Hurricane Katrina Recovery Team Journals: Claire Dunnett - 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 9, 2006
Katrina Note, Claire Dunnett

Outside the plane window I see blue spots, what are they? The view becomes clearer and so do the blue spots, they are tarps bandaging roofs, keeping them temporarily safe from the wrath of mother nature. All of a sudden my brain conjures up images from the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, the poverty and devastation flashing before my eyes on the TV screen. Already I have formed my biases, even though I am not aware of them. I think about the anger and pain that many of the New Orleanians must feel and that so many of them are helpless because the government has failed them. However, I quickly come to realize during our first day of work that I was mistaken in my assumptions.

Our first day of work inspired me to think differently about how I viewed the aftermaths of Katrina. We spent our first day listening to the powerful stories of employees working for a high scale hotel who had first hand experience of the hurricane. I expected the employees to blame the government for being racist in not helping the poor black people of New Orleans. However, what I heard were rather empowering stories of people who picked themselves up to restart their lives. We heard from both blacks and whites that every color and social class was affected by the aftermath ranging from the millionaires to those surviving on welfare. In addition we heard stories about pre-Katrina concerning the already problematic government that created more poverty because of poor education system and failing welfare system.

I was struck that many of the employees talked about their faith. One black man in particular said that his faith helped him cope with the aftermath. There was an especially moving moment I experienced during our time with the employees. I sat next to one employee, an older black woman named Ernestine, who helped me to really feel what she felt. At one point, I could feel tears welling up inside myself as I looked at her, it was at that point that I came to understand the resiliency of these people. Despite the destruction and loss of material objects, Ernestine reiterated, while squeezing my hand, that she thanks God everyday for her family. I began thinking about my own family and what it would feel like to go through such a traumatic experience without them. I do not think I could ever make it.

Family and faith were two reoccurring themes that arose during our time with the employees. I realized too that I take for granted the many simple things in my life such as being able to flick a switch for light and the ability to hop in my car and go wherever I want. These employees experienced the loss of these simple pleasures, but still held steady because of their faith and families. I feel that many of us left the day feeling more humbled and appreciative of our families. Listening to these stories made me realize that I cannot rely on the media to form my thoughts, but instead to truly understand survivors’ experiences I must go to the source and experiences them at a personal level. I think I will end this with a quote from one of the employees, Keith, “When you hit a pot hole with your car, you come out of it. This is just a pot hole in my life.”

March 10, 2006
Katrina Note, Claire Dunnett

Today we arrived at Common Ground, a volunteer organization, whose goal has been to restore and rebuild areas of New Orleans, mainly the 9th Wards. On our drive there I soon realized my appreciation for our accommodations at the Catholic youth retreat considering that the once standing communities here now seemed to be a ghost town. When we entered the 9th Ward, there was a feeling that came over me, I am not sure I can describe it. I thought that I was perhaps entering the twilight zone. The streets were the only areas clear of debris. What were once functional homes now resembled broken down shacks, the windows shattered, doors ripped off their hinges, pieces of homes strewn across the lawn, and strange symbols spray painted on homes.

When we finally arrived at our destination, a school which served as a refuge for 200 survivors, I thought we were at the Woodstock festival. All I could see were white college age students in ripped up jeans, unshaven faces, tie-dyed shirts, and hair that was in need of a shampoo. I will be honest, I was skeptical, but we were soon welcomed and offered breakfast. I was amazed at how many college students gave up their spring breaks to come here and help rebuild New Orleans.

After our stomachs were filled we were directed towards the back of the school to find our way through the maze of alien looking apparel. Dressed as if we were prepared for chemical warfare, wearing a white tyvex suit, rubber boots, two layers of gloves, a respirator, and goggles, we proceeded to find our tools. At the time, we were laughing about how ridiculous we looked and even came up with the name of Team Zusu from the movie “The Life Aquatic.” I did not realize how fitting the name was until we entered the “shotgun” home of Thelma, the homeowner who we would be helping. She, like many of her neighbors, really had experienced “The life aquatic,” in that her life had been literally been flooded, except that it was not by choice. She told us her story of how she was asleep when suddenly she awoke because she felt wet, her bed was practically floating in water and it was quickly rising. She and her daughter were able to narrowly escape by wading through the rising water.

