Five Days in the Quarter
This photo essay offers a personal, day-by-day account of what happened in the French Quarter as Katrina approached, struck, and receeded. (via MetaFilter).
The Power of Pictures
1. Not long ago, we shared dinner with a friend who is an ardent supporter of President Bush. Eventually, the topic of conversation turned to Iraq. "It's creepy," I said. "Clearly, families who have sent soldiers or lost loved ones know the war is going on. But if you were an outside observer, just driving down the street or listening casually to the news, I doubt you'd know America was at war at all."
I meant this comment to be an indictment of the Bush administration's policy of suppressing any war coverage that might stir up anti-war sentiments (and the American press' slack-jawed refusal to challenge this policy). Our friend, however, balked. "You want us to be affected by the war? I'd say the fact that most of us aren't affected by it is a sign of just how well our government is handling it."
At the time, I was too stunned to make any kind of effective response.
2. Yesterday, USA Today ran an article about the power of television. In the wake of Hurricane Katrina, our government has made a series of bizarre assertions:
- "No one knew the leeves would breach." This, despite the fact that there are literally dozens of studies and articles that have long predicted this outcome.
- "We've not received any confirmation that there are dead bodies at the Superdome." This, despite the fact we'd been seeing bodies on CNN for days.
- "FEMA and other federal assistance workers are delivering aid even now." This, despite the fact that report after report confirmed that people in New Orleans and on Mississippi's coast were dying for lack of federal aid.
- "No one can get into New Orleans." This, despite the fact that Harry Connick, Jr. and a slew of reporters were broadcasting live from Canal Street daily.
- "FEMA is doing a great job on the Mississippi Gulf Coast," Haley Barbour tells us. This, despite the fact that reporter after reporter, including Robin Roberts of Good Morning America, continues to document and broadcast the absense of any such support.
Vivid, on-the-spot television coverage -- often clumsy, mostly unedited -- is exposing the truth about what has happened on the coast. The pictures tell an undeniable story of continued neglect and inadequate response.They have polarized the public; they have generated an outcry.
For the first time in five years, the press is awake: asking questions, challenging talking points, calling our government's talking heads out when they spout platitudes instead of telling the truth.
It's what the press should do.
3. The Katrina disaster reveals what can happen when the government doesn't get the opportunity to sterilize what Americans see and hear. When's the last time you saw heart-wrenching photos of dead soldiers in Iraq? When's the last time you saw a newstory on a family torn apart by the death of their father or brother? How long has it been since you saw footage, shot on the front lines, detailing what the war in Iraq is really like?
There's a reason the Bush administration has fought (successfully) to keep unapproved footage of Iraq off the airwaves. There's a reason the Bush administration has refused to place the President in the path of uncontrolled, unedited questions from the press. There's a reason the Bush administration doesn't want us to see pictures of the flag-draped coffins being returned from Iraq. There's a reason the body count is being reported as nothing more than a vague series of numbers.
The government knows that vivid television footage helped turn public opinion against the war in Viet Nam. The government knows that graphic coverage of the underbelly of the war in Iraq will do the same.
And so, under the guise of "insulating Americans" from the terrible impact of war, our government clamps down on any and all news coverage that would cast that conflict in a negative light.
4. My prayer is that the press, emboldend by the backbone they seem to have rediscovered in the wake of Katrina, will begin to ask the same tough questions about Iraq. When government officials spout identical talking points, I hope the press will call them on it. If the government tries to repress video footage of what the war is really like, I hope the press will fight to capture it ... and air it, regardless of the consequences.
Katrina has taught us how far our leaders will go to repress the truth when they perceive the truth is not in their own best interest ... but she has also reminded us of the sacred mission of the free press: their responsiblity to strip away the whitewash and show Americans the truth.
Cuba and Category Fives
Last September, a Category 5 hurricane battered the small island of Cuba with 160-mile-per-hour winds. More than 1.5 million Cubans were evacuated to higher ground ahead of the storm. Although the hurricane destroyed 20,000 houses, no one died.
More at TruthOut.org.
Presidential Tour, Photo Ops Staged?
President Bush is touring the South today, posing for the camera and promising "we're here for the long term."
Let's hope "the long term" is longer than the time it takes to set up and tear down the falsified scenes of progress our President is posing in front of. As Senator Mary Landrieu noted, when the President mugged for the cameras at the Seventeenth Street Levee, the site was a beehive of activity -- a pleasing backdrop for a Presidential visit. Today, the work is being carried on by a single crane.
