[IP] Hurricane Katrina-Our Experiences (not good!!! djf)
Begin forwarded message:
From: Kelley Greenman <greenman.k@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>
Date: September 6, 2005 5:32:33 PM EDT
To: dave@xxxxxxxxxx
Subject: Hurricane Katrina-Our Experiences
Dave,
This was sent to another list. Perhaps it's too controversial for IP.
Still, this is shameful.
Kelley
http://www.dailykos.com/storyonly/2005/9/6/132725/8931
Hurricane Katrina-Our Experiences
Larry Bradshaw, Lorrie Beth Slonsky
Two days after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, the Walgreen's
store at
the corner of Royal and Iberville streets remained locked. The dairy
display
case was clearly visible through the widows. It was now 48 hours without
electricity, running water, plumbing. The milk, yogurt, and cheeses were
beginning to spoil in the 90-degree heat. The owners and managers had
locked up
the food, water, pampers, and prescriptions and fled the City. Outside
Walgreen's windows, residents and tourists grew increasingly thirsty and
hungry.
The much-promised federal, state and local aid never materialized and
the
windows at Walgreen's gave way to the looters. There was an
alternative. The
cops could have broken one small window and distributed the nuts,
fruit juices,
and bottle water in an organized and systematic manner. But they did
not.
Instead they spent hours playing cat and mouse, temporarily chasing
away the
looters.
We were finally airlifted out of New Orleans two days ago and arrived
home
yesterday (Saturday). We have yet to see any of the TV coverage or
look at a
newspaper. We are willing to guess that there were no video images or
front-page pictures of European or affluent white tourists looting the
Walgreen's in the French Quarter.
We also suspect the media will have been inundated with "hero" images
of the
National Guard, the troops and the police struggling to help the
"victims" of
the Hurricane. What you will not see, but what we witnessed,were the
real
heroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief effort: the working class
of New
Orleans. The maintenance workers who used a fork lift to carry the
sick and
disabled. The engineers, who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators
running.
The electricians who improvised thick extension cords stretching over
blocks to
share the little electricity we had in order to free cars stuck on
rooftop
parking lots. Nurses who took over for mechanical ventilators and
spent many
hours on end manually forcing air into the lungs of unconscious
patients to
keep them alive. Doormen who rescued folks stuck in elevators.
Refinery workers
who broke into boat yards, "stealing" boats to rescue their neighbors
clinging
to their roofs in flood waters. Mechanics who helped hot-wire any car
that
could be found to ferry people out of the City. And the food service
workers
who scoured the commercial kitchens improvising communal meals for
hundreds of
those stranded.
Most of these workers had lost their homes, and had not heard from
members of
their families, yet they stayed and provided the only infrastructure
for the
20% of New Orleans that was not under water.
On Day 2, there were approximately 500 of us left in the hotels in
the French
Quarter. We were a mix of foreign tourists, conference attendees like
ourselves, and locals who had checked into hotels for safety and
shelter from
Katrina. Some of us had cell phone contact with family and friends
outside of
New Orleans. We were repeatedly told that all sorts of resources
including the
National Guard and scores of buses were pouring in to the City. The
buses and
the other resources must have been invisible because none of us had
seen them.
We decided we had to save ourselves. So we pooled our money and came
up with
$25,000 to have ten buses come and take us out of the City. Those who
did not
have the requisite $45.00 for a ticket were subsidized by those who
did have
extra money. We waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last
12 hours
standing outside, sharing the limited water, food, and clothes we
had. We
created a priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and new born
babies. We
waited late into the night for the "imminent" arrival of the buses.
The buses
never arrived. We later learned that the minute the arrived to the
City limits,
they were commandeered by the military.
By day 4 our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was
dangerously
abysmal. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as
well as
water levels began to rise. The hotels turned us out and locked their
doors,
telling us that the "officials" told us to report to the convention
center to
wait for more buses. As we entered the center of the City, we finally
encountered the National Guard. The Guards told us we would not be
allowed into
the Superdome as the City's primary shelter had descended into a
humanitarian
and health hellhole. The guards further told us that the City's only
other
shelter, the Convention Center, was also descending into chaos and
squalor and
that the police were not allowing anyone else in. Quite naturally, we
asked,
"If we can't go to the only 2 shelters in the City, what was our
alternative?"
The guards told us that that was our problem, and no they did not
have extra
water to give to us. This would be the start of our numerous
encounters with
callous and hostile "law enforcement".
We walked to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street
and were
told the same thing, that we were on our own, and no they did not
have water to
give us. We now numbered several hundred. We held a mass meeting to
decide a
course of action. We agreed to camp outside the police command post.
We would
be plainly visible to the media and would constitute a highly visible
embarrassment to the City officials. The police told us that we could
not stay.
Regardless, we began to settle in and set up camp. In short order,
the police
commander came across the street to address our group. He told us he
had a
solution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain Expressway and cross
the greater
New Orleans Bridge where the police had buses lined up to take us out
of the
City. The crowed cheered and began to move. We called everyone back and
explained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation
and wrong
information and was he sure that there were buses waiting for us. The
commander
turned to the crowd and stated emphatically, "I swear to you that the
buses are
there."
We organized ourselves and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with
great
excitement and hope. As we marched pasted the convention center, many
locals
saw our determined and optimistic group and asked where we were
headed. We told
them about the great news. Families immediately grabbed their few
belongings
and quickly our numbers doubled and then doubled again. Babies in
strollers now
joined us, people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and others
people in
wheelchairs. We marched the 2-3 miles to the freeway and up the steep
incline
to the Bridge. It now began to pour down rain, but it did not dampen our
enthusiasm.
