It's rare that I disdainfully bury my face into my palm and massage my temples with my thumb and middle finger in quiet frustration so early in the morning. But the sheer lunacy of one woman's brazen suggestion at how I do my job nonetheless prompted me to facepalm around 8:30 yesterday. I have to say, that's the earliest time I've ever been so confused and saddened at the same time, so much so that I had such a reaction.
Read below the fold to find what exactly she said that crushed my spirits and prompted the palming of my face.
One Last Swim in the Gulf
I've been on the gulf coast all week, covering both local angles as a result of the oil gusher and the Mississippi Municipal League's 79th Annual Conference in Biloxi. Checking my email the day I arrived, I saw a message from the MS Department of Environmental Quality advising folks on the beach to keep an eye out for tar balls, and to report any oil to them as soon as they see it. Another email listed the spots where oil had been witnessed, and it even gave the exact coordinates so crews can clean them up ASAP.
One of those spots was at the Biloxi/Gulfport line, on Highway 90 and DeBuys Road. This was the same beach where, just two weeks before, I had gone for a good swim in the hot June afternoon sun. I remember clearly how good the water felt; my shirt had been sticking to me, the sweat collecting all the way down my back in the 100+ degree heat indices and muggy, sticky, suffocating humidity that day. I had finished my story early, went to Sears and bought a cheap beach towel, and sat on the sand, playing my djembe over the crashing of the waves and the singing of the egrets flying overhead.
Finally, the heat was too much, and I set my drum down and walked out into the Gulf of Mexico, the mid-afternoon sun hitting it directly, the white caps of the waves gleaming in the sun's reflection. Even about 300 feet out, the water was only thigh-high, so I walked on my knees, letting the weight of my body sink into the gray silt of the Gulf of Mexico, the water up to my neck. I remember finally submerging, and the cool waters of the Gulf revitalizing my burnt skin and washing the sweat from my body. I backstroked all the way back to the shoreline, enjoying the feel of the water as I floated steadily back to the sandy beach.
I won't ever get to feel what that's like anymore for possibly 20 more years, maybe more. so I made sure to hold onto that memory. And that's what made seeing the oil on that same beach so heartbreaking.
Awash in Oil
I drove to the Biloxi/Gulfport line, and sure enough, there were sticky, brown pools of oil coating about a quarter-mile stretch of the shore. What was even more heartbreaking was that there were kids building sandcastles in the sand behind me, which, while not tainted by oil, was still dangerously close to the oil, which is mixed with a healthy amount of toxic chemical dispersants. Why these beaches weren't closed was beyond my comprehension. A guy from Hattiesburg vacationing on the coast lounged in a beach chair behind me.
"That shit's nasty, man. Gross. Breaks my heart."
"Mine too," I told him.
Seeing the oil firsthand, the same oil I've been covering in news stories, reading about in national and international news sources, blogging angrily about, was sort of like seeing a celebrity, if you can understand that. I normally don't get starstruck anymore after working in the news business for about 5 years now, talking to so many high-profile people. But seeing the oil from BP's greed-inspired negligence, from the Macondo well blowout on the Deepwater Horizon rig that killed 11 people and has poisoned all life in an area totaling an area about the size of Mississippi in square miles, was like seeing a celebrity in the flesh. Here it was, right in front of me. I watched a bug crawl through a tar mat more than the size of my foot (I wear a size 12). Then I remembered I brought my camera with me.
Crews had been cleaning up oil all along Highway 90, and you could see charter buses and Coast Guard pickup trucks about every few miles, with dozens of people in flourescent vests and shovels and garbage bags working to clean up the oil as fast as they could. But there's just more oil than there are people. I knew they'd be here eventually, and that this beach would be temporarily returned to normalcy. But then it hit me that this was just the beginning. The well hasn't even been capped yet; it's still pouring tens of thousands of barrels of crude into the Gulf as I type this sentence. It's estimated that we've passed the 140,000,000 gallon mark, about 72 days into this disaster. That's 12 Exxon Valdez-sized spills and counting. And assuming BP is correct in their estimates about the relief well (and we all know by now about how reliable BP is with their estimates) it'll be gushing oil until August.
This catastrophe isn't even close to being over. And we'll be dealing with this for years, maybe decades to come. That was what a shrimper at the Pass Christian harbor had told me, when I asked him about business after the rest of the Mississippi Sound was closed to fishing. He doesn't have a contract with BP's Vessels of Opportunity yet, so he literally has no income. And he just spent $6,000 fixing the engine on his boat. He's a fifth generation shrimper, and this is literally all he's known, it's what he's been raised to do.
