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
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
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
enter 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
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.
Larry Bradshaw and Lorrie Beth Slonsky
Bradshaw and Slonsky are paramedics from California that
were attending the EMS conference in New Orleans. Larry Bradshaw is the
chief shop steward, Paramedic Chapter, SEIU Local 790; and Lorrie Beth Slonsky
is steward, Paramedic Chapter, SEIU Local 790.
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the opinion of the author and is provided for educational purposes only.
It is not to be construed as medical advice. Only a licensed medical doctor
can legally offer medical advice in the United States. Consult the healer
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