Living with Hurricanes

I had a lot of thoughts for my first blog entry, but this one was decided for me….

Until a few days ago, my only direct experience with hurricanes was Gloria, who ravaged a couple spots along the East Coast before brushing softly through Rhode Island on her way out to pasture. Since Gloria was the first hurricane to come our way in about 30 years, she gained the full fixation of the media, which caused a pound of precaution and even an ounce panic. I was 11 at the time (1985), and I distinctly remember us marking all of our windows with a large “X” in masking tape to combat shattering. A few families and many businesses even boarded theirs up with plywood, just to be safe. Everyone stocked up on canned food and water, and we waited for the onslaught.

I remember hoping we’d get hit hard. The raw power of nature is exciting, even captivating, and I desperately wanted to see just how strong a punch Gloria could pack. Gradually, the winds began to rise and the rain began to fall, but Gloria had lost most of her might by the time she reached us, and I even ventured outside to experience her dampened fury as she passed overhead.

Fast forward 23 years, and I find myself evacuated out of New Orleans, my home for only the past couple weeks. Resting comfortably on the living room couch of a friend in Atlanta, my eyes glued to the TV, I have watched the Gulf Coast brace for Gustav as scores of politicians try to reassure us that we are better prepared this time around. I moved to New Orleans to help the people there recover from the devastation of Katrina, but ironically, I spent most of my first workweek preparing to weather the coming storm.

I work as an AmeriCorps VISTA volunteer for a group called the St. Bernard Project (www.stbernardproject.org), which has helped the people of St. Bernard Parish (a low-lying county adjacent to New Orleans) to rebuild nearly 150 homes in the past year and a half. During that period, the Project has grown from a staff of two to a staff of 32, nearly all of whom are long term volunteers (compensated $100-200 per week for essential living expenses). With the help of up to 250 weekly volunteers from around the country, we are now able to work on more than 30 home-rebuilds at one time. The majority of this week, however, was spent tending to four tasks: collecting tools and supplies from worksites, securing our office and warehouse, removing trash and other materials that could become “missiles” in a flood situation, and most importantly, counseling families of the parish to ensure that they had what they needed in order to evacuate. Much of this work took place on August 29, the day that we had intended to do a large scale 24-hour build as a show of strength on the third anniversary of Katrina’s landfall.

Evacuation is an intense emotional experience, as you really have no idea what you’ll be returning to. I brought very little of any monetary value with me to New Orleans, but I had a hard time leaving anything behind. What’s essential and what isn’t? Books, pictures, clothes, furniture, technology? Fortunately for me, I didn’t have to make those choices, as I was able to gather most of my possessions on relatively short order. But my next-door neighbor, an 88-year old lifelong New Orleans resident, had to make lots of them. Evacuating with her son, daughter-in-law, daughter, three grandchildren, and a dog, there was little room for anything in their two cars besides the most essential items. Everything else had to be left behind. Whether any of it is there when she returns is something about which she can only hope and pray. She lost most of what she had in Katrina when her roof collapsed, and the thought of reliving that experience overwhelms her. “Oh Lord, I’m too old for this,” she says.

I’ve also been struck by the extensive cost of evacuating. It cost me $85 in gas to get to Atlanta. Due to the generosity of friends here, I’ve been spared the cost of accommodation. But many Gulf Coast residents don’t have that luxury. Everything and everyone they know is in or near New Orleans. There is no one outside the Gulf to receive them. Some native New Orleanian friends of mine evacuated to Shreveport, where they will spend $75 per night for a hotel room. Of course, they’ll have to pay for all of their meals as well. To a family on a fixed or limited income, evacuating for a few days (or potentially much longer), poses a staggering financial burden.

Many friends and family to whom I’ve spoken have suggested that “those people shouldn’t live in such a dangerous area.” From a distance, that may be a fair and rational observation. But I can’t agree with it. First and foremost, people have a right to live wherever they want to live on U.S. soil. The government built levees for a reason, and the levees should work. Other cities around the world have survived for centuries below sea level, and New Orleans should be no exception. Also, many areas of our country are susceptible to natural disaster – earthquakes, fires, tornadoes, floods, and hurricanes. We couldn’t realistically remove all Americans from the natural danger zones.

As I met some of the residents this week, I became aware that most of them live paycheck to paycheck. Moving to another part of the country (or even another part of the state) would cripple them financially, and it would inevitably destroy one of the great aspects of Gulf Coast culture: multiple generations of family living in the same town, or even neighborhood.

Sitting here in Atlanta at 4:37 EST on August 31, 2008, it certainly looks like Gustav is poised to pack the punch that I long ago hoped I’d get from Gloria. But from this new vantage point, I now hope he decides to spare us his display of power. Regardless of what he does, though, I know that we will keep building, and New Orleans will continue to rise.