Equal Justice Society News

In the months following our nation's worst hurricane, it has become increasingly clear that people of all races and economic backgrounds share the belief that the federal government has a responsibility to protect and support its people in times of disaster. Consistent with this view, EJS issued a petition to the White House, members of Congress, and the United Nations calling for "bold action" to alleviate the human suffering that persists along race and class lines in this nation.

On December 8, 2005, more than three months since Hurricane Katrina ravaged the Gulf Coast - and one week after the Lower 9th Ward was temporarily reopened to its residents, EJS traveled to Louisiana to survey the progress that had been made. We flew into New Orleans on a 737 connector from Houston. Displaced residents fortunate enough to afford a plane ticket home, government contractors enticed by growing employment opportunities, and outsiders from around the country filled the plane with chatter and laughter, engaging in lively discussions not often found aboard aircraft, especially one approaching the scene of the worst natural disaster this nation has ever endured.

Descending into the airport, the cold reality of post-Katrina New Orleans rushed in. Louis Armstrong International, once a vibrant center of activity that accommodated more than 360,000 passengers in August 2005, appeared deserted, without aircraft on the tarmac and only a smattering of aircraft parked at the gates. It became difficult to forget the vivid accounts of death and mayhem that occurred at the New Orleans airport. This was the same airport where dozens were reportedly brought and left to die, often for lack of medical supplies and personnel.

Upon arrival at the airport, our original plan to rent a car, buy a New Orleans map and stumble our way through the city was thwarted: locals, in an awesome display of Southern hospitality despite their circumstances, met us at the terminal and insisted upon giving us an "insider's" view of the city.

For months prior to our travel, we watched and listened to hours of reporting on the disaster and interviewed numerous evacuees from the region; yet, we were unprepared for the live devastation we witnessed. It is impossible to capture on camera - or with words - the breadth of the destruction that stretched in every direction.

Driving from the airport toward the city, we passed trees uprooted along the road, roofs collapsed into buildings, an overturned car in a ditch. To our statements of disbelief, our hosts replied, "This is nothing, wait 'til we get to the city."

We quickly learned what they meant: entering New Orleans proper, the scenery was nothing short of apocalyptic.

For more than three hours, our hosts drove us through the torn neighborhoods of New Orleans. We lapsed into silence as we took it in with our eyes: the holes torn through the rooftops of homes where survivors struggled to escape the rising waters; the sickly yellow water lines on each house marking where floodwaters had settled; spray-painted quadrants with indecipherable - and decipherable ("D.O.A.," "1 Dog," "2 Cats") - markings left by search and rescue teams; doors hanging off their hinges, allowing a full view of the house interiors, where molded furniture lay as if thrown carelessly by intruders.

Still, more than three months after the hurricane, the degree to which neighborhoods had been cleaned of debris and rebuilt seemed to depend upon the level of residents' wealth in each neighborhood.

In the wealthier neighborhoods, the streets were teeming with workers gutting houses, demolishing the unsalvageable structures, picking up and hauling away trash and debris, restoring electricity. We did not see many government employees among the workers; almost all worked for private companies that had contracted either with the federal government or were hired by residents. In these areas, where residents could afford to pay for such services, many had returned home and begun the process of rebuilding their lives.

In the poorer neighborhoods, muddy couches, refrigerators, televisions, children's toys, and clothes were strewn along the streets, where it looked like debris had simply been shoved to the side of the road and left to sit, in order to make way for passersby. Workers were virtually nowhere to be seen. Few residents had returned to their homes, many of which still lacked electricity. Walking along the sidewalk in eastern New Orleans, where electricity had been restored only the week before we arrived, the silence was eerie as night fell. Though the majority of houses in this small stretch were spared from the floodwaters, not a soul roamed the streets, where two street lamps struggled to light an entire block. Four blocks down, a homeowner - the only on her block, it seemed - hung holiday lights, as if to defiantly demand that the joyful spirit of the holidays still come.

Then, of course, there was the Lower 9th Ward, one of the poorest (in economic terms) neighborhoods in New Orleans. Having heard so much about the Lower 9th, we were anxious to see for ourselves the extent of the destruction in that neighborhood. Our hosts informed us of a 4 p.m. curfew they were careful not to test. So, we rushed to get to the neighborhood, but to no avail: we tried a number of different entrances, only to be blocked by barricades and military trucks. Residents of the Lower 9th were allowed in for a "look and leave" visitation. From outside the barricades, we could see a few residents in the streets, trying to salvage belongings from their destroyed homes (unlikely, given the three months that had passed since the floodwaters advanced), before being forced to leave before nightfall. How tragic, we thought, that residents of this once vibrant neighborhood, with a 60 percent homeownership rate and community ties stretching back generations, have no idea when - or if - they will be allowed to return. Unlike those in wealthier sections across town, these homeowners and residents continue to wonder where and when - or if - they will be allowed to rebuild their lives and their homes.

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