Not by violent overthrow, not by regime change, not even by civil disobedience to make a point, but by a simple recognition in the face of unrequited human suffering, individuals stepped into the breech. Their efforts and sacrifices were nothing to the unanticipated rewards. You let yourself be moved, didn’t second guess yourself, didn’t look elsewhere for initiative. You became an actor.
The collective grief, shame, shared humanity, outrage, vicarious emotions identifying with their fear, sense of abandonment, physical discomfort, thirst, hunger, humiliation, mindless grief over missing or dead loved ones, loss of amenities, personal treasures, photographs, a lifetime’s accumulation of family heirlooms – and worse yet – pets!
Action could be donating to the Red Cross or driving to the Gulf Coast. At least this time there was something to do besides donate blood. No wonder people wanted to offer shelter, it seemed like the most relevant gesture. Look at how the nations of the world felt compelled to help. And not just because our official response was poor, not just to be an example. Never was there such an in-your-face crying need; tragedy inflicted on a people already burdened. Will we ever again be able to ignore Africa?
New Orleans was the perfect place for it. It had these characters and qualities and history. There was an international leveling of the playing field. It gave those countries a chance to send their best technology. Most countries have universal health care, and in a way, would have had a better sense of how to deliver it.
There was some history-making: a Mexican convoy crossing the border for the first time since Sam Houston expelled Santa Ana, traversing right near the Alamo in San Antonio where Davy Crockett holed up. The Mexican army trains strictly for natural disasters.
The grand tragedy morphs into the grand spectacle. Air lifts. Metropolitan areas offering to provide shelter. Classrooms. Airbuses. Ships. Tens of thousands of volunteers heading to ground zero. Corporate donations. Home Depot networks collaborating for the first time. A rich mother and daughter decided to sell their favorite forty-two acres and give it to the poor. (And they were so excited they’d never done anything like that before. And maybe that’s the point.)
We had a chance to get it right. After 9-11, feeling stunned and impotent to help, we were sleep walkers, we followed the leader to Afghanistan and later Iraq.
Katrina – tragedy is awakening. This time there was plenty to do. Healing misunderstandings, history, ancient divides of class and culture. Everybody can play. At last we have something in common: rich and poor, all races and religions, all educational levels, all continents. Whatever your gifts and grievances, a common cause.
How exquisite that the poor, the forgotten, the least of these thy brethren were models of personal responsibility and mutual concern during their days of tribulation, learning to be more concerned for each other’s welfare, not less. Making sure they didn’t get more than one hotdog in case somebody else might get shorted. When the National Guard finally came to the rescue those stranded, even dying, at the Convention Center, they found none of the rumored violence and chaos. People were peaceful and cooperative. It was like D-Day and the Renaissance all wrapped into one.
[And this refers to Florence-Normandy the intersection where the LA riots started… and I think I mentioned to you my photographer-collaborator friend said, after we worked on this for a long time, “Florence-Normandy! Do you realize how significant that is as a crossroads? Normandy is battle. Florence is Renaissance. -- MF]