In my 4 year old child's eyes, Katrina was gang of bad people who came in our house and broke it up during a storm. He just cannot fathom a force of nature so strong as to cause the devastation as far around as his entire world. Where we eat, where we play, pray, picnic, both the shattered neighborhoods and business districts, the Walmarts, the Gas stations, Casinos, Grand Coastal homes, and shotgun shacks, indeed civilization was wiped away in minutes. There is no place to go that does not have visual reminders of the violent cascade of natural force that took our lives and livelihood and smashed them to the ground a year ago. To children like him, the entire world is broke and needs fixing. Our "Broken house" is almost fixed, a year later, and every night we have to go around locking the doors with him, so he can sleep.
First came the water, we are baptized, we are new, this is not just a metaphor, but for those of us who are living reminders of the Storm (capital S) this has been a rebirth. Walk with me through this. The lives lost remind us of our own mortality, our own intimacy with death. Many of us had friends, family, or aquaintances that are now gone. The days we spent adjusting to the horror, the horror of the death around around us, seeking relief for ourselves, water, scraps of food, fire for cooking, a tent or a pillow, a place to take a shower.
This is hallowed ground. The spirits walk and talk with us, they are whispering in God's ear right now. A story comes to mind, the one about the man set upon by bandits, left on the side of the road, beaten and bruised, in this story it is us, beaten an bruised, drowned and robbed of our belongings, our communities, our homes, our churches, our shopfronts, our roads and bridges. First, a government agent comes along, and says it's not his business to help this man. He leaves him on the side of the road. Soon, a politician comes along, and says he's in too much of a hurry to help the man, and he rushes away to make his appointment on time, leaving the man for dead. Then an insurance agent comes by, and says "too bad, so sad", and moves on, leaving the man to suffer. Along comes an outsider, in those times known as a Samaritan. He gives the man water, he gives the man first aid, he puts him on his donkey, and carries him to an Inn. The stranger pays for a doctor to sew him up, and leaves money to pay for his food and lodging. He promises to pay more if it's owed on his way back through.
It is the Samaritans, the outsiders, the good will of unknowns where we have found shelter, food, water, toys for our kids,helped gutted houses, put up sheetrock, donated materials and labor to put people in there homes.
There are mixed feelings that come with accepting help from strangers, the ones you don't know, when the ones you expect help from turn away. There is a shock, there is confusion, "this isn't the way it's supposed to go". It's like being turned away at your mothers house. We are after all, supporting the homeland, what happens when the homeland doesn't support you, turns away and leaves you at the mercy of strangers?
What happens when so many things conspired against you, that you never had a chance? When a pattern of inadequate insurance converage was industry wide policy, when mortgage companies never bothered to require updated flood maps, when FEMA never bothered to update 100 year flood maps on our most vulnerable coastline? When time and again people asked their insurers for flood insurance only to be told it was too expensive, not allowed, that their supplemental "hurricane policy" would cover them in any hurricane-related event. When a bogus wind/flood argument dominates the conversation, not the fraudulant and misleading tactics of insurers that left thousands with inadequate coverage.
The infrastructure, bridges, and levees, schools, and hospitals, libraries, and police stations, ports and seaways, all the gatekeepers of civilization, are yet to be rebuilt, while we make do with bandaids. And there are whispers, even some very audable suggestions that we NOT rebuild. Yet the Southern Coastal economy is vital to EVERYONE. It trickles deep up the Mississippi, bringing produce and food, oil and consumer staples to every household in America. The Casino industry built our schools and puts new books in the lockers of the kids of Mississippi and Louisiana. It feeds our children, and gives them homes. The vibrant culture of the Gulf Coast contributes to its appeal as a tourist destination, affectionately calling it the "Redneck Riveria", is sort of a complement, and a hat tip to those whose ancestors suffered the meanest historical, geographical, and societal conditions, triumphed to create a sphere of civilization that preserves a living cultural history where a written one has been sorely lacking.
We were left on the side of road, thousands of us, homelesss, stinking, hungry, hot, victims of a natural violence, but the horror for many was only beginning. Our belongings in trash heaps on our front lawns, many neighborhoods simply washed away, in their place, stoves, steps, lost photos, toys, grammas best china, broken and smashed upon the shores. Days of who, what, and where, standing in line for a word of organization, a plan, where to get food, water, some cash.
When civilization breaks down, and there is no power, there is no cash, gas, air conditioning, running water, cooked food. Diseases spring up quickly, and small injuries can easily become infected. A cash only society is very different than our debit/credit/ checkwriting one. You have to barter, trade, all people are left with whatever they have in their wallets, so it doesn't matter if you have thousands in the bank, you can't get to it. Were people "looting" to get cash? Probably.
We got thrust into a time machine, sent back to the early days of pioneering. Washing clothes by hand, hanging it on lines, cooking over open fires, building lean-tos, and the exhausting work of surviving the elements moment to moment, preventing heatstroke, and waiting in the eerly silence. No trucks, few cars, no birds, your voice could carry a mile. Then the helicopters, the Humvees, the National guard, a sign of hope. Then the contractors and trucks that carried supplies, and church tents to feed people, give them clothes and cleaning supplies. The work began. people who never owned a screwdriver became genral contractors, people who never heard of places like Pearlington, Chalmette, Pass Christian, Saint Bernard, Gentilly, Bay Saint Louis, Slidell, came and held out their bare hands to cover and shelter the quivering masses.
They are still here. They still come, there is still much to be done, wreckage of lives still needing a hand, needing not a hand out, but relief from the solitude of suffering. We have come a long way in one year. There are children playing in the playgrounds, there are people back to work, dressing up for a Saturday night out, going about the business of living. The surviving is over for most people, it's the living now that needs to be done.
There are days where you feel a triumph, you feel like you have made it, then there are days where the horror comes back, and the pain is unbearable. The things you've lost, but you don't talk about it because there are others who faired far worse.
You don't live in the same place as you used to. You see the raw value and beauty of a human. The petty things don't exist here, they are only diversions, distant rumblings of a past life. You see children playing, singing, and you wonder how things will shake down for them. You see beauty everywhere, because the contrast of the roses and mandevillias against the broken and abandoned house is so apparent now. You never noticed how beautiful those swamps are, the Pelicans dashing about for food, the Gulf itself, the very same one that rose up into your home, now pristinely peaceful.
Some people wonder what the heck we are doing on the Coast, living in the shadow of Camille, Katrina, and the next Storm. There is no other way. The Gulf gives us life, and the Gulf can take it away. It is symbiotic to our livelihoods, shrimpers, restauranters, beach shops, charter boats, casinos, the beach, water is the source of life and the people itself are the Gulf. Their ancestors make up the very soil of these cities and towns, and speak to them through their traditions. Seafood rodeos, the Phae doe-doe, the Krewes of Mardis Gras, Crab festivals, Church revivals, Gospel Choirs, Blues and Jazz festivals, the Coast has always thrown a good party, and there is no better way to celebrate the business of living.