Katrina Continues to Swirl
How convenient it is, two years later to the day, not to think about it.
We've had a nice morning of errand-running, playground-going, and farmer's market-visiting, including a shared peanut butter and honey sandwich for lunch (prepared by Whole Foods, the market sponsor) and locally made ice cream. It's beautiful here—meaning it's not 101 degrees outside, finally—so it's all too easy not to remember the tragedy of Katrina.
For a quick-serve tie-in, and to learn from Louisiana natives just how short the recovery efforts after Katrina and Rita are falling, please take a few minutes to read this. It affects you: your grocery and restaurant bills, the source of your foods, the well-being of your fellow citizens, the lessons learned (or not) for the place you live.
Baby A was tiny when Katrina happened, so it was the parents' problems that got to me the most. The worst was watching the parents with small children and babies, sitting, helplessly, in the sun while their children cried at their feet and in their arms. I remember
hoping most of those babies were still nursing, considering there was no clean water for making formula—if there was even any formula around. How could we let American families linger in those circumstances? Aren't we better than that?
In the following weeks, I argued with close family members about what should have happened, and didn't. Some of them insisted the feds were right not to send in helicopters and other rescue vehicles to try to save those lives, that the lack of action was exactly what was supposed to happen, that it was all up to the local resources.
I asked, if a catastrophic earthquake were to hit San Francisco, and the city was on fire and my brother and his wife were stranded on their rooftop with a lake of flames all around, what then? Would they not want our taxpayer-backed helicopters to swoop in and lift them off of their apartment rooftop? At least, try? Or would they prefer that the City of San Francisco send in its cable cars, or something? Accuse me of oversimplifying, if you want, but you have to admit the question stands. How much do we let our people suffer?
Here's the kicker: Clearly, there were communications breakdowns and failures of preparation, no matter who you want to blame. Today have those failures been rectified? Are our cities, and is our nation, ready for future catastrophes, whenever they might strike? Our family lives in a hurricane-prone area. I lived through an unexpectely bad hurricane in 1995; we lost power for a full week, but were basically okay. Is our city ready today, and will my federal government come to my aid if local resources are overwhelmed?
I want to hope so, want to be optimistic—but am afraid I know the answer already. What do you think? How is your family reflecting on this grim anniversary?