From Senator Landrieu's emotional speech today:
Touring this critical site yesterday with the President, I saw what I believed to be a real and significant effort to get a handle on a major cause of this catastrophe. Flying over this critical spot again this morning, less than 24 hours later, it became apparent that yesterday we witnessed a hastily prepared stage set for a Presidential photo opportunity.
While the American press dutifully reports Presidential fabrications as reality, the terrible hypocrisy of such events has not been overlooked by the foreign media. Here's a report on the President's tour of Biloxi, Mississippi, now in progress, as filed by the German public television station, ZDF:
Where the US President visited the disaster area, auxiliary troops appeared and cleaned up the area properly -- however, they cleaned only [the vicinity of the President's appearance]. Biloxi's desperate inhabitants told ... German Television correspondent Claudia Rueggeberg that Bush should be bringing relief goods here in his sedans instead of loud bodyguards and his dear assistants.
Along the route of Bush's appearances, troops clear debris and remove corpses. Then Bush left again and, with him ... the aid teams. In Biloxi, the situation has not changed, and the people here have nothing.
And from a video clip aired on the same station (translation and reference courtesy MetaFilter.com):
Two minutes ago the President drove by here in his convoy. But what went on here in Biloxi during the day is really unbelievable. Suddenly rescue teams showed up, suddenly heavy salvaging equipment was here -- you didn't see those all the days before. And this in an area where it really wouldn't be necessary to clean up big time, because nobody lives around here anymore. The people are more in the inner areas of the city. The President travels with a press group -- this way, these press people have beautiful images that are supposed to convey "the President was here, and the help -- it will come as well". The extent of the natural disaster has shocked me. But the extent of this theatrical staging today is shocking me at least as much.
I didn't think anything about this situation could depress and sicken me more ... and now, this. How long before Americans, as a nation, rise up and demand the resignation of leaders who use tactics like these?
Raising the Threat Level
How would FEMA and the Department of Homeland Security respond if Al Queda, three days before doing so, warned us they were about to destroy a specific major American city?
Essentially, that's what Katrina did. For three days, we watched the storm gather strength in the gulf. Long before landfall, every single local newscast screamed, "This is going to be a nightmare hurricane! Category Five! Get out! Get out!" If the Weather Channel knew Katrina was a monster storm, capable of vast devastation, our government certainly should have known about it.
And yet -- no response to Katrina for days. For days. As recently as this weekend, we've been told that government aid still hasn't materialized on the coast. If CNN and Good Morning America can make it to Biloxi, why can't FEMA?
Wal-Mart was on the scene faster than Washington. Heck, yesterday I spoke with a leader of twenty-two NAACP Youth volunteers who've made two trips to Biloxi in a white Ford van. During their time on the coast, they saw no Federal aid being delivered at all.
We had three days of warning. Three precious days to organize a response and get Americans out of harm's way. Three days to put boats, trucks, and busses in place to get aid in to the residents of New Orleans. Beyond this, we had piles of intelligence -- dozens of studies from academics, engineers, and journalists -- clearly predicting that a hurricane of this size anywhere near New Orleans would destroy the city.
The world is watching us. Nations and organizations, unfriendly to America and American interests, have just received dramatic confirmation of our nation's complete inability to respond to attacks with intelligence and foresight.
If the Department of Homeland Security could not foresee, prepare for, and respond to Katrina with three days of warning and piles of detailed studies of impact already in place ...
... do you really think the Department of Homeland Security can do anything, anything at all, to protect you from forces who will attack suddenly, without warning?
An Honest Response
My government tells me we responded to victims of Hurricane Katrina in a timely manner.
But I keep seeing and hearing things like this*.
Heartbreaking. Just heartbreaking.
* Link goes to a Windows Media streaming video on another site, which may take several minutes to appear over slower connections.
Katrina: Biloxi
At breakfast today, we met up with an animated woman escorting twenty-five energetic young people. As she made a video tape of the group, the look of pride on her face was so evident, I felt moved to ask who they were, and what they were doing.
"We're a group from Atlanta, making trips back and forth to Biloxi with supplies," she said. "We've packed our vans with food and water, bath products, shovels, hair care products, tarps, you name it. We've packed in so much stuff, when we open the doors, things pop out. We've been running these supplies down to a church, where they can be distributed."
