In 2008 I went to New Orleans as a
volunteer with Mennonite Disaster Service to help people recovering from Hurricane
Katrina. Since my construction skills are limited (putting it kindly), I
volunteered to do writing and reporting about the experience. The posts below
are the result.
After over 30 hours driving, we arrived in New Orleans this evening. Before coming to the MDS office and unit house, we went to Waveland, Mississippi, located just east of the city. This is where Hurricane Katrina came ashore almost three years ago.
Some of the homes
have been rebuilt, propped up on 12-foot-high posts and piles. But in many
cases, all that remains is a concrete slab where a home used to be.
We passed by a
Catholic Church (St. Clare Parish). The church is gone, and the congregation
now meets in a temporary building where the sanctuary used to be.
Outside of the
building is a hand-painted sign: “Katrina was big, but God is bigger.”
A drive away from
the beach takes us through the suburbs. Empty, boarded up buildings dot the
landscape–businesses, offices, stores and even entire strip malls.
Despite all this,
life looks normal–people driving, going to restaurants, living their usual
lives.
Tomorrow we head
off to our work sites; one crew will be working on the same street as a crew
supported and sponsored by Brad Pitt. According to one report, he will be on
site this week. We’ll see if that’s true.
Imagine half of the houses on your street ruined and empty. That’s what it’s like in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans today, almost three years after Hurricane Katrina.
Drive down any
street and you’ll see empty, boarded up houses. Some will never be
rebuilt–their owners have simply walked away. The city publishes lists of
houses that it will demolish unless owners begin renovations.
One of the most devastated
places in the Ward is Tennessee St. That’s where Robert Green lives. His house
is gone, as are all the other houses on the street–just a few concrete slabs
and some piles can be seen.
Green, a 52-year-old
accountant, lives in a trailer where his house used to be. Outside the trailer
is a memorial to his mother and granddaughter, both lost in the storm.
The Ninth Ward
flooded when the Industrial Canal was breached during the storm. The place
where it was breached is very close to Green’s house–you can see it from his
trailer.
He had only a few
minutes to get his elderly mother, three grandchildren and a cousin up on to
the roof before the water rushed in. The flood tore his house off its
foundation; it floated down the street for about a block before coming to rest
against another home.
Green tried to get
his family to safety on the roof of that house, but his granddaughter slipped
off and was drowned. Before they could be rescued, his mother also died.
His granddaughter’s
body was found on Oct. 17, over two months after the storm; his mother’s body
was not recovered until the end of December, even though he had told
authorities exactly where it was–on the roof of the house where he left her
after they were rescued.
(Green’s story
became symbolic of the both the tragic nature of the disaster, and of the
futility of the response. He was interviewed by a number of media outlets, and
his story was carried on CNN and PBS, among others.)
Stories of pain and
loss aren’t hard to find in the Ninth Ward. And yet, there is normalcy and
hope, too. People consistently say how blessed they are to have survived, even
if everything they owned was lost.
Green doesn’t
minimize his loss. But, he notes, it has enabled him to meet people from all
over the world who have come to New Orleans to help people like him.
“I never would have
met them if the storm hadn’t happened,” he said. “It helps me get over the
anguish I feel over the loss of my mother and granddaughter. It’s made it
possible for me to move on.”
As for our crew,
some spent the day framing, while others installed drywall. I worked on
Catalina Biosseau’s house with Eddie Neufeld, a 77-year-old longer term MDS
volunteer from Reedley, California.
Catalina’s house is
almost finished. Our job was to apply some finishing touches on the home where
she will live with her daughter and disabled husband. She expects to move in in
three weeks.
When Catalina came
back to her ruined home, she said she “cried and cried,” she said. She wondered
if anyone would be able to help her.
Through Catholic
Charities, she was referred to MDS, who built her a brand-new house. She can
hardly wait to get out of the trailer in her back yard.
“I am so happy
now,” she says. “I’ve got my life back again.”
One of the great things about visiting another city is learning unique things about it. Here in New Orleans that means things like shotgun houses.
A shotgun house is
a narrow house with no halls. The rooms are arranged one after the other down
the length of the building, with the doors lined up with one another.
Shotgun houses were
designed as an inexpensive way to fit the narrow New Orleans lots. They are
basically about the width of a mobile home.