As we entered the home, a strange acerbic smell seeped into my nostrils; it was unlike anything I had ever smelled. The house was dark, but it was easy to recognize the mold and the five foot water line that marked the height of the water stained walls. For a moment, I think we all felt bemused that something like this could happen. To lessen the shock we experienced, we quickly grabbed our tools and heeded the directions given to us by our team leader, Brendan. Our first task was to remove all objects which meant clearing the kitchen cabinets and then ripping them off the walls, pulling up layers of carpet revealing the buckled wood floors beneath, and throwing out children’s books and toys. At the time, I felt I had a job to do, gut this woman’s house, which helped me to suppress any thoughts I had about the life that once existed inside her house.

I felt empowered, ripping through the mold ridden, plaster walls exposing the wood skeleton of Thelma’s home. We carried away the dead internal organs of the house, heaping them in an ever growing pile outside on the street. I realized that although in many ways we were removing the organs that made her house function, the most important one could not be ripped out, the heart. For me, looking into Thelma’s eyes I sensed that the heart of her home would prevail, it would protect her, and give her hope for the future that life would continue despite the destruction.

We gutted most of the house leaving only the ceilings and tops of the walls to be removed. Thinking back on our day gutting someone’s home, I feel overwhelmed and guilty knowing that although I have helped in the rebuilding process of someone’s home, I am also privileged to leave the destruction behind at my convenience. I will have a safe, warm home to return to, a bed to sleep in, cupboards to put my food in, and a place where I can share my love with someone else.

Thelma, has lost all of this, all that she holds now are memories of the life that once existed in her home. What made this experience real for me was when Thelma left the cleaning-up to serve food for other survivors at her church. Despite her own losses, she is helping others with theirs. People are not seeing this side of community in the media. People here are helping themselves and neighbors return to the life they once had. Not everyone here is poor and black, this “man made disaster” transcended every race, ethnicity, social class, and gender. People want their city back, they want their communities back, and they want their lives back. We must help them rebuild!

March 11, 2006
Katrina Note, Claire Dunnett

Today Dr. Z, an alumni of Tulane University, took us to see the lower 9th ward. As soon as we crossed the bridge connecting the upper and lower 9th Wards, I think my self-protecting shield went up, I felt numb. As generic as this sounds, I am not sure how else to describe what I saw today. In fact, when I think about it, I was frightened more by what I did not see, houses standing. I thought that what we saw yesterday was the worst, but I was wrong. I could not even call this a ghost town, because there were no places for ghosts to hide. I can only say that the lower 9th Ward no longer exists. Only remnants remained offering the slightest insight that life once existed here; the piles of wood, turned over cars, steps to people’s homes, clothes snagged in trees, dishes slightly showing through the ground, exposed cement slabs where homes once stood, crooked street signs, and other material things.

The sky was ominously black, a reminder of what had happened to this community. When we first exited the van, my sights were set on work trucks in front of us. I walked toward them with an eerie feeling that something was not right, and in fact what I saw made me number. The work trucks were actually cadaver dog teams searching for human remains. From that point on I was not sure what to think as I passed by debris wondering if dead bodies were decaying inside them. How could people still not be accounted for? Dr. Z remarked at this sight, that “500 people were lost here, and 500 people have yet to be found.”

We walked a bit further to where Dr. Z’s family once owned a home. He pointed down the street to a roof that was on the ground, it was actually the roof that once stood atop his family’s home. As we got closer to the edge of the destruction, where the neighborhood sat adjacent to the levees, pile drivers and cranes, stood erect from the ground entering into the sky. Workmen waved to us, an ironic gesture that things would get better.