As we approached the bridge, armed Gretna sheriffs formed a line
across the
foot of the bridge. Before we were close enough to speak, they began
firing their weapons over our heads. This sent the crowd fleeing in
various
directions. As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched
forward
and managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told
them of our
conversation with the police commander and of the commander's
assurances. The
sheriffs informed us there were no buses waiting. The commander had
lied to us
to get us to move.
We questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as
there was
little traffic on the 6-lane highway. They responded that the West
Bank was not
going to become New Orleans and there would be no Superdomes in their
City.
These were code words for if you are poor and black, you are not
crossing the
Mississippi River and you were not getting out of New Orleans.
Our small group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from
the rain
under an overpass. We debated our options and in the end decided to
build an
encampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway on the center
divide,
between the O'Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We reasoned we would be
visible to
everyone, we would have some security being on an elevated freeway
and we could
wait and watch for the arrival of the yet to be seen buses.
All day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the
same trip
up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be turned
away. Some
chased away with gunfire, others simply told no, others to be
verbally berated
and humiliated. Thousands of New Orleaners were prevented and
prohibited from
self-evacuating the City on foot. Meanwhile, the only two City
shelters sank
further into squalor and disrepair. The only way across the bridge
was by
vehicle. We saw workers stealing trucks, buses, moving vans, semi-
trucks and
any car that could be hotwired. All were packed with people trying to
escape
the misery New Orleans had become.
Our little encampment began to blossom. Someone stole a water
delivery truck
and brought it up to us. Let's hear it for looting! A mile or so down
the
freeway, an army truck lost a couple of pallets of C-rations on a
tight turn.
We ferried the food back to our camp in shopping carts. Now secure
with the two
necessities, food and water; cooperation, community, and creativity
flowered.
We organized a clean up and hung garbage bags from the rebar poles.
We made
beds from wood pallets and cardboard. We designated a storm drain as the
bathroom and the kids built an elaborate enclosure for privacy out of
plastic,
broken umbrellas, and other scraps. We even organized a food
recycling system
where individuals could swap out parts of C-rations (applesauce for
babies and
candies for kids!).
This was a process we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of Katrina. When
individuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out for
yourself only. You had to do whatever it took to find water for your
kids or
food for your parents. When these basic needs were met, people began
to look
out for each other, working together and constructing a community.
If the relief organizations had saturated the City with food and
water in the
first 2 or 3 days, the desperation, the frustration and the ugliness
would not
have set in.
Flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing
families and
individuals. Many decided to stay and join us. Our encampment grew to
80 or 90
people.
From a woman with a battery powered radio we learned that the media
was talking
about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and news
organizations
saw us on their way into the City. Officials were being asked what
they were
going to do about all those families living up on the freeway? The
officials
responded they were going to take care of us. Some of us got a
sinking feeling.
"Taking care of us" had an ominous tone to it.
Unfortunately, our sinking feeling (along with the sinking City) was
correct.
Just as dusk set in, a Gretna Sheriff showed up, jumped out of his
patrol
vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces, screaming, "Get off the fucking
freeway".
A helicopter arrived and used the wind from its blades to blow away
our flimsy
structures. As we retreated, the sheriff loaded up his truck with our
food and
water.
Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway. All the law
enforcement agencies appeared threatened when we congregated or
congealed into
groups of 20 or more. In every congregation of "victims" they saw
"mob" or
"riot". We felt safety in numbers. Our "we must stay together" was
impossible
because the agencies would force us into small atomized groups.
In the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we
scattered once
again. Reduced to a small group of 8 people, in the dark, we sought
refuge in
an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on Cilo Street. We were
hiding from
possible criminal elements but equally and definitely, we were hiding
from the
police and sheriffs with their martial law, curfew and shoot-to-kill
policies.
The next days, our group of 8 walked most of the day, made contact
with New
Orleans Fire Department and were eventually airlifted out by an urban
search
and rescue team. We were dropped off near the airport and managed to
catch a
ride with the National Guard. The two young guardsmen apologized for the
limited response of the Louisiana guards. They explained that a large
section
of their unit was in Iraq and that meant they were shorthanded and
were unable
to complete all the tasks they were assigned.
We arrived at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. The
airport
had become another Superdome. We 8 were caught in a press of humanity as
flights were delayed for several hours while George Bush landed
briefly at the
airport for a photo op. After being evacuated on a coast guard cargo
plane, we
arrived in San Antonio, Texas.
There the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort
continued. We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where
we were
forced to sit for hours and hours. Some of the buses did not have
air-conditioners. In the dark, hundreds if us were forced to share
two filthy
overflowing porta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with any
possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) we were
subjected
to two different dog-sniffing searches.
Most of us had not eaten all day because our C-rations had been
confiscated at
the airport because the rations set off the metal detectors. Yet, no
food had
been provided to the men, women, children, elderly, disabled as they
sat for
hours waiting to be "medically screened" to make sure we were not
carrying any
communicable diseases.
This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heart-felt
reception
given to us by the ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker give
her shoes to
someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street offered us money and
toiletries with words of welcome. Throughout, the official relief
effort was
callous, inept, and racist. There was more suffering than need be.
Lives were
lost that did not need to be lost.
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