She tells us a story about Katrina's convergence on the church the group is working with. "There were members up in the second floor, praying as hard as they could. At first, folks were telling the pastor's wife she needed to move her car, because the water was up to the tires. The next thing they knew, the car was floating down the street. Across the street, they could see someone trapped in their attic. The church members tried throwing that person a rope, so she could cross over to the more stable structure, but they just couldn't make it work."
She pauses, pressing her lips together and trying to hide her anger. "FEMA is not down there. Our government is not down there. We saw everyday citizens, people like you and me, with vans of water and food and supplies. But where is our government? They are nowhere to be seen."
"If you're coming," she says, "tell me you're coming and when. But don't say you're coming, and then not come. People in New Orleans, they waited. They didn't try to get out. They didn't try to escape, because our government said 'We're on the way.' If they had known the government really wasn't on the way, they could have started walking. They could have gotten out of there themselves."
On the Overpass
You've seen the increasing number of "heartwarming reunion" stories on your local newscast. You've seen politicians from both parties spinning the New Orleans disaster in every possible direction. But here's a story you aren't likely to see on CNN:
A close friend of one of our video store employees relates a remarkably dark tale of his own escape from New Orleans. After he survived the hurricane, he cooperated with others to rescue a number of elderly women from flooded houses. The only available higher ground? Interstate overpasses.
He and the elderly women waited, without any contact from the outside world, for two full days. Two of the rescued women died from exposure to the heat and lack of food and water. When the National Guard arrived, they pointed their weapons at this young man and refused to render any assistance.
Shocked and horrified, he ultimately made his own way to Houston, alone.
Waiting for Gas
Today, we found a Brookshire's grocery store where one of the big tanker trucks had just arrived. We made a sharp left turn, sped around the corner of the store, and joined about 100 other people who were waiting for fuel.
Waiting for the truck to refill the station's tanks took up most of our time. Clyde walked to the nearby Sonic and got us Diet Cokes, then went inside and shopped for groceries. Since my own tank was running very low, I shut down the engine, got out of the car, and stood in the remarkably cool shade (which made more sense than baking in my Saturn VUE).
Ninety minutes later: a full tank, at a remarkable price: under $3.00 a gallon.
Meanwhile, Jackson looks more and more like Jackson. Felled trees are being cleared. More people have power, though several of our video store employees do not. Grocery store shelves are lined with goodies again.
As the seige mentality begins to fall away, some of the social barriers, knocked down by the hurricane, are also being restored. Our neighbors are no longer stopping by to check on us. Now that air conditioners are running, no one lingers outside. With television back up, people aren't depending on each other for rumors and information any more.
I'm glad to see some sanity restored ... but I hope that, in the process of becoming civilized again, we don't lose all of our newfound civility.
Quest for Gas
This morning, one of our houseguests got up at 5:00 a.m. and went on a quest for gas.
He'd heard rumors that a supply truck would make an early morning visit to the BP on County Line Road, so he drove there first. The rumor proved untrue; the BP was obviously closed and deserted.
He took the Interstate further north, thinking that the big stations along I-55 might be refueled more often. At the first exit, he spotted and joined a long line of cars at the Pilot station. When he saw that the people at the pumps weren't actually pumping gas, he walked into the store and checked with the counter attendant, who said, "We're out of gas. We don't have any idea when we'll get gas. These people are here just in case we do."
He kept going north.
He found a second station, also surrounded by a long line. By the time he joined the line, the police arrived and began ordering the crowd to disperse. "This store has no gas, and this road is just a two-lane road to begin with," the officer explained. "We understand that you're eager to fill up, but we can't let you people wait here and block the road."
He kept going north.
Finally, he spotted an open station. After taking the exit, he joined a line of more than 100 cars. He estimates the line moved at about one car per minute. "At least it was moving. So I stayed."
Along the way, he spoke with one of several police officers supervising the line. "I'm not really a police officer," the man confided. "I'm just an alderman in a uniform. The Chief of Police and his officers were here for twenty-four hours yesterday. We came in this morning and forced them to go home and get some sleep."
Just over ninety minutes later -- about three hours after leaving our house -- our guest gassed up his car. "I had to get premium," he told me. "It was all they had left, and the alderman told me he had no idea when they'd get another shipment."
With other people waiting five and six hours for gas that never materializes, my friend feels pretty lucky today.
While Rome Burned ...
... Nero fiddled.
News of Laurel?
