Well, just as there wasn’t much joy in Whoville, thus is life in the Lower 9th Ward nowadays – nearly eighteen months after Hurricane Katrina devastated much of the Gulf Coast – nearly a year and a half after Bush stood in New Orleans (finally, after his criminal negligence) and proclaimed that New Orleans will rise again.
The most famous of the destroyed areas outside of New Orleans has little to show for it other than desolation, weeds and debris as we approach the second holiday season after the levees around New Orleans (that this administration knew wouldn’t hold but still underfunded them) were breached and one of America’s most historic and cultural cities was no more – at least as far as anyone who ever lived or visited there would attest to.
A heart-wrenching article in today’s Times-Picayune has interviews, stories, examples and mind boggling statistics that paint a picture that is emblematic of just why this is the worst, most uncaring and selfish administration many of us will see in our lifetimes.
The stream of tourists has dried to a trickle from the torrent that once came by cab or in rented cars. They called it simply the Lower 9th, referring not to the political jurisdiction that stretches all the way through eastern New Orleans but to the devastated grid of about 20 by 25 blocks that had been embraced by worldwide media as the emblem of Katrina’s assault on the city’s working poor.
There is the story of 83 year old Herbert Gettridge, Sr. whose block is pretty much barren and whose wife is over a thousand miles away and can’t come back until the house is rebuilt:
Sixteen months after the floodwaters tore through his stucco-coated shotgun, Gettridge’s neighbors haven’t returned, and most of them probably never will.
“A lot of people can’t come back,” said Gettridge, a stubborn 83-year-old who has been rebuilding to provide a home for his ailing wife, who yearns for him in Madison, Wis. “In some cases, some people are better off now than they were before the storm.”
Out of the more than 5,500 homes in the Lower 9th Ward before Katrina struck, there are demolition permits outstanding for around 1,300 of them – the highest of any area in New Orleans. Sadly though, demolition permits don’t necessarily mean that there will be rebuilding. The telling sign here is the number of electrical permits that have been applied for
[o]nly 3 percent (of homes) in the Lower 9th (have applied for electrical permits), enough to power only 152 houses, three of them belonging to Gettridge.
“When you open the door at night, you don’t see nothing but broken-down houses. There’s nobody to talk to,” said Gettridge, who contents himself with his television, a crank radio and a King James version of the Bible.
And in true Christmas spirit – the grinches are back – thieves who are stealing whatever is left from people’s property. Like Gettridge’s $800 generator, which was stolen right out of his backyard recently along with some plywood.
Just over two weeks ago, another body was found in the Lower 9th Ward during a demolition. Officials think that it could be yet another victim of Katrina. Mind you – this is over sixteen months later – after the search for bodies was abandoned – much like the city was in the lead up, wake of and aftermath of the Hurricane.
An article in yesterday’s Seattle Times talks about reaching out to those in the Gulf Coast who the author had met with last year. And, similar to all of the other stories, this isn’t chock full of holiday cheer:
I called Ernest Ratliff at his service station in New Orleans’ Lower Ninth Ward. He said so little I thought the phone had gone dead.
But no. Just his hope.
—snip—
“Everything is about the same,” Ratliff told me the other day. “We ain’t got no help yet. The only insurance we had was on the cars.”
Christmas? Too much to think about.
“We take it one day at a time. We just keep on going.”
As for the icing on the cake, NPR reported last week that FEMA, the organization that wasted tens of millions of dollars, according to a recent GAO report, is now fighting a federal order to pay Katrina victims.
This city – these people – whose lives were ruined in the course of hours, have been pushed to the back burner. Treated as an afterthought for well over a year now. But during this holiday season, please take a moment to think about these Americans who deserve much better than what life has thrown at them.
May the new year bring them some level of peace and happiness.
also in orange
This is on America’s conscience:
First, it is on the conscience of those who voted for Bush in the first place.
Second, it is on the conscience of Bush for stealing the money to rebuild the levees that he knew needed rebuilding, then lying to New Orleans about help before & after Katrina.
Third, this is on the conscience of the media for failing to keep this in the spotlight.
Fourth, it is on the conscience of the 109th Congress for failing to do anything to help.
Fifth, it is on the conscience of Americans who turned away from the Crescent City in its time of need.
Sixth, this is on the conscience of every American, from Bush to Congress to you, whoever is reading this right now, for refusing to help after months of cries for help from New Orleans: While you have your nice cozy Christmas with your gifts & family in your nice warm house, think of how you didn’t do one damn thing to help. Did you go help? Did you send any money? Did you house a refugee?
No. You didn’t– you sit on your computer and tut tut about the “situation”, then move on to the next news item. You, whoever is reading this and has not done anything, are just as much to blame as Bush.