Why are they called
shotgun houses? Explanations vary, but the most common is that if you fired a
shotgun in the front door, the pellets would carry through the house and out
the back door without hitting anything.
A local resident,
who grew up in a shotgun house, told me there is a practical reason for these
houses; the breeze could come in the front door and go out the back (or vice
versa). He recalled his mother placing fans at both the front and back doors to
circulate air through the house.
In addition to the
single shotgun, there is the double shotgun: Two shotgun houses side-by-side.
Another variation is the camelback, a shotgun house with a partial second floor
over the rear of the house.
Many of the city’s
shotgun houses, which were built from the Civil War to the 1920s, were damaged
or destroyed by the flood. Many are being repaired, but many others are boarded
up.
None of the homes
we are working on are shotgun houses.
As Vice President for Community Mobilization of the United Way of New Orleans, Steve Zimmer helps coordinate the efforts of dozens of agencies helping in the city, including MDS.
He came back to New
Orleans, the city of his birth, to start this job three days before Hurricane
Katrina hit. He’s been living with the storm ever since.
While he loves his
job, and knows he is making a difference, Zimmer struggles with anger.
He’s angry over
things like how long it took to begin developing a coordinated response to the
disaster, over the frustratingly slow pace of the recovery effort, and over the
“colossal failure” of government at all levels in the relief and recovery
phase.
But he also
struggles with survivor’s guilt.
Since it’s located
on higher ground, Zimmer’s house was not flooded. It was damaged by the
hurricane, but not lost. His insurance company didn’t provide near enough in
compensation for him to fix everything, but he and his wife have a house to
live in. Which is more than a lot of people in this city can say.
To cope with his
feelings of anger and guilt, Zimmer goes to a therapist.
“I don’t hide it,”
he says. “I’m open about it with my staff. It gives them permission to talk
about their feelings and see it’s OK to get help. We all could use the
support.”
Zimmer’s comments
touch on something we might not think about that much during disaster recovery
efforts: Who will help the helpers?
Being constantly
immersed in the pain of others wears people down. And with no end to the
recovery in sight, it will only become more burdensome for those whose job it
is to care for the neediest residents of this city.
Just before Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans and the surrounding area, Wal-Mart CEO Lee Scott sent an edict to all regional, district and store managers: “A lot of you are going to have to make decisions above your level. Make the best decision that you can with the information that’s available to you at the time, and, above all, do the right thing.”
Wal-Mart employees
responded.
At one store, an
employee used a forklift to knock open a warehouse door to get water for a
retirement home. At another, employees allowed police to use the store as a
headquarters and a sleeping place, as many had lost their homes.
At a third, assistant
manager Jessica Lewis ran a bulldozer through her store to collect basics that
were not water-damaged, which she then piled in the parking lot and gave away
to residents. She also broke into the store’s locked pharmacy to supply
critical drugs to a hospital.
Doing the right
thing is also the policy of agencies like MDS.
For MDS, that means
relying on local agencies to provide them with people who truly are in need of
help. It means never over-promising on what they can deliver. And it means
involving the homeowner in decisions related to repair and reconstruction.
But doing the right
thing doesn’t always means that things end up perfectly.
Take what’s
happening on Ead St. in the Gentilly section of New Orleans, where I am working.
On one block of
that street there are seven houses. All were damaged in the flood. Of the
seven, three are still unoccupied and two have been repaired by the homeowners.
MDS is building two
new houses; in both cases, the recipients were vetted by a local agency and
recommended to MDS due to their age and disabilities. Everyone did the right
thing.
But right next door
to one of the new homes is the home owned by Vivian Mansion.
Vivian is a widow
in her 50s. During a break in the work, I saw her watching our progress and
wandered outside to talk. Vivian told me she did not qualify for assistance
from any agency (according to the rules and guidelines set up by the city and
the state for assistance).
In her case, she
was given the name of a contractor and instructed to use her insurance money to
repair her home.
The insurance
wasn’t enough to cover all the repairs, and the contractor didn’t do a good job
(the house isn’t level and the porch leans). She hired a plumber from out of
state to put in new plumbing, but he didn’t do it according to local code; she
had to pay another plumber to do it all over again.
As we watched
volunteers from Winnipeg work on the MDS house, she spoke appreciatively of
their efforts. But she also noted how lucky her neighbours were, getting new
houses built with free labour.
She wasn’t bitter
or angry. “I don’t have all I want, but I have all I need,” she said. But
still, she wondered: Why did others get their homes replaced, but not her?
