A stunning report, Mark, thanks.

***************************
Frank Parker
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http://frankshome.org


----- Original Message -----
From: "Mark Weiss" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Monday, September 12, 2005 1:15 PM
Subject: Another report from New Orleans.


> This from Counterpunch.
>
>
>
> First By the Floods, Then By Martial Law
>
>
> Trapped in New Orleans
>
> By LARRY BRADSHAW
> and LORRIE BETH SLONSKY
>
> Two days after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, the Walgreens store
at
> the corner of Royal and Iberville Streets in the city's historic French
> Quarter remained locked. The dairy display case was clearly visible
through
> the widows. It was now 48 hours without electricity, running water,
> plumbing, and the milk, yogurt, and cheeses were beginning to spoil in the
> 90-degree heat.
>
> The owners and managers had locked up the food, water, pampers and
> prescriptions, and fled the city. Outside Walgreens' windows, residents
and
> tourists grew increasingly thirsty and hungry. The much-promised federal,
> state and local aid never materialized, and the windows at Walgreens gave
> way to the looters.
>
> There was an alternative. The cops could have broken one small window and
> distributed the nuts, fruit juices and bottled water in an organized and
> systematic manner. But they did not. Instead, they spent hours playing cat
> and mouse, temporarily chasing away the looters.
>
> We were finally airlifted out of New Orleans two days ago and arrived home
> on Saturday. We have yet to see any of the TV coverage or look at a
> newspaper. We are willing to guess that there were no video images or
> front-page pictures of European or affluent white tourists looting the
> Walgreens in the French Quarter.
>
> We also suspect the media will have been inundated with "hero" images of
> the National Guard, the troops and police struggling to help the "victims"
> of the hurricane. What you will not see, but what we witnessed, were the
> real heroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief effort: the working class
> of New Orleans.
>
> The maintenance workers who used a forklift to carry the sick and
disabled.
> The engineers who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators running. The
> electricians who improvised thick extension cords stretching over blocks
to
> share the little electricity we had in order to free cars stuck on rooftop
> parking lots. Nurses who took over for mechanical ventilators and spent
> many hours on end manually forcing air into the lungs of unconscious
> patients to keep them alive. Doormen who rescued folks stuck in elevators.
> Refinery workers who broke into boat yards, "stealing" boats to rescue
> their neighbors clinging to their roofs in flood waters. Mechanics who
> helped hotwire any car that could be found to ferry people out of the
city.
> And the food service workers who scoured the commercial kitchens,
> improvising communal meals for hundreds of those stranded.
>
> Most of these workers had lost their homes and had not heard from members
> of their families. Yet they stayed and provided the only infrastructure
for
> the 20 percent of New Orleans that was not under water.
>
> * * *
>
> ON DAY Two, there were approximately 500 of us left in the hotels in the
> French Quarter. We were a mix of foreign tourists, conference attendees
> like ourselves and locals who had checked into hotels for safety and
> shelter from Katrina.
>
> Some of us had cell phone contact with family and friends outside of New
> Orleans. We were repeatedly told that all sorts of resources, including
the
> National Guard and scores of buses, were pouring into the city. The buses
> and the other resources must have been invisible, because none of us had
> seen them.
>
> We decided we had to save ourselves. So we pooled our money and came up
> with $25,000 to have ten buses come and take us out of the city. Those who
> didn't have the requisite $45 each were subsidized by those who did have
> extra money.
>
> We waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last 12 hours standing
> outside, sharing the limited water, food and clothes we had. We created a
> priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and newborn babies. We waited
> late into the night for the "imminent" arrival of the buses. The buses
> never arrived. We later learned that the minute they arrived at the city
> limits, they were commandeered by the military.
>
> By Day Four, our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was
> dangerously bad. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as
> well as water levels began to rise. The hotels turned us out and locked
> their doors, telling us that "officials" had told us to report to the
> convention center to wait for more buses. As we entered the center of the
> city, we finally encountered the National Guard.