Dr. Z. told us that this levee broke here because a loose barge in the canal slammed through it causing an eight foot wave of water to crash down on the houses below. Unlike other parts of the city, the water did not rise up in homes, but instead ripped through them like a tsunami leaving nothing standing in its path. When I heard that it was barge that broke the levee here, I was infuriated. Who would leave a barge in a canal when a hurricane was coming? Could the lower 9th ward still be standing if the barge had not been there? There are so many unanswered questions and the blame game continues. The destruction in New Orleans really was a “man made disaster.” For the past 40 years nothing was done to improve the levees even though it was known that they would not hold past a category three hurricane.

During our “tour” of the lower 9th Ward I found a fallen fence that held a bunch of silk flowers, it was the only color I saw there. At points I walked over people’s property, feeling like a trespasser, searching for anything that would reveal human life, but all I could find was rotted objects. It was surreal; I felt that I could not take it all in. I was angry that the clean-up was not done, that this neighborhood now looked like a junkyard, that the local government and federal government had not done their job.

Ironically, a limo drove through the destruction, and later I found out it was a Congressman who stepped our briefly and then quickly retreated to the safety of his limo. What does this say about our government? There are people from all over the world coming to volunteer to help rebuild lives in New Orleans and here is a Congressman who cannot spend more than five minutes soaking up the devastation. At the same time, I tried to picture what the lower 9th Ward was like prior to the levee breaking, and I am sure that even then, the government had not done their job in helping this poverty stricken area as evident by the failing welfare and education systems.

March 12, 2006
Katrina Note, Claire Dunnett

I had always heard that the South was deep in its faith. In fact, when I thought of church in the South pictures of people clapping, raising their hands in the air, and people remarking “Yes, brother Jesus loves you,” is usually what raced through my mind. Ironically, I never considered Catholicism to be so strong in the South and certainly never thought that such masses would be charismatic. To my surprise, I did in fact attend a charismatic Catholic mass today. As a practicing Catholic who was used to saying prayers and singing songs robotically, I never considered how fun mass could be until today.

Several of us attended mass today. When we first entered the church we were directed to the back where we made out name tags. Wearing a name tag in church was a first for me and I think also for the rest of our group. It was at this point when I realized that this mass was going to be different. In the front of the church, a large band of people with various instruments began playing music. They also had a projector and screen so that the rest of the church members could sing along. When the band began playing, the church quickly filled with harmony. I was actually taken back, because everyone was singing, not just the older women that do at my church.

The homily was given by a guest deacon who was the most compelling speaker I had heard at a mass. I felt warm and welcomed and for once like I was part of a church community. This mass inspired me to be proud of my faith and inspired me to speak to my priest about developing this type of community. It was wonderful to experience the strong sense of pride people have in their faith here in New Orleans. At the same time, I came to understand why so many people have been able to cope with the devastating losses incurred by the breaking levees and Hurricane Katrina. There faith has kept many of them strong.

Attending mass today helped me to cope with the devastating we have seen on our trip here. I was able to reflect my feelings through prayer. It also made me feel more connected to my faith.

March 13, 2006
Katrina Note, Claire Dunnett

The Drive East to Mississippi
Today we left New Orleans heading east to Pass Christian Mississippi, a small town located on the gulf coast. What would have only been a twenty minute drive turned into an hour and fifteen minute drive because a bridge connecting Louisiana and Mississippi had still not been repaired after Katrina. The drive went fairly quickly because few cars were on the road heading east.

As we drove just outside of New Orleans we came upon some suburban areas where big box stores stood empty, but were once filled with customers. It was strange to be passing by giant, empty parking lots, which housed strip malls and big box stores that were no longer open. Most of them were boarded up or had broken windows and gaping holes in their sides sustained by the hurricane. We also passed large condominium and apartment complexes, all were empty. I truly felt as if we entered a ghost town. Even after six months, stores were not reopened and housing complexes remained barely intact.

