The Katrina Horror Lives On

Jenny D breaks some terrible news. In an ongoing New Orleans homicide epidemic, five people were recently killed in 14 hours. They included filmmaker Helen Hill and Paul Gailiunas, a doctor who helped low-income patients. (UPDATE: Paul did not die. My apologies. He was shot, but remains in stable condition.) I didn’t know these two, but Jenny vouches for them as good people and I believe her. The thought of people being murdered because that Bush and FEMA view New Orleans as a problem that will eventually go away is enough to make me want to destroy something.

Katrina: One Year Later

Telling demographics.

New Orleans Bulldozed

Ray Nagin and the New Orleans City Council don’t care about black people. Cold bastards.

Journalism: The Human Element

Editor and Publisher: “A photographer for the Times-Picayune of New Orleans who has undergone severe personal trauma since Hurricana Katrina hit was arrested Tuesday after trying to get police to shoot him to death. Police said he claimed he was depressed after he found out he didn’t have enough insurance money to rebuild his Katrina-damaged home.”

There’s Always Room for Gumbo

[EDITOR'S NOTE: USA Today reporter Bob Minzesheimer was assigned to review David Brinkley's The Great Deluge. The published draft has an extremely strange and disconcerting paragraph pertaining to gumbo. Return of the Reluctant has obtained Minzesheimer's original draft of the review, demonstrating just what kind of job the USA Today editors had on their hands.]

My name is Bob Minzesheimer and I am here to tell you that I like gumbo. Real gumbo. Not the pantywaist gumbo that they try to pass off in yuppie restaurants, but the real shit in New Orleans. Pre-Katrina.

If you ask me, the tsunami’s biggest tragedy was the sudden surcease in gumbo making. I’ve always thought New Orleans was a city that never slept. Forget the fact that the streets were flooded and that people were angry. No disaster should prevent a good batch of gumbo from being made, distributed and consumed. Why, for example, has Mayor Ray Nagin remained so silent on the gumbo question? Surely, Brinkley could have devoted a chapter to this seminal issue.

As we all know, real men eat real gumbo. Real men also read real books and review real books while they’re eating real gumbo or thinking about eating real gumbo. Gumbo is of paramount importance when assessing a book’s worth or determining the level of scholarship. David Brinkley, I suspect, is a gumbo fan. But he is not a real gumbo fan. And by real, I think you know what I mean.

This gumbo stance is problematic on several levels. His book cannot succeed until he slaps down the American Express on the table and pays at least $60 for a good bowl of gumbo. But I suspect he fears gumbo. No journalist should fear gumbo. Brinkley’s fear is evident on page 126 of his new book, The Great Deluge, where he writes:

Gumbo was the last thing on Nagin’s mind. As the bodies piled up, the gumbo stopped.

This, of course, is a preposterous assertion. For even in the face of government neglect, there is always room for gumbo. Real gumbo. Gumbo makes things better. If FEMA had fed the dehydrated Katrina survivors some gumbo, then nobody would be pointing fingers at Michael Brown.

I am a real man. I am also a real journalist. And I am momentarily a real book reviewer. But more importantly, I am the world’s foremost authority on gumbo. You may not know this, but I took a correspondence course and became a gumbo authority. Not even my wife knows this. I keep my gumbo expertise a secret from my friends and peers. I’ve kept quiet for too long. You, the devoted readers of USA Today, are the first to know.

I have been assigned to read this damn Brinkley book and I can’t stop thinking of gumbo. Many people have died and have had their lives uprooted. Such pedantic issues as government incompetence and unnecessary deaths mean nothing in the great scheme of things, particularly when gumbo is involved.

There is something about Brinkley’s face that makes me pine for gumbo. Surely I am not the only one who feels this way after staring at the author photograph. The cruel people at USA Today don’t pay me enough to buy real gumbo and chances are that you, the mere USA Today reader, haven’t experienced real gumbo.

So let’s stop all this discussion of who was right and who was wrong. Who needs more politics when there’s real gumbo to masticate upon? Let’s prevent Brinkley from writing more books. Come to my two-bedroom house anytime and let me show you that real gumbo makes the world go round.

The Height of Incompetence

Exhibit A: 1,300 lives. (via MeFi)

How Do They Sleep at Night?