>
> The guard members told us we wouldn't be allowed into the Superdome, as
the
> city's primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health
> hellhole. They further told us that the city's only other shelter--the
> convention center--was also descending into chaos and squalor, and that
the
> police weren't allowing anyone else in.
>
> Quite naturally, we asked, "If we can't go to the only two shelters in the
> city, what was our alternative?" The guards told us that this was our
> problem--and no, they didn't have extra water to give to us. This would be
> the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile "law
> enforcement."
>
> * * *
>
> WE WALKED to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street and
were
> told the same thing--that we were on our own, and no, they didn't have
> water to give us. We now numbered several hundred.
>
> We held a mass meeting to decide a course of action. We agreed to camp
> outside the police command post. We would be plainly visible to the media
> and constitute a highly visible embarrassment to city officials. The
police
> told us that we couldn't stay. Regardless, we began to settle in and set
up
> camp.
>
> In short order, the police commander came across the street to address our
> group. He told us he had a solution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain
> Expressway and cross the greater New Orleans Bridge to the south side of
> the Mississippi, where the police had buses lined up to take us out of the
> city.
>
> The crowd cheered and began to move. We called everyone back and explained
> to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation, so was he
sure
> that there were buses waiting for us. The commander turned to the crowd
and
> stated emphatically, "I swear to you that the buses are there."
>
> We organized ourselves, and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with
great
> excitement and hope. As we marched past the convention center, many locals
> saw our determined and optimistic group, and asked where we were headed.
We
> told them about the great news.
>
> Families immediately grabbed their few belongings, and quickly, our
numbers
> doubled and then doubled again. Babies in strollers now joined us, as did
> people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and other people in
> wheelchairs. We marched the two to three miles to the freeway and up the
> steep incline to the bridge. It now began to pour down rain, but it didn't
> dampen our enthusiasm.
>
> As we approached the bridge, armed sheriffs formed a line across the foot
> of the bridge. Before we were close enough to speak, they began firing
> their weapons over our heads. This sent the crowd fleeing in various
> directions.
>
> As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward and
> managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of
our
> conversation with the police commander and the commander's assurances. The
> sheriffs informed us that there were no buses waiting. The commander had
> lied to us to get us to move.
>
> We questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as there
> was little traffic on the six-lane highway. They responded that the West
> Bank was not going to become New Orleans, and there would be no Superdomes
> in their city. These were code words for: if you are poor and Black, you
> are not crossing the Mississippi River, and you are not getting out of New
> Orleans.
>
> * * *
>
> OUR SMALL group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from the
> rain under an overpass. We debated our options and, in the end, decided to
> build an encampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway--on the
> center divide, between the O'Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We reasoned
> that we would be visible to everyone, we would have some security being on
> an elevated freeway, and we could wait and watch for the arrival of the
> yet-to-be-seen buses.
>
> All day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the same
> trip up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be turned
> away--some chased away with gunfire, others simply told no, others
verbally
> berated and humiliated. Thousands of New Orleaners were prevented and
> prohibited from self-evacuating the city on foot.
>
> Meanwhile, the only two city shelters sank further into squalor and
> disrepair. The only way across the bridge was by vehicle. We saw workers
> stealing trucks, buses, moving vans, semi-trucks and any car that could be
> hotwired. All were packed with people trying to escape the misery that New
> Orleans had become.
>
> Our little encampment began to blossom. Someone stole a water delivery
> truck and brought it up to us. Let's hear it for looting! A mile or so
down
> the freeway, an Army truck lost a couple of pallets of C-rations on a
tight
> turn. We ferried the food back to our camp in shopping carts.
>
> Now--secure with these two necessities, food and water--cooperation,
> community and creativity flowered. We organized a clean-up and hung
garbage
> bags from the rebar poles. We made beds from wood pallets and cardboard.
We
> designated a storm drain as the bathroom, and the kids built an elaborate
> enclosure for privacy out of plastic, broken umbrellas and other scraps.