A friend from my Hattiesburg days contacted me this morning. Her mother and father are both in Laurel; since the disaster, she's not been able to connect with them via phone. Her mother, in particular, is of concern since she is not in good health.
While I've managed to get an update from a friend in Laurel (he drove today from Laurel to Meridian for gas and groceries), there's a lot we don't know about conditions there.
If you have contacts in Laurel, MS, who might be able to check on someone at a specific address about eight minutes (normally) off I-59, please drop me a line.
Katrina in Jackson: Slice of Life
If you're watching the news, you're seeing a great deal about the devastation on the coast and, particularly, in New Orleans. It's important that the media focus on scene from desperate places, as it takes this kind of emphasis to motivate people (and even our government) to help.
I'm thankful Clyde and I have been spared what friends south of Jackson are even now enduring. We have power and plenty to eat, and this is not the case for thousands upon thousands of people.
That said, I think most people would be surprised to see what every day life is like, right now, in Jackson, MS, a few hundred miles north of the coast. Here's an update, designed to give you a day in the life of someone here:
- Morning. We have power, but very, very few people around us do. Friends are camped out on our couch, and we're happy to be able to give them a cool place to eat and sleep. At the video store, employees, without power at home, are sleeping in the aisles.
- The News. Here's something you probably don't think about: you may know more about the scope of the disaster than we do, particularly the extent of the damage in New Orleans and Gulfport. Given the massive power outage, Jacksonians can go days without seeing a television or hearing a radio. Clyde and I saw our first color footage of the coast last night.
- Seeking the Lost. Everyone knows someone with a missing friend or family member. We treasure every bit of news. A friend called today, concerned about family in a city south of here; later in the day, we made a small connection: we heard from an ex-employee who is in that same city. We were able to pass along some news about road conditions and infrastructure. I catch myself eavesdropping on conversations in lines at the grocery store. I talk to strangers. We're all on alert, hoping to hear that key bit of news that we can share with people who need it.
- Gas. Everyone we met, everywhere we go, is talking about gas. "I heard that the Exxon on Highway 80 had a truck come in. Did you see the line at the Chevron on Ridgewood Road? It's ten blocks long, and they don't even have any gas to sell!" And it's true: people are so desperate for gas, they're lining up at service stations just in case a service station opens. A neighbor went out at 4:00 a.m. today, and found three- and four-hour lines already in place.
- Sam's Club. At the Sam's Club this morning, no one is interested in the big screen t.v.'s and laptop computers. Pallets of ice are available ("We have plenty!" the white-coated employee keeps saying). Bottled water is available, but we can only buy sixteen bottles at once. The frozen food cases are mostly empty. Every scrap of luncheon meat, cheese, and shelf-stable meat is gone.
- Generator mania. With the local power company saying weeks may go by before most residential power is restored, people are buying generators hand over fist. At Sam's today, every cart but ours seemed to have a $585.00 generator in it. Some people bought more than one. At one point, I got too close to one woman's buggy, and she quickly moved to come between me and her generator. Really.
- Forraging. At the grocery store, you never know who will have what. At McDade's yesterday, there were no frozen foods and very few vegetables, but plenty of salad dressing. We lucked out and got one of the last gallon jugs of milk. Just as I left, a truck with ice and huge bottles of water arrived; people got on phones and radios, called friends and neighbors, and bought up the supply in a matter of minutes.
- Mindset. When our power came on last night (we're lucky -- a major substation is about two blocks away), we relaxed. "Hey," we said. "We've got power. Things are getting better!" And they are. We can't escape the nagging feeling, however, that things are going to get much worse -- especially if people can't get gas, bottled water, and food. So we watch and wait, keeping an eye on the news (now that we can get news).
- Plans within Plans. Today, Clyde and I had a conversation about our own Plan B and Plan C. We are already determined to drive as little as possible. We are deliberately avoiding using his car, since it has a full tank. We're glad we've moved to this little condo, which is close enough for us to walk to work. We could also walk to Kroger for groceries. Logistically, we're in good shape. But we are also talking about what we might do should things rapidly get worse. What happens if people can't get gas? What happens if people can't get food? What's the plan?
- Night. There's a (mostly ignorned) 8:00 curfew. Outside the narrow strip of light along the I-55 corridor, the city is dark. There are few streetlights. Candles flicker in windows. The sputtering mumur of generators is as pervasive as the sound of crickets would normally be this time of year.