Seeing these ghost towns made me realize why people were not coming back. Why should they, very little had been repaired. As we drove further towards water, I noticed huge boats, probably for fishing, in positions for which I had never seen them. Some were dangling from the remains of ripped up piers; others were overturned hung up on rocks and pushed up against trees. Only mother nature could be powerful enough to do this much damage.

We got of exit 20 on I-10 heading towards Pass Christian. Things did not seem too bad on our drive towards the town. There were a few houses here and there that had been broken apart and some gas stations that were still closed. However, a few miles from our final destination, we noticed FEMA trailers parked where houses once stood. We would come to know these destroyed houses as “slabbed,” because all that remained were the concrete slabs where homes once stood upon. We even drove by a huge lot of white trailers that looked to have been recently resurrected to shelter some of the town’s survivors. It was strange to see thirty of the exact same trailers all angled in the same position, wired to electrical outlets and water. However, it was the most order and structure of scenery that I had seen since leaving my home in Vermont.

As we neared the coast line I saw a green boat sitting next to the road side as someone had mistakenly left it there. We would find out though, that the sea was the most likely culprit of the boats placement, coming inland for quite some ways. In the trees, clothes and plastic bags took the place of leaves waving in the wind, offering a false sense of spring. I happened to peer out of Anders’ driver’s window as we passed an empty dirt lot to find two statues still erect but slightly tilted; one of Jesus and the other the Virgin Mary. At this moment I began thinking about faith, and how odd it was that the only remaining objects on someone’s land were these two religious statues. I am not sure if it was a coincidence or the work of God that they held their ground, but whatever it was created a kind of sign that things would get better.

Close to the beach now, I could see sand on the grass and white specs which resembled sea shells scattered across what used to be people’s lawns. At the end of the road we faced the ocean. It was somewhat of a perilous sight to see it still lapping its waves against the beach. We turned left traveling along the beach towards the Morrell Foundation where we would spend the night. I noticed the legs of piers still standing in the ocean and tops of trees showing through the water one hundred feet from the beach. There were even FEMA trailers precariously lining the other side of the road across from the ocean.

We arrived shortly thereafter at the Morrell Foundation surprised to find hundreds of college aged students running around. Outside two giant white tents, the size of circus tents, stood erect. After making our way through the narrow maze of halls assembled inside the tent where walls stood only ten feet tall not reaching the top of the tent and covered with black plastic, we unloaded our gear into the tiny bunker style rooms. We split into two groups of four, each piling into our small rooms. After registering we again made our way out to the van to meet Lela Wiams, a psychologist, from Pass Christian just a few miles down the road.

Visit to Pass Christian
We were told by a couple staying at the Catholic Center that Pass Christian was wiped off the map, but I could hardly take serious their words until I saw it for myself. The scenery grew more desolate than I could imagine. We arrived in the middle of the town where Lela told us to visit the library because she was running late for our meeting. I was surprised that the library would still be standing considering what I had seen so far. Much to my chagrin, the library was not a grounded building, but in fact a trailer with a handicap accessible ramp. The library was not the only building turned trailer, the local Hancock bank, the local grocery mart, and well-known Pirate’s Cove eatery, were all trailers. We had literally entered a trailer town. I was quickly saddened by this sight, but found comfort in Miss Sally’s word, the local librarian. Looking at the inside of the library nothing would distinguish it as a trailer. It was lined with shelves according to the Dewey Decimal system all full of donated books.

During our conversation with Miss Sally, a fellow resident named Rowella, stopped by to pick up some videos for her son. We enticed her to sit down and share her story with us. She told us that her beach front home was destroyed by the storm including the Japanese gardens her family tended to which housed statues of Buddha from Japan. She then went on to tell us that one day some men who appeared to be cleanup crew, wearing hard hats and orange work vests closed off the street by the gardens and were trying to move one of the statues weighing several hundred pounds.

