Hurricane Katrina Recovery Team Journals: Kate Airey - 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, Kate Airey

We arrived in New Orleans today in the early evening. As we stepped outside of the air- controlled environment of the airplane terminal, a wall of balmy air pushed back against us. I felt full of anticipation as we approached the carousel to collect our belongings. I began to ruminate over all that I had heard about what to expect from the current condition of the gulf coast. While the media had led me to believe the destruction had long since been repaired, others had told me that what I was about to see was far worse than I could ever prepare for.

As we rounded the corner, Anders hailed a luggage cart to help those of us who appeared to have over packed as a way of managing high anxiety and suspense. Millions of identical black packages entered onto the rotating showcase and I felt a sense of relief knowing that I had demarcated mine with a blazing orange scarf for easy identification. While I bent forward to lift my suitcase from the carousel, I felt a looming figure approach me on the right. I attempted to look busy, arranging suitcases on the cart as I tried to catch my bearings, still anxious from our flight and still awaiting what lay ahead. The man, maybe not sensing my discomfort, began to speak. As he made small talk, asking where we were from and commenting on the weather, I realized that he was from New Orleans and had witnessed the immediate wake of hurricanes Katrina and Rita as well as the city’s current state. Our conversation continued at a comfortable pace, that is, until he inquired about our reason for traveling to Louisiana. Again, everything I had heard about the aftermath of Katrina and failed relief efforts began revolving through my head. I felt at a complete loss for words, absolutely unsure of what I wanted to say. How would more relief workers be received? Was there resentment? Were they hopeful? Would our positions as clinical psychology students cause people to feel pathologized? I frantically struggled to find an answer.

When I eventually found the means to explain our hopes to bear witness to the stories told by survivors and our plans to follow through with whatever was most needed, I was relieved to hear him say, “Good, that’s exactly what we need.” He smiled and I whirled around to find our luggage cart being swiftly carried away by a small man on a mission to move as many people as he could out of the carousel and into the shuttles that awaited outside.

March 9, 2006
Katrina Note, Kate Airey

I think we all began today unsure of its outcome. We set out to begin our first day of relief work, wondering who we might meet and completely unprepared for the stories we would hear.

We approached the Hotel Montelion and a gaggle of oohs and aahs poured out as we appreciated the crystal and gold covered foyer that appeared unscathed by the flooding. Gargi took the initiative and approached the front desk to announce our arrival. A few moments later, a sharp dressed woman donning purple snakeskin pumps and a matching beaded necklace rounded the corner with her arms out stretched and an enormous smile on her face. Lakeisha was a social worker in New Orleans and had been in contact with our group long before our journey. She helped us plan our agenda and organize our meeting today with the hotel staff.

I must stop here and provide a disclaimer. I think I can speak for all of us when I say that our experience at Hotel Montelion is really more than I can put into words. What a privilege it was, a real privilege to enter into the intimate space of disaster survivors and bear witness to their stories. At first their reactions to our presence was guarded and we often received witty comments like “so, are you hear to tell us we’re crazy?” Yet eventually they completely opened their hearts and bore their soles. It was a feeling unlike any other. There was no lengthy period of building trust. As they just began to talk about their experience during and after the hurricane, a surprising well of emotions began to pour out into the room.

With that said, I would like to simply make a record of what remains with me in the greatest intensity:

E, a kind worker at Hotel Montelion with a neatly pressed apron and a perfectly styled pixie haircut, was the first staff member we met upon our initial entrance into the hotel. She seemed reserved and proud, repeatedly stating that they were all going to be okay. She, like so many people in New Orleans, proclaimed her faith and spirituality and stressed how essential it had been in surviving Katrina. As we continued our dialogue in the upstairs conference room, we were fortunate enough to meet E’s daughter D. E began again slowly, to tell us about her experience the day Katrina came to New Orleans. It was as if, once she began to talk of the event, she became fueled. She talked of being displaced from her home and the concern she had for her family. D told us about times when she didn’t know if her own daughter had made it and how her daughter was still haunted by images of people sinking in the water, never to resurface. As E shared the most devastating details of her experience, she continued to interject with feelings of appreciation for how much worse it could be and hope for how it will be now. She placed her hands in Claire’s and began to cry. “Thank you,” she said, “we needed this so much.”

J, a tall sophisticated man, anxiously entered the conference room and I thought he might leave before we had the chance to hear his story. He fiddled with something on the table and appeared as though he was debating whether or not he had made the right decision in joining us. He began by stating that his story really wasn’t very interesting and his eyes apprehensively darted at each one of us. So much of what he shared was reverberated by others during our stay. He told us how they had no idea of what was coming the days before the storm. He too believed that his experience wasn’t as bad as others and it was difficult to know his motivation for feeling this way. He talked about when he heard that the troops were bringing 20,000 body bags and he began to weep. I will never forget how he described the city after his return following the storm. “Everything was dead...there was a funny smell in the air…you [go to your house] and pick out what you can salvage and your on a curfew…you lose your network of friends…all my plans for the future were gone.” He talked about having to start over “… from A-Z, “from Q-tips to whatever. ” Like so many others, he stressed the haven of Montelion and what a necessity it was to regain a sense of “normalcy.” He mentioned how before the storm he had always tried to be efficient and economic whenever possible, purchasing in bulk and conserving what he had. After Katrina, he said on thing he had learned was instead of buying for stocks of deodorant, he would simply but one for now on.

