New Orleans - Initial Thoughts

January 13th, 2006

Its been more than four months after hurricane katrina. Its a wonderfully haunting, strange, and difficult place to be right now, no matter who you are.

My initial thoughts are scattered: My first view while flying into the city, is that of an extremely long bridge that runs across the lake north of New Orleans (the lake which caused most of the damage after levees failed). I can only imagine how insane it would be to be in the middle of that bridge as winds picked up, as water levels raised. It was a strange introduction into the atmosphere water plays in this city.

In terms of water, New Orleans is like Paris and Chicago intermixed. The Mississippi weaves through one side of the city, on the southside. The lake creates the physical boundary to the north. Industrial canals weave into the city from the lake at random intervals.

As I flew over, blue splotches littered the periphery, and soon I was able to focus in on the tarps that lined seemingly every other building on every street of the city.

On the ground, the view is quite a bit more fantastic in a humbling, destructive sense of the word. Multiple communities have been struck differently, but similarities of iconography remain. For one, in water hit areas, every building contains “ring around the tub” marks, in some communities up to eight feet high, where the water remained stagnant for days and days after the storm. Cars are stacked on top of fences or lay uneasily against trees depending on circumstances, each of them marked with a foggy complexion and in certain cases showing signs of vandalism and/or dismantling.

Each building also bears another mark, of human origin. Spray painted symbols mark each and every building in effected areas, giving the date seach and rescue was able to check the home, how many bodies were found dead in the resident, how many animals were found, as well as additional information needed quickly by helping hands directly after the storm. The woman driving us through the community she lived in months earlier points to a home, mentions that someone had died in that home who was of note in the community. I can barely make out the rescue information on the front door of the home, as I realize they’ve attempted to remove the tattoo that had served as a reminder of their loss.

Tattoos remain everywhere reminding everyone of the loss. In some of the areas hit worst by the breaking levees, entire homes are uprooted and cars appear to be climbing trees, in an awesome spectacle of the power of water.

Most of the day was spent with a man named Bob, and his small one story home in a parish community on the north side of New Orleans. His home is in between two burst levees, but was put in harm primarily through one of the industrial canals which resides three or so blocks east of his property. Bob stayed in his home during the hurricane, and when noticing water entering the home, moved up into the attic where he stayed three days until finally rescued. His story only begins after being found in his home, but that story is for another day. Bob is a coach, or was, at a local school in his neighborhood, and spends his off months as a dance instructor on a cruiseline ship. He seems rather at ease, considering the state of his home. Currently, its a skeleton of a home, as three quarters of the sheetrock have been pulled off the walls and lay in a large heap outside on the street, along with a waterlogged couch and matress we deposited there as well. Bob, like many other residents in neighborhoods near levees, really doesn’t know what to do with his home. Two significant problems are holding back many home owners over a large percentage of the city.

1. Power
There’s no power.

Over four months after the storm, and power is still out. Much of the sub-stations that route electricity into these areas were owned by small power companies, and went backrupt after the storm. The deregulation of power comes with consequences, as local coffers are tapped dry or improperly allocated to fund this problem, and the federal government (to this point) is not going to step in.

As we explored the city this evening, we found ourself in the Ninth Ward, a sub-community on the northeast side of the city. This residential area is completely powerless, and left me almost speechless as we drove through. It was as if I had entered a strange post-apocolyptic film, but was still watch from behind a fast dollying camera. Randomly mixed within a mass of deserted homes, one would be lit with laterns or generator-powered string lights. One family played cards out in the high 60 degree evening as we rolled past. If seeing entire sub-developments destroyed by water damage doesn’t attack the senses in the daytime, perhaps this is just the nightime tour you need. It did the trick for me.

2. Rebuilding the Levees
Are the levees going to be fixed and properly upgraded to prevent such problems in the future? No one in these communities really wants to start rebuilding until they know, which is most likely one of the key reasons the federal government won’t step in to help restore power to these communities (although speculation on my part). Its a real issue. Many people have left and have given up on their properties, and many more are soon to follow unless some big decisions are made.

Its a sad state of affairs, and a long road ahead, but in our expedition through the Ninth Ward this evening, we finally found the destination we had been seeking. Every day, under a small, homemade metal dome structure able to seat around 400, a small group of men and women living in next door tents serves meals to anyone hungry: home owners, volunteers, etc, they are all welcome. As we sat with our meals, I felt the simple sense of community I had been hoping to see. People are laughing, talking about plumbing, and smacking their food while chatting with their friends and fellow man.

A volunteer pulls out a fiddle, which another pulls his digeredoo out from a corner and plays along (kind of). Its an atmosphere of rest, warmth, and a little despair with hope intermixed in strange increments. Of course, hippies are there (as the easiest way to describe them), mostly as part of the volunteer serving team, but many different types of people sit chewing in the tent, and I felt a little envious of their situation with its simplicity and overt raw humanity. No computers, no silly designing or conceptualizing, just people trying to make it and get back to normal. I’m strangely drawn to the moments like these… the snow days where you spend the entire day with a friend in a snow-ready vehicle, helping others out of ditches and grabbing saving your friends from being stranded at home watching soap operas. This situation here feels like a exponentially compounded version of that same day, stretched out over years and years of unrest and toil. I find myself laughing at how silly and naive I can be, and how much I’m glad that it drives my overall passion for the things I pursue.

Entry Filed under: Concepts and Thoughts