It’s been kept under the table for a while, but the elderly are having major problems adjusting to their post-Katrina displacement. For those who haven’t died from the stress, many are facing severe cognitiive attrition without recovery (”Once it’s gone, it’s gone”). Or they’re severely disoriented and confused because they were too frail to move. NPR covered the story this morning and it’s a heartbreaking segment, particularly the woman who carries her recently deceased husband’s photo in a brown bag. Of course, if this were any other country, there would be enough money earmarked to help these people adjust. But this being the United States, profligacy knows no limits. Heck of a job.

New Orleans — The Abandoned Stepchild

New York Times: “We are about to lose New Orleans. Whether it is a conscious plan to let the city rot until no one is willing to move back or honest paralysis over difficult questions, the moment is upon us when a major American city will die, leaving nothing but a few shells for tourists to visit like a museum. We said this wouldn’t happen. President Bush said it wouldn’t happen. He stood in Jackson Square and said, ‘There is no way to imagine America without New Orleans.’ But it has been over three months since Hurricane Katrina struck and the city is in complete shambles.” (via Ghost in the Machine)

[RELATED LINK: It looks like the New Orleans Public Library is also in serious trouble, with a whole slew of city history threatened. (Thank you, Dan Wickett.)]

And So It Begins Again

Rita: the third largest hurricane in history. Source of Texas oil supply. Population thankfully moving north. This will not be pretty.

New Acronyms for FEMA

SF Katrina Benefit

From Stephen Elliott:

The Progressive Reading Series Presents:
A Special Benefit For The Victims Of Hurricane Katrina

When: Monday, September 19, 7pm
Where: The Makeout Room - 3225 22nd Street, San Francisco, (415) 647 2888
Price: $10 - $20 sliding scale
Proceeds to benefit the Louisiana Disaster Recovery Fund

What: Authors band together to help victims of Hurricane Katrina
Featuring readings from: Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket), Firoozeh Dumas, Julie Orringer, Peter Orner, Daphne Gottlieb, Kaui Hart Hemmings, Truong Tran, Michelle Richmond, Anne Marino, Micheline Aharonian Marcom, Tom Barbash, and Michelle Tea

If This Is True, Here’s Your Grounds for Impeachment

The Washington Post: “Shortly before midnight Friday, the Bush administration sent her a proposed legal memorandum asking [Gov. Blanco] to request a federal takeover of the evacuation of New Orleans, a source within the state’s emergency operations center said Saturday.”

If there was an ultimatum issued and troops and aid to save lives were delayed because of this power grab, then the real investigations need to begin right now. Sickening. (via MeFi)

Who Needs Food and Water Anyway? Perhaps They Should Distribute Freshly Charged Cell Phones Too, Given That All the Phones Are Down.

Salt Lake Tribune: “Many of the firefighters, assembled from Utah and throughout the United States by the Federal Emergency Management Agency, thought they were going to be deployed as emergency workers. Instead, they have learned they are going to be community-relations officers for FEMA, shuffled throughout the Gulf Coast region to disseminate fliers and a phone number: 1-800-621-FEMA.”

First-Person Story from the Convention Center

The following email was forwarded to me. It originates from Lisa C. Moore:

i heard from my aunt last night that my cousin Denise made it out of New Orleans; she’s at her brother’s in Baton Rouge. from what she told me: her mother, a licensed practical nurse, was called in to work on Sunday night at Memorial Hospital (historically known as Baptist Hospital to those of us from N.O.). Denise decided to stay with her mother, her niece and grandniece (who is 2 years old); she figured they’d be safe at the hospital. they went to Baptist, and had to wait hours to be assigned a room to sleep in; after they were finally assigned a room,two white nurses suddenly arrived after the cut-off time (time to be assigned a room), and Denise and her family were booted out; their room was given up to the new nurses. Denise was furious, and rather than stay at Baptist, decided to walk home (several blocks away )to ride out the storm at her mother’s apartment. her mother stayed at the hospital.

she described it as the scariest time in her life. 3 of the rooms in the apartment (there are only 4) caved in. ceilings caved in, walls caved in. she huddled under a mattress in the hall. she thought she would die from either the storm or a heart attack. after the storm passed, she went back to Baptist to seek shelter (this was Monday). it was also scary at Baptist; the electricity was out, they were running on generators, there was no air conditioning. Tuesday the levees broke, and water began rising. they moved patients upstairs, saw boats pass by on what used to be streets. they were told that they would be evacuated, that buses were coming. then they were told they would have to walk to the nearest intersection, Napoleon and S. Claiborne, to await the buses. they waded out in hip-deep water, only to stand at the intersection, on the neutral ground (what y’all call the median) for 3 1/2 hours. the buses came and took them to the Ernest Morial Convention Center. (yes, the convention center you’ve all seen on TV.)

