Katrina Story - But is it True

Hurricane Katrina-Our ExperiencesHurricane Katrina-Our ExperiencesLarry BradshawLorrie Beth SlonskyTwo days after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, the Walgreen's store atthe corner of Royal and Iberville streets remained locked. The dairy displaycase was clearly visible through the widows. It was now 48 hours withoutelectricity, running water, plumbing. The milk, yogurt, and cheeses were beginningto spoil in the 90-degree heat. The owners and managers had locked up thefood, water, pampers, and prescriptions and fled the City. Outside Walgreen'swindows, residents and tourists grew increasingly thirsty and hungry.The much-promised federal, state and local aid never materialized and thewindows at Walgreen's gave way to the looters. There was an alternative. Thecops 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 thelooters.We were finally airlifted out of New Orleans two days ago and arrived homeyesterday (Saturday). We have yet to see any of the TV coverage or look at anewspaper. We are willing to guess that there were no video images orfront-page pictures of European or affluent white tourists looting the Walgreen's inthe French Quarter.We also suspect the media will have been inundated with "hero" images of theNational Guard, the troops and the police struggling to help the "victims" ofthe Hurricane. What you will not see, but what we witnessed,were the realheroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief effort: the working class of NewOrleans. The maintenance workers who used a fork lift to carry the sick anddisabled. The engineers, who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators running. Theelectricians who improvised thick extension cords stretching over blocks toshare the little electricity we had in order to free cars stuck on rooftopparking lots. Nurses who took over for mechanical ventilators and spent manyhours on end manually forcing air into the lungs of unconscious patients to keepthem alive. Doormen who rescued folks stuck in elevators. Refinery workerswho broke into boat yards, "stealing" boats to rescue their neighbors clingingto their roofs in flood waters. Mechanics who helped hot-wire any car thatcould be found to ferry people out of the City. And the food service workers whoscoured the commercial kitchens improvising communal meals for hundreds ofthose stranded.Most of these workers had lost their homes, and had not heard from members oftheir families, yet they stayed and provided the only infrastructure for the20% of New Orleans that was not under water.On Day 2, there were approximately 500 of us left in the hotels in the FrenchQuarter. We were a mix of foreign tourists, conference attendees likeourselves, and locals who had checked into hotels for safety and shelter fromKatrina. Some of us had cell phone contact with family and friends outside of NewOrleans. We were repeatedly told that all sorts of resources including theNational Guard and scores of buses were pouring in to the City. The buses and theother 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 didnot have the requisite $45.00 for a ticket were subsidized by those who did haveextra money. We waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last 12hours standing outside, sharing the limited water, food, and clothes we had. Wecreated a priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and new born babies. Wewaited late into the night for the "imminent" arrival of the buses. Thebuses never arrived. We later learned that the minute the arrived to the Citylimits, they were commandeered by the military.By day 4 our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation wasdangerously abysmal. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as well aswater 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 towait for more buses. As we entered the center of the City, we finallyencountered the National Guard.The Guards told us we would not be allowed into the Superdome as the City'sprimary shelter had been descended into a humanitarian and health hellhole.The guards further told us that the City's only other shelter, the ConventionCenter, was also descending into chaos and squalor and that the police were notallowing anyone else in. Quite naturally, we asked, "If we can't go to theonly 2 shelters in the City, what was our alternative?" The guards told us thatthat was our problem, and no they did not have extra water to give to us. Thiswould be the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile "lawenforcement".We walked to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street and weretold the same thing, that we were on our own, and no they did not have water togive us. We now numbered several hundred. We held a mass meeting to decide acourse of action. We agreed to camp outside the police command post. Wewould be plainly visible to the media and would constitute a highly visibleembarrassment 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 policecommander came across the street to address our group. He told us he had asolution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain Expressway and cross the greaterNew Orleans Bridge where the police had buses lined up to take us out of theCity. The crowed cheered and began to move. We called everyone back andexplained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation and wronginformation and was he sure that there were buses waiting for us. The commanderturned to the crowd and stated emphatically, "I swear to you that the buses arethere."We organized ourselves and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with greatexcitement and hope. As we marched pasted the convention center, many localssaw our determined and optimistic group and asked where we were headed. We toldthem about the great news. Families immediately grabbed their few belongingsand quickly our numbers doubled and then doubled again. Babies in strollersnow joined us, people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and otherspeople in wheelchairs. We marched the 2-3 miles to the freeway and up the steepincline to the Bridge. It now began to pour down rain, but it did not dampenour enthusiasm.As we approached the bridge, armed Gretna sheriffs formed a line across thefoot of the bridge. Before we were close enough to speak, they began