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Hurricane Katrina-Our Experiences

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 been 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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