We
> even organized a food-recycling system where individuals could swap out
> parts of C-rations (applesauce for babies and candies for kids!).
>
> This was something we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of Katrina. When
> individuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out for
> yourself. You had to do whatever it took to find water for your kids or
> food for your parents. But when these basic needs were met, people began
to
> look out for each other, working together and constructing a community.
>
> If the relief organizations had saturated the city with food and water in
> the first two or three days, the desperation, frustration and ugliness
> would not have set in.
>
> Flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing families
> and individuals. Many decided to stay and join us. Our encampment grew to
> 80 or 90 people.
>
> From a woman with a battery-powered radio, we learned that the media was
> talking about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and news
> organizations saw us on their way into the city. Officials were being
asked
> what they were going to do about all those families living up on the
> freeway. The officials responded that they were going to take care of us.
> Some of us got a sinking feeling. "Taking care of us" had an ominous tone
> to it.
>
> Unfortunately, our sinking feeling (along with the sinking city) was
> accurate. Just as dusk set in, a sheriff showed up, jumped out of his
> patrol vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces and screamed, "Get off the
> fucking freeway." A helicopter arrived and used the wind from its blades
to
> blow away our flimsy structures. As we retreated, the sheriff loaded up
his
> truck with our food and water.
>
> Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway. All the law
> enforcement agencies appeared threatened when we congregated into groups
of
> 20 or more. In every congregation of "victims," they saw "mob" or "riot."
> We felt safety in numbers. Our "we must stay together" attitude was
> impossible because the agencies would force us into small atomized groups.
>
> In the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we scattered
> once again. Reduced to a small group of eight people, in the dark, we
> sought refuge in an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on Cilo
Street.
> We were hiding from possible criminal elements, but equally and
definitely,
> we were hiding from the police and sheriffs with their martial law, curfew
> and shoot-to-kill policies.
>
> The next day, our group of eight walked most of the day, made contact with
> the New Orleans Fire Department and were eventually airlifted out by an
> urban search-and-rescue team.
>
> We were dropped off near the airport and managed to catch a ride with the
> National Guard. The two young guardsmen apologized for the limited
response
> of the Louisiana guards. They explained that a large section of their unit
> was in Iraq and that meant they were shorthanded and were unable to
> complete all the tasks they were assigned.
>
> * * *
>
> WE ARRIVED at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. The
> airport had become another Superdome. We eight were caught in a press of
> humanity as flights were delayed for several hours while George Bush
landed
> briefly at the airport for a photo op. After being evacuated on a Coast
> Guard cargo plane, we arrived in San Antonio, Texas.
>
> There, the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort
> continued. We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we
> were forced to sit for hours and hours. Some of the buses didn't have air
> conditioners. In the dark, hundreds of us were forced to share two filthy
> overflowing porta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with any
> possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) were
> subjected to two different dog-sniffing searches.
>
> Most of us had not eaten all day because our C-rations had been
confiscated
> at the airport--because the rations set off the metal detectors. Yet no
> food had been provided to the men, women, children, elderly and disabled,
> as we sat for hours waiting to be "medically screened" to make sure we
> weren't carrying any communicable diseases.
>
> This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heartfelt
> reception given to us by ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker give
> her shoes to someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street offered us
> money and toiletries with words of welcome.
>
> Throughout, the official relief effort was callous, inept and racist.
There
> was more suffering than need be. Lives were lost that did not need to be
lost.
>
> LARRY BRADSHAW and LORRIE BETH SLONSKY are emergency medical services
(EMS)
> workers from San Francisco and contributors to
> <http://www.socialistworker.org/>Socialist Worker. They were attending an
> EMS conference in New Orleans when Hurricane Katrina struck. They spent
> most of the next week trapped by the flooding--and the martial law cordon
> around the city.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
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>
> <http://www.easycarts.net/ecarts/CounterPunch/CP_Books.html>
> []
> []
>
>