firingtheir weapons over our heads. This sent the crowd fleeing in variousdirections. As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward andmanaged to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of ourconversation with the police commander and of the commander's assurances. Thesheriffs informed us there were no buses waiting. The commander had lied to us toget us to move.We questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as therewas little traffic on the 6-lane highway. They responded that the West Bank wasnot going to become New Orleans and there would be no Superdomes in theirCity. These were code words for if you are poor and black, you are not crossingthe Mississippi River and you were not getting out of New Orleans.Our small group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from the rainunder an overpass. We debated our options and in the end decided to build anencampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway on the center divide,between the O'Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We reasoned we would be visibleto everyone, we would have some security being on an elevated freeway and wecould 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 sametrip 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 verballyberated and humiliated. Thousands of New Orleaners were prevented and prohibitedfrom self-evacuating the City on foot. Meanwhile, the only two City shelterssank further into squalor and disrepair. The only way across the bridge wasby vehicle. We saw workers stealing trucks, buses, moving vans, semi-trucksand any car that could be hotwired. All were packed with people trying toescape the misery New Orleans had become.Our little encampment began to blossom. Someone stole a water delivery truckand brought it up to us. Let's hear it for looting! A mile or so down thefreeway, 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 thetwo necessities, food and water; cooperation, community, and creativityflowered. We organized a clean up and hung garbage bags from the rebar poles. Wemade beds from wood pallets and cardboard. We designated a storm drain as thebathroom and the kids built an elaborate enclosure for privacy out of plastic,broken umbrellas, and other scraps. We even organized a food recycling systemwhere individuals could swap out parts of C-rations (applesauce for babies andcandies for kids!).This was a process we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of Katrina. Whenindividuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out for yourselfonly. You had to do whatever it took to find water for your kids or food foryour parents. When these basic needs were met, people began to look out foreach other, working together and constructing a community.If the relief organizations had saturated the City with food and water in thefirst 2 or 3 days, the desperation, the frustration and the ugliness wouldnot have set in.Flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing families andindividuals. Many decided to stay and join us. Our encampment grew to 80 or90 people.From a woman with a battery powered radio we learned that the media wastalking about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and newsorganizations saw us on their way into the City. Officials were being asked what theywere going to do about all those families living up on the freeway? Theofficials responded they were going to take care of us. Some of us got a sinkingfeeling. "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 patrolvehicle, 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 flimsystructures. As we retreated, the sheriff loaded up his truck with our foodand water.Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway. All the lawenforcement agencies appeared threatened when we congregated or congealed into groupsof 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 becausethe agencies would force us into small atomized groups.In the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we scattered onceagain. Reduced to a small group of 8 people, in the dark, we sought refugein an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on Cilo Street. We were hidingfrom possible criminal elements but equally and definitely, we were hiding fromthe police and sheriffs with their martial law, curfew and shoot-to-killpolicies.The next days, our group of 8 walked most of the day, made contact with NewOrleans Fire Department and were eventually airlifted out by an urban searchand rescue team. We were dropped off near the airport and managed to catch aride with the National Guard. The two young guardsmen apologized for thelimited response of the Louisiana guards. They explained that a large section oftheir unit was in Iraq and that meant they were shorthanded and were unable tocomplete all the tasks they were assigned.We arrived at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. Theairport had become another Superdome. We 8 were caught in a press of humanity asflights were delayed for several hours while George Bush landed briefly at theairport for a photo op. After being evacuated on a coast guard cargo plane, wearrived in San Antonio, Texas.There the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effortcontinued. We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we were forcedto 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 overflowingporta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with any possessions (often a fewbelongings in tattered plastic bags) we were subjected to two differentdog-sniffing searches.Most of us had not eaten all day because our C-rations had been confiscatedat the airport because the rations set off the metal detectors. Yet, no foodhad been provided to the men, women, children, elderly, disabled as they satfor hours waiting to be "medically screened" to make sure we were not carryingany communicable diseases.This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heart-feltreception given to us by the ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker give hershoes to someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street offered us money andtoiletries with words of welcome.Throughout, the official relief effort was callous, inept, and racist. Therewas more suffering than need be. Lives were lost that did not need to belost.