I didn’t have a
good answer. I wished I could have conjured up a dozen volunteers and thousands
of dollars to make everything right. All I could do was commiserate and share a
brief prayer on the sidewalk, asking that God would help to make things right.
Agencies like MDS,
as well as others, struggle with Vivian’s question. In a place like New
Orleans, where 200,000 homes were damaged or destroyed, where do you begin?
With so much need, and finite resources, who do you decide to help?
In other words,
things don’t always end perfectly for everyone during a disaster recovery, even
if, like MDS, you do the right things.
Another evening out tonight, this time to Preservation Hall to hear some real New Orleans Jazz. Playing tonight was the New Birth Brass Band. They played all the favourites, and also a special request for a member of our group who is celebrating her 16th birthday in New Orleans.
The band played
about eight versions of “Happy Birthday” to Becky, my daughter, enjoining
the standing-room crowd to join in, making it a memorable evening for one
Manitoba teenager.
During a break in
sets, I went for a walk on nearby Bourbon Street. The place was jam-packed and
jumping: Tourism seems to be alive and well once again in New Orleans.
This is quite a
contrast from the Ninth Ward and Gentilly, where we are working. Down there,
it’s pretty quiet, save for the noise of hammers and saws.
This disconnect is
not lost on the locals. They repeatedly tell us they understand the importance
of tourism to the New Orleans economy, and of the need for the city to promote
itself as being back to normal for tourists.
But that’s not the
reality they experience. They see money being spent to advertise New Orleans,
but they still struggle to get the funding and assistance they need to build
their homes and livelihoods.
While I was at one
of the MDS houses yesterday, a tour bus drove by. It’s easy to be critical of
people who drive by to look at other people’s misfortune. But, if I’m honest,
I’m not so different. Every night when I watch the news I tour through the
misery of others, both drawn and repelled by the story.
It’s like watching
a funeral procession: It catches our attention, but it fails to move us.
Even after a week
in New Orleans I find my eyes easily drawn to all the empty, vacant houses,
windows boarded up, roofs peeling, rubble piled up outside on the curb. It’s a
normal reaction, even if you know you shouldn’t stare.
Luckily, people
here are gracious and welcoming, never critical, even for a tourist like me.
All week down here in New Orleans there’s been nary a mention of Manitoba, or Canada, for that matter, in the local newspaper (The Times-Picayune).
But that changed
today with the report of the frightful stabbing and beheading on the Greyhound
bus near Portage la Prairie.
Of course, that’s
not all that happened in Manitoba yesterday. But that’s all that people in New
Orleans will know about a province we call “friendly.”
The experience
reminds me that what we tend to know about the world are the terrible and
tragic things: Death, destruction, crime, war, disaster, tragedy.
These things occur,
and it would be pollyanish to pretend otherwise. But these aren’t the only
things that happen in the world every day.
I could fill my
blog with stories about all the empty lots and boarded up houses in New
Orleans. But that would only be part of the story. There are also houses being
rebuilt, people moving back, communities and neighbourhoods struggling to be
re-born. And that is part of the story, too.
I was interviewing
Thira Duplessis the other night. She’s the wife of Charles, the pastor of the
Mount Nebo Baptist Church. MDS is building a new house for Charles and Thira;
their home, in the Lower Ninth Ward, was completely destroyed by the flood that
followed the storm.
So was their
church; out of 120 members, only about 20 are left in New Orleans.
What does a pastor
do when not only is his church gone, but his congregation, too? But that’s a
story for another day.
After the
interview, I asked her to spell her name. Here’s what she gave me: Thirawer.
“Thirawer?” I said.
“I thought you pronounced it ‘Thira.’”
“I do,” she
replied. “The extra letters are lanny-yap.”
Lanny-yap? I told
her I had never heard that word before.
“It’s an old
Lousiana expression for extra,” she replied. “In my case, it’s extra letters.”
Curious, I went to
Google (where else?) to find out more.
As it turns out,
the word is spelled “lagniappe.” It is derived from the Spanish phrase la
ñapa (meaning “something that is added”). In use down here it refers
to something extra that a merchant might give you in addition to your purchase.
The spelling shows the French influence in the region.
