Banners bearing love hearts hang from windows and fences around Lismore, as symbols of hope.
But while the dots of red colour unite the town visually, there’s a permeating sense of limbo. Five months on from floods that devastated much of northern New South Wales, residents and the government are considering the future of “Lovemore”, as it is colloquially known.
Displaced residents such as Gray Wilson, a disability support worker, have put their lives on hold while the government pauses to consider relocating schemes like that implemented in Grantham after the deaths of 21 people in flash flooding in 2011.
Wilson lost almost all of his belongings in the first flood in February. Since then he has been living with his cat Kimba on an enclosed veranda at a friend’s place that is now uninhabitable.
Wilson’s temporary housing solution has two working power sockets, and he has just treated himself to a bed, which he says feels “very bourgeois” after five months of sleeping on a mattress on the floor.
“Fortunately the toilet works but there is no hot water. I tend to go to a friend’s place every few days to have a shower,” he says.
“I’m essentially homeless.”
Eli Roth, a South Lismore homeowner who survived the February flood on his roof while holding his two dogs , says his plans change almost daily.
“Living in the house that you almost died in is quite traumatic,” the 29-year-old locksmith says.
“Will we be able to save Lismore? Will we be able to live here any more? Or are we all going to have to move out? There’s a huge history here that I really love. It’s my home town.”
Answers to those questions will be informed by the findings handed to the NSW premier, Dominic Perrottet, this weekend after an independent inquiry led by Prof Mary O’Kane, chair of the Independent Planning Commission, and Mick Fuller, former NSW police commissioner.
The pair were asked to investigate the lead-up, response and recovery to the catastrophic floods that tore through towns in the region and saw hundreds of homes destroyed and thousands of people displaced.
The report is likely to include future disaster mitigation recommendations, which may propose a land buy-back scheme for businesses and homeowners in the worst-hit spots.
But it could still be weeks before the government releases the findings and hands down its response.
“We just need answers. We needed them yesterday. The government needs to pick up the pace. We’re running on empty,” Roth says.
Perrottet has repeatedly stated he wanted to make sure the region “builds back better”.
“We know that events will occur in the future, but we can’t make the mistakes of the past,” he said during a visit last month.
In the centre and low-lying parts of town, many homes are missing walls, fixtures, windows and lights. Many residents are waiting to hear what their options are before sinking more money into repairs. Some are sleeping in caravans, others in tents or in spare rooms of friends.
Wilson has submitted a request for the house to be assessed “to check if they’re eligible for a buyback or anything”.
“To be able to shift [the house] up to a hill somewhere in among a whole bunch of other houses that are similar would be a problem solver,” Wilson says.
“There will be the ones who want to stay, but I think most people would happily shift their homes up the hill, or build something new up there. Anything other than that really is just window dressing.”
But Roth feels differently.
“The government should put the money into fixing the rivers and diverting water and helping the ecosystem,” he says.
“We’re just gonna keep getting messed up more and more. These ‘freak one-off’ disasters are becoming not really one-offs any more.”
Even some of the biggest businesses in town have taken months to reopen, but dozens are still shuttered.
Rebecca Ryan lost two businesses – a local art shop and a creative workshop – when the water rose above the roof of her building.
It took months for her to decidenot to reopen. Financially, it’s not viable and, emotionally, it’s too much.
“Every time it rains heavily, particularly if it’s in the night, I’ll wake up having an anxiety attack that I’m losing everything,” she says.
She wants everyone to be able to make their own choice about their future, which means more government assistance to either rebuild or relocate.
“There is no blanket solution. As an ex-business owner in town, what I want is not what a thousand other people want. I don’t want to go back,” Ryan says.
“People need to be able to have choices and they need to be supported in what those choices are because it’s such a personal and emotional thing to decide what you’re going to do with your life.”
Since the floods, Ryan has turned to craft-based activism and spearheaded the Lismore heart banner drive that she revived from a smaller community effort after the 2017 floods.
She’s been inundated with donations from people moved by her efforts and is using the money to open a volunteer-run community craft centrecalled Love for Lismore HeART Space.
“Sometimes I just want to run away because it is overwhelming and it’s shit,” she says.
“It’s honestly the worst experience I’ve ever had in my life. But I can’t leave yet. I have to be doing this and supporting people.”
Jean Renouf, Founder and chair of Resilient Byron, moved to Goonellabah on the outskirts of Lismore, just days before the first flooding event of the year and saw the profound impact each event had on his community.
The father of two felt determined to rebuild after the first flood , but his confidence wavered when the second flood hit just weeks later.
“Should we even live here? Should I raise my kids here? Should I try to move to another area where the impacts of climate change would be lesser felt?” he says.
“There was a whole series of really deep existential questions that could not be ignored any more.”
Renouf considered leaving but the “powerful sense of community” has kept him from doing so.
But he wants to see how the government plans to rebuild the community spirit in the region, as well as all the damaged structures.
The report is expected to include details about how to keep emergency services and first responders safe and the coordination and collaboration between all levels of government.
Roth hopes whatever the report says brings him some clarity about the future, more funding and reminds people across the country that Lismore is still struggling.
“Please don’t forget about us. We’re still drowning,” Roth says.
“Rain on a tin roof is meant to be the most calming thing to fall asleep to – and it used to be – but now it is terrifying for everybody.”