It is so upsetting to be lumped in as at fault every time Bush blows it. Or the Red Cross blows it when they are not held accountable for the monies we send them. I was not going to send money to the Red Cross because of mishandling of funds here in San Diego a couple of years ago during the big fires. I changed my mind and sent them money to help anyway and now they are once again unable to account for millions that people like me sent in.
So maybe instead of YOU going all negative on us, why not tell what you did/are doing to help the situation in NO.
that comment was directed at azureblue not clammyc.
But at those who will sit and read, and wish, but not do anything but wring their hands. Sorry. I know you are just as angry as I about this travesty, and we are in the same boat.
We can diary, but my friends (and fellow musicians) there, still have to get up every morning and face problems that we don’t even think of. Being in pretty much steady communication with several people there, I know what is going on down there, and we, who aren’t there, know maybe half of the story. I am speaking as a musician who is married to a musician. I lived and played there for many years, my wife, whose whole life & career was there, was flooded out, and it breaks my heart to hear of the old haunts, the school where I studied jazz, my favorite eateries, clubs, all gone or at least, barely standing.
My wife played at the Jazz Fest last year, and we went to Lakeview, close by the mighty 9th, to help a friend who owns a house there. Even though I was standing there at an intersection, seeing devastation and not one human soul for blocks in all directions, I could not believe what my eyes were telling me. People’s belongings out on the street- clothes, toys, books, furniture, all washed away by the flood. Doors and windows left open- anyone could walk into any house. The tell tale brown gray stain on the walls of the houses, telling everyone how deep the water was. And silence, awful silence, in what was once a vibrant neighborhood. We found one couple and they had begun rebuilding, but they were stoic and grim. It was easy to see how much work it would take to put Lakeview back together, but far, far worse, it was easy to see that the relationships of the people of the neighborhood, were destroyed, and would never be as they were.
See, and I want everyone who reads this to know this in their heart- a culture was destroyed. A culture based on music and the arts. A culture that grew over hundreds of years and was tightly woven into the fabric of the city.
You, reading this, stop and think about this: Hundreds of musicians’ lives ruined forever: Their homes flooded. Their instruments ruined, Their music- recording, manuscripts, scores, life’s work, mementos awards and treasures, gone. Musicians pleading for an instrument to play on, not just for having something to play, but to give them some point of sanity, to restore some semblance of reality to their shattered lives. Their friends, now gone, who’d call ’em up and say, “hey I got a gig at Snug Harbor, wanna come do it with me?” The years of musicians honing their craft, proving their worth to other musicians, years of building creative relationships- gone, dammit. So what are they going to do? Most of the clubs are gone. Most of the audiences- the club goers- are gone. So the club owners are struggling to reopen, but they can generate revenue to pay the players what they need, so those who are there are not making enough to survive. Recording? Hah! Even if studios like Ultrasonic were to rebuild, there aren’t enough musicians there to keep the studio booked and money coming in. Musicians now scattered all over the country, in strange places, having to rebuild their connections and re-establish their credentials from ground zero. And, let me tell you all, the want ads in a new town are a mighty poor place to look for gigs.
And I know all of this all too well. We were at the last Jazz Fest. It was a miracle that it happened in the first place- I don’t know how Quint managed to track down the players and get the whole thing to go- the crew, the stages, the sound gear, the whole thing was a miracle. To the audience that came, it was fun, and s sort of affirmation of the spirit of New Orleans. But to the musicians, we were people finding each other after the hell of war- hugs and handshakes that were more clinging, a bit too long, to something or someone who made it through, and the sheer joy of getting up and playing with people we thought we’d never see or get to play with again. and, better yet, finding that our fellow players still “had it” and were willing to put aside all the fear and grief and shock, and get on stage and play their hearts out, even for just 45 minutes. After the gigs, the looks in the musicians eyes were haunting- good people, now having to go back to the desperation of rebuilding their lives, now trying to cling to that short joy of playing together, and knowing that they will have to go back to trying to rebuild their lives, and wondering, again, if they would ever have another chance to play with their friends again.
Maybe I should end here- I think I am getting too personal for this diary. But maybe, if someone reads this and gets motivated to help the musicians of New Orleans, some good, however small, will come out of this. But I will ask one thing- Go to New Orleans and directly support the musicians there. Take them out to eat. Go to their gigs- and give them money, right into their hands. Never assume they are getting paid what they should be getting. Ask what they need, and try to fill the need. If they have records, buy one, even if you already have a copy. Buy records for gifts. And go the the Jazz Fest this year, and spend till it hurts. The musicians need it, The City needs it.
I feel your pain and understand better now where you are coming from. I am not in the position to help at this time in my life.
I am so angry that the government is funding this illegal occupation in Iraq to the tune of millions a day yet cannot fund helping these people rebuild their lives.