Mark Twain wrote
about the word in his 1883 book, Life on the Mississippi. Said Twain:
“We picked up one
excellent word—a word worth travelling to New Orleans to get;
a nice limber, expressive, handy wor —“lagniappe.” They pronounce it lanny-yap.
It is Spanish—so they said.
” . . . It has a
restricted meaning, but I think the people spread it out a little when they
choose. It is the equivalent of the thirteenth roll in a “baker’s dozen. It
is something thrown in, gratis, for good measure. The custom
originated in the Spanish quarter of the city.”
” . . . When you
are invited to drink, and this does occur now and then in New Orleans —
and you say, “What, again? No, I’ve had enough;” the other party says, “But
just this one time more—this is for lagniappe.”
Maybe I’ll find a
use for that word when I get home, too.
The week in New Orleans is over; tomorrow we head home.
We leave behind one
house that is partially framed; another house is ready to be painted; a third
needs a final coat of drywall mud. A bathroom was tiled at a fourth house,
while a family will dedicate and move into their almost completed house next
week.
Each of these
houses are the product of the labour of many people. A total of ten groups are
coming down to New Orleans this summer from across North America, including two
from Manitoba. Each group added their bit to the ongoing projects.
For us, the effort
has been more than rewarding. We’ve gotten to know each other better across
intergenerational lines. We laughed, played and worked—lots and lots of work.
At the same time,
we’ve gotten to know people here in New Orleans. They graciously admitted us
into their lives, and into their pain and loss. We were humbled to hear their
stories, and to see how strong and courageous they are in the face of
considerable obstacles.
While writing this
blog I have attempted to show both the challenges that face this city, and also
the difficulties of doing the right thing when it comes to disaster recovery.
But I’ve also
talked about having fun, and the lighter side of life in New Orleans. This
city, just like Winnipeg, is more than just the things that tend to make the
news: things like crime and despair and tragedy.
Like back home,
people here laugh and play and enjoy their community, and they invited us to do
so, too.
As for this blog
itself, it’s not the end; there are many other things I want to say about life
in New Orleans and doing disaster recovery work. Check back over the next while
for updates as I process all that I have seen and heard. Also check the Sunday
Faith Page for another story from New Orleans, and for a story in View From the
West sometime this week, too.
As for Brad Pitt, I
never did meet him. But I met someone who did meet him, and the MDS framing
crew met Mike Holmes of Holmes on Homes. Mike is here building one of the Brad
Pitt homes just down the street from where MDS is building a house for a local
pastor.
A final thought:
Nobody we helped here in New Orleans had ever met a Mennonite church member
before the storm. But denominational lines don’t matter when disaster strikes.
As Robert Green
said: “I don’t know much about Mennonites, but I prayed with them and all I
know is they love God just like I do. And that’s all that matters.”
We arrived home last evening, following a three day journey from New Orleans via Galveston, Houston, Dallas and Kansas City. We were a tired but satisfied bunch, filled with memories of our time in New Orleans.
As I drove home, I thought about a critique I received from someone in Manitoba who wondered if this was the best possible use of time and money.
Since I have been critical of
short-term relief and missions trips to the developing world in the past, it’s
a fair question, and deserves a response.
In my mind, a
short-term trip is appropriate for the following reasons:
1) There must be a
clear and verifiable need for volunteers.
This need must be
established by a reputable and credible local agency or agencies, using the
best possible assessment tools.
In the case of New
Orleans, leaders at the United Way and Catholic Charities stated categorically
that if it hadn’t been for volunteers, the city would not be as far along as it
is now. The need is real.
2) There must be a
request for help from local residents and organizations.
These residents and
organizations must also feel that they have a significant say not only in
making the request, but in determining what kind of work will be done and where
it will be done.
People who
have money and power are often unaware of how their presence changes the
dynamics of a relationship with people who are poor and powerless.
Givers and
receivers can see the world in very different ways, with receivers sometimes
feeling they cannot be too directive or emphatic about their desires for fear
of offending the people who are providing help.
This is
particularly true when the people receiving help don’t want the kind of help
they are being offered: The givers want to build a school, but the receivers
really want a clinic.
How do they say no?
And if they say no, will it mean they never get help from these rich North
Americans ever again?
3) The work must be
done through and under the supervision of a reputable and credible local agency
or agencies.
In the developing
world, many projects occur because someone in Canada or the U.S. met
someone in Africa or Central America and established a personal connection,
then went home and organized a group to go back and build a church or school or
clinic.
