Hurricane Katrina Recovery Team Journals: Anders Goranson - Disaster Shakti - Multicultural Center for Research and Practice - Antioch University New England

Hurricane Katrina Recovery - Team Journals

Katrina Recovery Team from Antioch
Left to Right: Anders Goranson, Claire Dunnett, Stephanie Miller, Kate Airey, Alison Roy, Vanessa Partridge, Michael Brodeur.

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March 8, 2006
Katrina Note, Anders Goranson

As we made our final descent across the murky green waters of the gulf we hit the shores of New Orleans. Mike, seated next to me, pointed out the many blue rooftops dotting the suburban skyline. We would later find out that they were called “FEMA Roofs” by David who worked at Budget rental cars at the airport. He said George Bush flew into town for what he described as a “photo shoot.” David was late to work because the roads were closed to allow free passage to the presidential motorcade.

I went to New York about 6 months after September 11th and the city possessed a feeling much like New Orleans does today. An electric feeling of flux. The idea of survivorhood is running deep through these people’s veins. I feel in love with New York during that trip and I am developing a strong compassion and affinity for New Orleans because of some of the same reasons.

I walked from our hotel down towards the tourist district of Bourbon Street. Mostly I saw white people of all classes. There seemed to be a good contingent of relief workers as well as the partying college students. There were a few black people; one drink deeply from a beer cup as a whizzed by on a bike. There was a black police officer, investigating a crime and none-to-interested in helping us find Hotel chateau-something-or-rather. There were the large black women exiting the church we were staying at; laughing about something they could not find. Most of our clerks were black, at the airport, rental agency, small corner shops. There is a jazz feeling to this town that I haven’t experienced before. It seems to be simultaneously celebrating and mourning. A diunital mardi gras of reasoning. There is something old, rich, and mysterious that flows out from these stucco homes and their wrought iron detailing and peeling shutters. Voodoo dolls, white linen suits, lemonade with a sprig of mint; enjoyed in the silent dark balconies above.

March 9, 2006
Katrina Note, Anders Goranson

In our work at the Montleone Hotel I was struck by the wide swath that Katrina had cut through this community. From the laundry person to the human resources manager to the assistant controller; people had all lost homes. These were people of all socioeconomic and racial backgrounds with an equally wide range of perspectives to share with us. We heard Katrina called a friend, that cleaned out a city far too focused on its wants rather than its needs. We heard a lot about faith and how it allowed people to move forward. “I am better off than a lot of people” was a mantra for many individuals who experienced many different levels of loss. People were tired of the blaming, pointing out that as this point it doesn’t matter. One interesting comment was the lesson about the dangers of materialism that Katrina taught them. One beautiful metaphor stated, “there is no armored car in a funeral procession.” Personal responsibility was another common theme. Keith, a hotel employee who was able to evacuate many people into Mississippi, spoke of getting up every morning to do “something” that would make some progress towards normalcy. Nearly every person mentioned that just going to work was an incredible help to them.

Some other notes...

Routine. Friends. Solving one’s own problems. “The problem is the welfare system, people are dependant on the man to help them. So when the man could not care for themselves these people did not know what to do.” “People should not come back unless they are going to work.“ “The system doesn’t have consistency so it doesn’t provide a reliable start.” “Stick together.” “We are not criminals, not party time, we are human beings who have been through a difficult time.” “White people are suffering too.” “Welfare system is destroying a race of people.” “Looting was done by rescue workers too.” “How do we make this better next time?” “I don’t want to hear it, this is my town and I am going to live here, shut up about it.” “I’m going to die, but not over this.”

I don’t know how these things are affecting me. The experiences are hard to put into words. Every time I call home I feel become frustrated at how trite what I am saying sounds. To compare these things requires having something to some degree similar. I don’t have that. I know I am supposed to reflect on multicultural issues, but I am finding this disaster to be a witnessing of human suffering that cuts across racial boundaries. There are definitely advantages and disadvantages that have been afforded, but the relationship is not quite as dichotomous as previously hypothesized.

March 10, 2006
Katrina Note, Anders Goranson

Today we arrived at Common Ground Collective in the Upper Ninth Ward at 7:45 in the morning. We walked in to St. Mary of Angels, a Catholic church and school that served as shelter for over 200 hundred residents during the aftermath of the storm. Common Ground Collective is a volunteer organization formed by a former Black Panther immediately after the storm for the purpose of body recovery and supply distribution. The most, white, mostly non-New Orleanian, college-age crowd has forms a commune of sorts in the school as well as a nearby Baptist church as their operating center. The gymnasium served as the central meeting place. Several young men played basketball on the tarp covered floor. We got breakfast, went thru safety training, respirator fitting, and job assignment.

Our team leader, Brendan, was a college sophomore from St. Joseph College in Annapolis. He had been with Common Ground for 2 weeks and had fully gutted 4 homes. The home we were assigned to demolition was at 1871 St. Anne St. It was a New Orleans “shotgun” house located 10 or so blocks from one of the flooded levees. The owner, Thelma, had lived there for 15 years and had escaped by walking through the water with her daughter. She told us how the water rose up through the house while she slept, eventually reaching half the way up her bed. During the day we encountered a few of the people from the neighborhood. Her neighbor was working on his house with his son; he had received full reimbursement from his insurance company.

Much like working with the employees of the Monteleone, I find myself unable to articulate what I am feeling. The devastation is far worse and rampant than I could ever effective put into words. After work, while taking a shower, I found myself focusing on how lucky I was to leave that house and wash it off me. It was a “visit” for me into a world that I have the privilege of escaping when it suites me. Thelma didn’t spend much time with us while we worked. I thought about how hard it must have been to see those walls going down in the hands of the strangers. Each simple moment in that house pulled away and discarded on the side walk. Occasionally we came across something that we asked her is she wanted to keep; she always said no. She had already let go.

While working I found a wrapped present hidden away on top of the kitchen shelves. How different things must have been when it was placed there. No one could have imagined a graduate student from New Hampshire would be the person who retrieved it. I think of living in these rooms. Warm summer nights with the breeze blowing in through the screen door. Christmases, anniversaries, love, rest, security, peace, family, community, children playing, the smell of food cooking from the back kitchen. Turning the lights off before going to bed. Saying goodbye to someone at the front door. After everything is washed away there are only memories.