And if he gets on with BP and helps clean up? What after that? Certainly not shrimping. He spoke ambivalently about moving somewhere, doing some side work to pay the bills, maybe construction, house painting, general maintenance. His wife left him about 3 years ago over money troubles, so he took the initiative after that to buy a boat and fix it up. And now that investment is gone, too. And his story is just one among thousands all along the Gulf Coast states. Just heartbreaking.
This is all why a good-intentioned, poorly-worded comment made me facepalm at the MML conference yesterday.
Facepalming in Biloxi
It was around 8:30, and I was enjoying my biscuit and jelly and fruit, chatting it up with some aldermen and mayors from small East Mississippi towns.
"Have you guys seen the beaches yet?" I asked them.
"No, we haven't really had the time. I've seen all the crews on the roads, though, so it looks like they're cleaning it up pretty good," replied one of the mayors.
I agreed, before telling them that there needs to be more volunteer efforts, because oil is still coming ashore every day. I showed them the pictures I had taken. I just took five, because that was enough for me. They saw the pictures, and shook their heads sadly.
"It's just awful. Just so awful," One woman said after looking at the pictures.
Noticing the time, I finished my coffee, slung my bag over my shoulder, picked up my briefcase, and told them goodbye before heading to a session on municipal water access in rural Mississippi. Before I walked away, and older woman, the wife of one of the aldermen at the table, beckoned me over with her index finger. I walked over next to her and leaned over to hear what she had to say.
<big>"If you put bad publicity around those tar balls, it's gonna hurt the beaches,"</big> she said.
Confused and caught off-guard, I looked at her for a moment, stunned at what I had just heard.
"Well, that's the biggest story in the country right now," I told her. "It's my job to tell the story. I'm not just going to skirt around the truth to help tourism. I'm a journalist. I have to tell the story regardless," I said, attempting to reason with her.
"Just make sure you tell it positive," she insisted.
I had had enough. I politely waved goodbye, nodded at the older woman, and walked away from the table, doing my best to be calm and poised. I set my bags down once I got back to the main hallway and facepalmed. Hard.
Three things. First thing?
Don't tell me how to do my job. If I was a PR agent for BP, I'd join right in with the rest of them and put out press releases talking about how all of this negative press coverage and BP station boycotts are just puttin' a hurtin' on good ol' mom-and-pop economies on the Gulf Coast, and by golly those mean ol' press folks are just KILLIN' business. But, being one of those mean ol' press folks, I'm going to do my job. My job is getting the story out. Not embellishing, not holding back, but telling the story as it is. I like to think I do that pretty well. And if I'm going to be instructed by someone on how to do my job, I'd prefer it to be by another journalist. Or an editor, or a news director. Not by finger-wagging from condescending passers-by, however good-intentioned that finger-wagging may be.
Second thing?
How, exactly, do I tell a story about brown globs of oil hitting our shores, poisoning our wildlife, endangering our native species in our marshes and estuaries, leaving ugly brown splotches on white sand, in a "positive" way? I guess I could refer to the oil as chocolate mousse, but that would be disingenuous, and not honest. And it would definitely be detrimental to the public discourse. So no, sorry, I'm not capable of telling stories about tar mats and oil splotches in a positive way. If I was, I guess I'd be writing press releases for BP.
Third thing? You know what really hurts the beaches? I'll give you a hint; it isn't bad press. Know what it is?
OIL.
Facepalm. Facepalm. Facepalm.
Like everyone else, I sincerely hope this gets contained and cleaned up as soon as possible. But regardless of that, our Gulf Coast will never be the same. It is heartbreaking, it is troubling, it is saddening. But holding tourism in higher regard than truth is a grave error in judgment. And I hope that woman who made that comment comes to that realization soon. I didn't have the heart to firmly correct her in front of everyone. But I hope she reaches that conclusion in time.
And if you've taken the time to read this, then maybe you have more free time this Summer, at least enough to read an online rant. Maybe you even have enough time to make a trip down to the Mississippi, or Alabama, or Florida, or Louisiana, or Texas coast to help clean up. Get in contact with the coast guard, with unified command, or the Audubon society. If you can stomach it, please donate some time and effort, help clean some brown pelicans, or help pick up oil on the beaches. The coast is hurting, and now is a perfect time for us to come together and help each other, and our beaches, and our Gulf.
Thanks for reading.
UPDATE: Guys, thanks so much for putting this at the top of the rec list. It's my first time on here, and I'm floored. I'll take this opportunity to give all of you a link to the Audubon Society's action page below, everyone needs to sign up with these guys and help clean some animals. We all need your help.
Audubon Society's action page! Volunteer now!