This isn’t a bad
thing, but neither do they know if that’s really the best thing for the
community; that’s where an experienced organization can be of tremendous
assistance.
Maybe what the
community really needs is something else altogether, or maybe the pastor or
community leader they are helping is really just building on their own
grandiose dreams, without input from residents.
4) There must be a
proper local assessment process to determine who will receive the assistance.
This is to ensure
that the help goes to those who need it most. This is important; people from
outside the community or country usually cannot identify the neediest people.
In the developing
world, for example, everyone in a village can look poor to a Canadian; it takes
an experienced eye to note who are the poorest of the poor. (A clue: Someone
who has a concrete floor for their house is richer than someone with a dirt
floor.)
New Orleans is
similar; 80 percent of the city flooded, which homes are most in need of
attention? Which families most need assistance? Everyone looks like they
need help. But some have more resources than others. Only local experts can
help outsiders find the really needy.
5) The people who
go to provide the assistance must go through some sort of screening process.
This would not be
set up to eliminate those who don’t have a lot of construction experience (or
that would have ruled me out), but it should ensure that people know why they
are going, what they will do and what is expected of them while there.
Just showing up and
hoping to do some good is not the best strategy.
6) There should be
good local leadership.
This is provided by
people who are on the ground for the longer-term, who know the local area,
understand the culture, know local officials and know how things get done.
7) There should be
an appropriate response.
There is a
temptation to leave money and material goods behind, or to provide more
assistance than a local community can handle. Too little in the way of material
resources is a problem, but too much, given too quickly, can also be a problem.
It can overwhelm a
community or a family or a church, leaving people worse off than before.
In New Orleans, Brad
Pitt organized a commendable effort to build as many as 150 houses in the
city’s poorest neighbourhoods. They are large, beautiful and elaborate
homes, with angled rooofs, multi-level construction and solar power.
Locals speak
admiringly of the homes. But they also note that they can’t be built by
volunteer labour; professional crews like the one supplied by Mike Holmes of
Holmes on Homes are required to build them.
They
also wonder if they will end up being hard for families to maintain. Plus,
the large size will also mean higher taxes than before.
Are they the best
houses for the area? The jury is out.
8) There should be
coordination on the ground.
At the beginning,
the response to Hurricane Katrina was plagued by a lack of
coordination. With over 100,000 homes damaged, there was no shortage of things
to do. But this resulted in unfortunate overlap and duplication; some groups
found themselves working in the same areas while other neighbourhoods
were missed.
As well, some
families received help from multiple agencies, but others went without.
9) There should be
some cultural similarities.
A bunch of white
folks from Manitoba may not have lots in common with African Americans in the
deep south, but at least we spoke the same language and shared the most basic
of cultural and other assumptions.
The learning curve,
in other words, was not that steep.
Contrast this with
going to the developing world, where people don’t speak the language, don’t
know local customs, where religions might be different, where expectations vary
considerably. It takes a skilled group to navigate that cultural maze.
10) Local jobs must
not suffer.
The people doing
the free labour must not be taking jobs from local people. That would be one of
the worst things that could happen. In the case of the developing world, the
cost of sending one group of Canadians could provide employment for many local
people, who can then also support their families.
In the case of MDS
in New Orleans, the groups they work with (like Catholic Charities) only refers
them to people who are the least able to pay to rebuild their homes. All others
are referred to a list of locally recommended contractors.
As well, all the
major work (electrical, plumbing, foundation, heating, cooling, etc.) is done
by local trades.
This list is not
exhaustive. And MDS would probably be the first to say that there are things it
could do better. But I believe it meets all the critieria above. Local people
feel the same way: Both Catholic Charities and the United Way speak very
highly of their association with MDS, as do local clergy.
So, in my mind, the
answer is yes. It was a good investment of time and resources, both for the
people who received the help, and for those of us who went.
“So, where exactly did the body of your mother end up?”
“How high was the
water in your living room?”
“Were you able to
save anything?”
“When did they find
your granddaughter’s body?”
Those are a
sampling of questions I asked Hurricane Katrina survivors when I was in New
Orleans last week.
They
sound terrible, invasive, almost predatory. And they are. What gives me
the right to ask such terrible questions about deep and personal
loss?
As a reporter, you
have to ask those questions. You have to get names, dates, places and events
right. You have to press people to be accurate and specific. Otherwise, the
writing is weak, flaccid and suspect.