Denise said she thought she was in hell. they were there for 2 days, with no water, no food. no shelter. Denise, her mother (63 years old), her niece (21 years old), and 2-year-old grandniece. when they arrived, there were already thousands of people there. they were told that buses were coming. police drove by, windows rolled up, thumbs up signs. national guard trucks rolled by, completely empty, soldiers with guns cocked and aimed at them. nobody stopped to drop off water. a helicopter dropped a load of water, but all the bottles exploded on impact due to the height of the helicopter.

the first day (Wednesday) 4 people died next to her. the second day (Thursday) 6 people died next to her. Denise told me the people around her all thought they had been sent there to die. again, nobody stopped. the only buses that came were full; they dropped off more and more people, but nobody was being picked up and taken away. they found out that those being dropped off had been rescued from rooftops and attics; they got off the buses delirious from lack of water and food. completely dehydrated. the crowd tried to keep them all in one area; Denise said the new arrivals had mostly lost their minds. they had gone crazy.

inside the convention center, the place was one huge bathroom. in order to shit, you had to stand in other people’s shit. the floors were black and slick with shit. most people stayed outside because the smell was so bad. but outside wasn’t much better: between the heat, the humidity, the lack of water, the old and very young dying from dehydration… and there was no place to lay down, not even room on the sidewalk. they slept outside Wednesday night, under an overpass.

Denise said yes, there were young men with guns there.but they organized the crowd. they went to Canal Street and “looted,” and brought back food and water for the old people and the babies, because nobody had eaten in days. when the police rolled down windows and yelled out “the buses are coming,” the young men with guns organized the crowd in order: old people in front, women and children next, men in the back. just so that when the buses came, there would be priorities of who got out first.

Denise said the fights she saw between the young men with guns were fist fights. she saw them put their guns down and fight rather than shoot up the crowd. but she said that there were a handful of people shot in the convention center; their bodies were left inside, along with other dead babies and old people.

Denise said the people thought there were being sent there to die. lots of people being dropped off, nobody being picked up. cops passing by, speeding off. national guard rolling by with guns aimed at them. and yes, a few men shot at the police, because at a certain point all the people thought the cops were coming to hurt them, to kill them all. she saw a young man who had stolen a car speed past, cops in pursuit; he crashed the car, got out and ran, and the cops shot him in the back. in front of the whole crowd. she saw many groups of people decide that they were going to walk across the bridge to the west bank, and those same groups would return, saying that they were met at the top of the bridge by armed police ordering them to turn around, that they weren’t allowed to leave.

so they all believed they were sent there to die.

Denise’s niece found a pay phone, and kept trying to call her mother’s boyfriend in Baton Rouge, and finally got through and told him where they were. the boyfriend, and Denise’s brother, drove down from Baton Rouge and came and got them. they had to bribe a few cops, and talk a few into letting them into the city (”come on, man, my 2-year-old niece is at the Convention Center!”), then they took back roads to get to them.

after arriving at my other cousin’s apartment in Baton Rouge, they saw the images on TV, and couldn’t believe how the media was portraying the people of New Orleans. she kept repeating to me on the phone last night: make sure you tell everybody that they left us there to die. nobody came. those young men with guns were protecting us. if it wasn’t for them, we wouldn’t have had the little water and food they had found.

that’s Denise Moore’s story.

Lisa C. Moore

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Finally, Some Good News

Aid has finally arrived.

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Poppy Z. Brite — Is She Okay?

Troubling news from Caitlin Kiernan: It seems she’s been unable to get in touch with Ms. Brite in Mississippi. Jesus, I hope she’s okay.

[UPDATE: Poppy's okay and has has just posted at her blog.]

Katrina Headlines XXII

Okay, we’re doing our best to balance the tragic with the comic (one of the reasons we extended the photo contest). Apologies for the inconsistency in tone, but it keeps us sane. So here’s the latest rundown.

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Huzzahs to the Times-Picayune

The Times-Picayune must be commended for their remarkable journalism under the circumstances. Remarkable photos, first-hand accounts and solid information to draw conclusions from. These folks are still putting out a newspaper despite having to capitulate their building and despite a paper edition precluded by the rising waters. In today’s edition, there are the following details:

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Photo Caption Racism

Black people loot, white people borrow. (via Maud)

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Rising Floodwaters Outside Superdome

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