That's it. That's life on the edge of the nation's worst natural disaster. It's a bizarre mix of safety and insanity. We feel lucky. We feel guilty. We feel angry. We worry about friends south of here.
We wonder, every other minute, what might happen next.
Power
We are sitting in Haru, having a quick bite of lunch.
Haru is one of Jackson's sushi restaurants. You might think eating sushi during a massive power outage is a bad thing indeed. So how's this for crazy: Haru is one of very few places in town that never, ever lost power, even during the height of the hurricane. Monday, during the 90-mph winds, the lights didn't even blink.
As has become his habit, Clyde fishes out his cell phone and calls the video store he owns. This has become a ritual; he does it a dozen times a day. There's good reason for it: if he hears a click, followed by the characteristic squall of the fax machine, we'll know power has been restored at our family business. If the power's still off, the phone simply rings.
He dials. One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
And then, so loud that even I can hear it, the squall of the fax machine.
We scarf down our rolls, burst out the door, and drive as quickly as post-disaster traffic will allow to the store. On the way there, we pass our house. Hoping against hope, we tap the remote that opens the gate to our condo complex ... and the gate slides open.
Power at work. Power at home.
We feel happy and guilty at the same time.
North of Nowhere - Katrina's Impact
Clyde and I are fine.
Jackson, our home town, has been plunged into darkness. About 95% of our city has no electricity. Right now, I'm in Ridgeland, hoping my laptop battery holds out long enough to make a quick post. (Of all places, the Krystal Hamburger Shop has power ... and Internet access! Never underestimate the power of a Krystal.)
Cities south of us, as you probably know, have been devestated or destroyed. In Jackson, we do not have flooding, but:
- High winds have twisted trees like pretzels, bringing down power lines and transformers. Our street is blocked by a tangle of oak and electric cable. There's not a Bradford Pear in the city that hasn't been yanked up by the roots.
- With few exceptions, we have no power. At least Clyde and I have a home, with no damage! Others, especially the refugees, are miserable. There are 700,000 people staying in hotels ... none of which have power or air conditioning. Imagine walking up 15 flights of stairs to a sealed room with windows you can't open on a 95 degree day, and you'll be picturing what life is like for the best off of Jackson's refugee population.
- Ice and gas are getting scarce. Big trucks pull up outside grocery stores (many of which are closed), tossing out bags of ice or selling high-priced generators. Lines at gas stations are two to four hours long.
- Traffic is a nightmare. The city has doubled in size overnight, and there are no traffic lights. Do the math.
All of that said, Clyde and I are very well off. We have gas in our cars. We have a cooler full of ice. We have bottled water. We have money. We have friends who have taken good care of us, sharing turkey burgers ("Cook 'em before they spoil!") and bringing us ice today. We have managed to find short lines at neighborhood restaurants in out of the way places that happen to have power.
In a time when so many people have no homes, we're doing quite well.
Given the oppressive heat and dwindling supplies, we may head north tonight to stay with Clyde's parents. They're near Memphis, where there are no issues with power or water. A night in a cool bed sounds mighty good just now.
Thanks to everyone for your notes and prayers. If I don't have the chance to answer you personally just now, it's only because batteries and connectivity are extremely limited. You should see us right now: parked at the Krystal, laptops plugged into the cigarette lighters, pounding away at the keyboard while soaking up my car's air conditioning!
I'll keep posting as often as I can,
Mark
Katrina's Coming
This morning, as Katrina creeps ashore just east of New Orleans, Jackson is muggy, moist, and gray.
On our early walk, Chelsea and I meet Matt, an older gentleman, and Buster, his Alaskan husky. Matt's from Slidell; he's staying in our condo community with friends who invited him up. He smooths his thin white moustache while looking up at the swirling clouds. "Don't know what'll happen," he says. "Just no idea."
Yesterday, Wal-Mart was a madhouse. Fueled by memories of what Camille did to the Jackson area, locals raced up and down the aisles, packing carts with chainsaws, coolers, and bottled water. At Target, we found batteries ... but small radios were in short supply. Our neighbor, Becky, cooked a ham and a turkey "just in case we won't be cooking for awhile." She also sent her son -- a refugee from New Orleans -- to the pool area to make sure the gas grills were working.
We're not expecting much to happen until late this afternoon, when Jackson will supposedly see hurricane force winds and up to ten inches of rain. For now, we watch the Weather Channel and the non-stop coverage from WAPT ... and wait.