But that doesn’t
mean it isn’t a difficult thing to do. You end up feeling like a voyeur,
peering through the cracks in the curtains that shield people’s
lives.
It helps that
the people I interviewed in New Orleans wanted to tell their stories; it’s not
like I was an interrogator, prying information out of reluctant
interviewees.
Sometimes, it was cathartic
for them to meet someone who wanted to listen, who showed interest in
what happened to them during the storm.
And yet, it still
somehow feels wrong. What gives me the right to intrude on someone’s
suffering, even if it is for a higher good?
In this case, the
higher good is ensuring that the people of New Orleans are not forgotten, and
that people in the rest of North America will keep volunteering to help
with reconstruction and repair efforts in that city.
But it’s still hard
to do.
Of course, my
experience is not unique. Any reporter could share similar stories. The
challenge is not to let the heart grow hard or get calluses on the soul: After
all, if you’ve heard one story of pain and loss, you’ve heard them all.
Nobody wants
to become like the reporter who, while covering a war
in Africa, asked the question that became the title of
the memoir of journalist Edward Behr: “Anybody Here Been
Raped And Speaks English?”
Of course, this
experience isn’t unique to reporters. Everyday we see heart-wrenching
stories of pain and suffering from Canada and around the world. It can leave us
numb, and in danger of becoming, as Susan Sontag wrote in her essay Regarding
The Pain Of Others, “tourists in other people’s reality,” gaining
a “semblance of knowledge,” but not knowledge itself.
Over the past 25 or
so years I have been granted the tremendous privilege of being able to
personally record the suffering and challenges facing people in the
developing world and in North America.
In all cases, the
people I have spoken to have been gracious and polite, even when sharing
horrific tales. They gifted me with their stories, and also with the
awesome responsibility of sharing those stories with others.
I can only hope
they feel honoured by what I have written.
Considering that much of New Orleans is below sea level, and that the city could be innundated again by a storm like Hurricane Katrina, why don’t they just move?
That’s the question
I’ve heard more than once since going to New Orleans in late July to do
reconstruction and repair with Mennonite Disaster Service. Why rebuild
something that might just be damaged or destroyed again?
To begin with,
consider the practical implications: Where would you move over 450,000 people
to? Imagine deciding one day that because Winnipeg is located in a flood plain,
we should all just pull up and move to Selkirk, where flooding is less likely.
It’s impossible.
In the case of New
Orleans, there are few places people could go to get out of the way of future
hurricanes, anyway.
Plus, much of the
land surrounding the city is swamp; you drive for miles on elevated bridges
over bayous as you depart. There really isn’t anywhere for people to go.
But when you ask
“Why don’t they move?” in the mostly African-American Lower Ninth Ward, one of
the hardest-hit parts of New Orleans, you get a different response.
When people in that
area hear that question, the “they” being referred to is them: People who are
poorer and black. They hear a question tinged with racism, and they take
considerable umbrage.
They point out that
their neighbourhood was no less a community where children played and people
raised their families than the richer areas located on higher ground in
other parts of the city.
They note that
there was a higher percentage of home ownership in the Ninth Ward (63 percent,
compared to the 27 percent city-wide average).
The say that
many families have lived in the area for generations, with houses
being passed down from grandparents to parents to grandchildren.
They also say,
simply, that it is home.
“People have built
a life here,” says Elois Reed, a licensed plumber and long-time Ninth Ward
resident. “Why would we want to abandon that to start over somewhere else?
Our community was strong.”
“We may not have
been rich people, in terms of material things,” Reed, an
African-American, goes on to say, “but that doesn’t diminish who we
are as people. We weren’t poor and useless. People here worked hard. Some had
two or three jobs.
“We were rich in
other ways, in knowing and loving each other.”
Reed doesn’t
sugarcoat the problems the community experienced before the storm or play down
the scale of the challenge facing them as they try to rebuild the area.
But she feels that
they are being overlooked and under-served because they are African-American,
noting that other areas of the city and the state appear to be getting more
resources and assistance.
“Racism is a
reality in this country,” she says.
For Reed, and for
many others in the Ninth Ward, the question isn’t “Why don’t they move?” but
“Why isn’t more being done to help them?”
Hurricane Katrina is a memory today, but MDS is still involved in responding to disasters. Learn more at www.mds.org
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