened the anxiety that many local officials and their constituents are feeling at the outset of hurricane and wildfire season. So has the lack of clarity around whether other states walloped by tornadoes recently will receive aid. Mississippi, which suffered damage in the same system as Arkansas in March, just received aid approval Friday, more than two months after the tornadoes.

Last week, a team from FEMA arrived in Cave City to start the agency’s belated relief efforts. As of Sunday, 78 applications for nearly $750,000 in assistance had been approved there and across the state.

Still, “there’s no doubt that in the interim, while we’ve been waiting on this, it’s put people in a pretty tough situation,” said Mayor Jonas Anderson, whose office is nonpartisan. And while there was relief and gratitude over the individual assistance and help from the state, he was worried about how communities like his could shoulder a majority of infrastructure repair costs.

“On-the-ground reality will show that most small communities don’t have a lot of room in the budget,” he added. While the initial denial stung Cave City residents, many were already skeptical that the federal government could help them, regardless of who was in charge. The city of nearly 2,000 people leans conservative, and many pointed to their Christian faith as a guiding force.

“I’m not placing my confidence or faith in our federal government — I put my confidence in Jesus, and he’s going to take care of us,” said Irma Carrigan, 71, seated outside the elaborate stone cabins that stand over the city’s cave earlier this month as a handyman worked on a nearby roof.

She added, “If I didn’t look at it that way, I’d be in the insane asylum right now.”

The appeal of Cave City, nestled in a constellation of rural towns in northeastern Arkansas, is in its quiet, tightknit community. Some of its residents can trace their ancestry to the families who first settled there around 1890.

Before the summer harvest in July, when thousands come for a festival celebrating “the world’s sweetest watermelons,” the town always faces the threat of spring tornadoes. But until March 14, few had experienced such a direct hit.

One tornado, part of a cluster that ripped through Arkansas that Friday and Saturday, traveled low to the ground for more than 70 miles.

It destroyed Cave City’s only grocery store, the relatively new dentist’s office, the funeral home and the auto parts store. One of the city’s churches was reduced to a tiled floor, where the shape of a cross was still intact.

It also swept through part of the old motel court, whose 1930s stone and geode cottages stand over the city’s eponymous cave, where residents once stored milk and butter to keep them cool. And it ripped up more than a dozen homes, many uninsured, and dozens of trees that had stood for generations.

The denial of federal aid affirmed for many residents the importance of being self-reliant, yet it also served as a reminder that some of their neighbors simply cannot be.

“You can’t count on that, and that isn’t, I don’t think, how God wants us to be,” said Jill Carr, speaking of relying on government assistance. Her ancestors had helped build the old bank vault where she, her daughter-in-law and her dogs huddled for safety when the tornado came through. It sent a piece of roof crashing down on the statue of Jesus in her prayer garden.

“He wants us to be self-sufficient and do our best to do it ourselves,” she said. But for those who do not have insurance, savings or family support, Carr said a few weeks before the FEMA aid came through, “my feelings are hurt for those people.”

“It feels terrible,” she added, her eyes repeatedly filling up with tears.

No lives were lost in Cave City, though the tornadoes killed three people nearby in the state. But the damage was extensive enough that there were immediate pleas for help.

Church volunteers drove into town to remove downed trees and deliver food. A visitor from Wisconsin handed Carrigan a bag with two blocks of cheese after clearing trees from the motel grounds, without mentioning the couple hundred dollars tucked inside.

When word first circulated that Trump had denied their state’s aid request, some residents chalked it up to problems that existed with FEMA before he returned to office.

Others guessed that the request had not reached his desk. Or maybe Trump had not understood how bad a hit Cave City had taken.

“If he saw, surely he would do something about it,” Rebecca Mullins said of the president, standing near the holes in her roof where birds have built nests. “Any godly person would.”