A neighbor came by to tell Rowella that something was suspicious about the men. In fact, these “cleanup men” were trying to steal the statue. I was appalled when I heard this story. To think that people were going through great lengths to appear to be cleanup-up workers just to steal a statute made me sick. This story reminded me of the ones we had heard from staff at the Hotel Monteleone reiterating that the worst looters were those who came to help clean-up the city, not the residents of the city. As saddened as Rowella was by the loss of her home, she was grateful that she still had her family. She went on to tell us that there were twenty people who sought refuge in a single home, and that after the storm every man went out to find their homes. Each came into the home one-by-one in search of their wives. Her husband came home and with tears in his eyes told her that there was nothing left.

Even thought they lost everything, Rowella seemed to point out that there were people worse off than here, a theme that resonated with every survivor with whom we spoke. To think that these survivors felt there were others worse off than them, when they had lost everything, made me realize how privileged I am to return to a standing home.

Some of the quotes which moved me, from the stories of Miss Sally and Rowella include the following:

From Miss Sally:
“We work really hard to be happy, to keep it together”
“We need people like you to come in and tell us this is normal (to feel this way)”
“It was a relief to return to work, but I was angry too because I couldn’t dig on my property (to look for house remains), I had to work”

From Rowella:
“There are things that overwhelm us, it could be a song on the radio and I’ll just break down”
“Through our church group, we’ve become much stronger”
“A lot of people left because they needed to work, they needed their kids in school”
“My son [2 years old] has really made this easier for us”
“It really is like a war zone”
“FEMA had been helpful, but not the insurance companies”

Meeting with Lela
We finally met with Lela who shared a few hours of her time to speak with us about the Needs Assessment she and AmeriCorps were conducting. In teams of two, AmeriCorps workers had been traveling from door to door finding out what resources residents needed. This information then is entered into a data system where volunteers can access various jobs that residents requested, such as lawn clean-up, remodeling, etc.

Lela was a full time case manager for response network which monitored needs of residents connecting to them the appropriate Disaster Relief Organization (DRO) and monitor the duplication of services. She told us that the priority of services starts with the elderly, disabled, low-income, single-parent families, and then other residents. She also informed us as to why the damage was so devastating in Pass Christian. The location of Pass Christian is actually a peninsula so when the storm came in this area was flooded by the collision of two sets of waves resulting in a forty seven foot wave. The storm lasted for twelve hours causing water to sit in people’s home for that time, until it receded.

Lela told us that she had water one inch away from the top of her attic. Her house had finished being demolished that day as we sat in her FEMA trailer just a few feet away from the bulldozers removing the pieces of her home. She has been using this trailer to see clients and stays at a friend’s home a few towns away. However, like many others, she did not receive her trailer until December and it was not hooked up to utilities until January. She like many other survivors told us that there were major problems with the insurance companies. She was only able to receive $12,000 for a house for which she still owed a mortgage. Interestingly, she stated that she was not upset with the government, but was thankful that FEMA had given her a trailer. She said “I don’t think anyone owes me a trailer, the government doesn’t me anything.” I think we were all surprised by this statement even though we had heard similar statements from other survivors. She followed this latter statement with “There seems to be an entitlement issue about the government helping people.” When asked about FEMA, she said that like anything else, “we cannot expect them to know everything they are humans too.”

Conclusion
To say the least, my experience today in Pass Christian was sad, yet humbling. I came to the South thinking that everyone would be upset with the government and still helpless. I guess I was wrong. Many people here are taking responsibility for themselves to rebuild their lives, but is seems, and perhaps because we live in a more liberal area of the country, that in the South people are expected to take care of themselves. There are those of course who have relied on the failing welfare system, and are now depending more on the government than ever before. It seems to me that perhaps people either do nor recognize the corruption in their local government or are not empowered to change it, so they just accept it. Hopefully, from all of this disorganization, change will take place at the federal, state, and town levels especially in the areas of education and welfare.