March 10, 2006
Katrina Note, Kate Airey

As today draws to a close, am completely exhausted. I feel empowered about the work we are accomplishing here in New Orleans, but in a completely different way. While it is motivating to see the changes we are enacting, to actually physically see them, I still can’t be sure if what we completed today will really make a difference in the life of the woman whose house we gutted. Will she be able to save her home? Will she even want to? Will others have the option?

Armed with our protective gear and demolition equipment, we entered the house and, much like the emotion that fueled the stories of the workers yesterday, I too felt fueled as knocking down walls took on a cathartic effect. I found myself needing to remain cognizant of why we were here and how tearing down the mold infested walls and flooring was eventually intended to allow the rebuilding of this house, a small step toward the rebuilding of the city. As we pulled open the cabinets, containers filled with hurricane stew poured out into the room. Through our respirators, the odor was toxic and completely consuming. I needed some air. The temperature inside the shotgun house had to be nearing 100 degrees and the humidity was suffocating. Our protective goggles filled with steam as we made our way through the rooms. What an uncomfortable feeling it is to enter someone’s home in front of them wearing three pairs of gloves and knee high rubber boots…

Doing what I can to assist someway in rebuilding the city so many call home is why I have taken on this task. Still, I find myself thinking a lot about other relief workers we have organized with here in New Orleans. Was I naive to think that it was a simple as wanting to help and wanting to spread the truth about a disaster we have been so disconnected from in our northeastern communities? It is becoming clearer to me that there are multiple agendas in play. This is something I had not anticipated.

While the multiple organizations gathered here in New Orleans to institute “relief” may have different ideas about what should and should not happen, I guess I am just relieved that they are here. It is important for me to know that these efforts are not in vain. To know that, after we leave next week, there are other who will remain and hopefully many more to follow.

March 11, 2006
Katrina Note, Kate Airey

This morning we had the unique opportunity of traveling to Algiers to observe the operation of a Commonground affiliated free clinic, the only free clinic in New Orleans after Katrina. We came bearing toys and medical supplies, but were unfortunately not able to offer any services due to the minute quarters of the clinic. As we departed we mentioned that we hoped to return in the future and have the chance to help out in anyway that we could at that point. They explained to us that they hoped not to need any help as they planned on no longer providing services by then. New Orleans would be reopening their hospitals, a sign that the city was indeed reviving.

Later in the day, we met with another local psychologist by the name of Dr. Z. I had been anxiously awaiting this opportunity as I had been told that he would be providing us with a much needed tour of the city. We had already met people from all over New Orleans and heard the stories of devastation that affected their neighborhoods. To finally be able to combine a visual with the narratives was invaluable.

The plan was to visit as much of the city as we could. We ventured from the Upper and Lower Ninth Ward to Saint Bernard Perish and Lake Pontchartrain. On our tour of the city, we began in the Upper Ninth Ward and made our way over to the Lower Ninth Ward. As we approached the destination, Dr. Z. shared with us that his god mother had lived in the Lower Ninth Ward and was one of the many who completely lost their homes. As we reached the Lower Ninth Ward, I was inundated with devastation. Up until this point, we had seen houses completely destroyed by Katrina but, here, there were no houses left. There were only piles of rubble, which we were then informed that they were 60% “cleaned-up.” There were overturned cars, buses, and tractor trailers. Baby dolls, kitchen sinks, and rubbish were the only remnants of the community that had once inhabited the area. As we waded through the debris, filming and photographing, a car rolled up along side Mike. A young girl in the passenger seat of the car shouted, “…make sure you email that to President Bush!” This was a neighborhood that had been completely neglected since the storm. On the horizon, I remnants of the barge that had collided with the levee still remained. Something I had learned earlier from the survivors echoed in my mind. This was a man made disaster. They had survived Katrina, it was the failing of the levees that destroyed New Orleans.

March 13, 2006
Katrina Note, Kate Airey

Today we left the “man-made” disaster in New Orleans and headed toward the area where the eye of Katrina had truly left her mark. The media coverage back home had broadcasted heavily about New Orleans immediately following Katrina and Rita, but the fate of coastal Mississippi had been virtually neglected.

We made our way to Waveland Mississippi over the extensive bridge that I believe was part of route 90. At this point, we were still unaware of the hundreds of miles of obliterated coastline on the other side of the passage. The water that surrounded us gave the illusion of a perfectly maintained region.

As we made our way from the bridge, passing along side the extensive bayou and swamp land, I noticed what appeared to be an automotive salvage company. Yet, as we drove on, the multitude of demolished cars and trucks began to amplify. No longer were they contained inside neatly fenced corridors, but they were lining the streets and spilling out into the areas that surrounded. I quickly realized that what I had seen was no salvage company, rather the mark as if to say Katrina was here.

We passed a dilapidated convenience store, the only one of its kind for the many miles since leaving the bridge, and the sign said “Yes, we’re still here.” We continued meandering along gravel roads on our way to the ICare Village where we would be staying during our time in Mississippi. The journey quickly began to complicate as we realized that Katrina had not spared street signs from her wrath.

As we blindly progressed in what we hoped to be the right direction, I was astonished by the difference I was seeing from New Orleans to Mississippi. The first obvious difference was the nature of the devastation. What happened here was due entirely to the effects of a natural disaster. The eye of Katrina had passed directly the coast of Pass Christian, combined with a gang of tornados. The geography of the Pass can only be described as a peninsula. By its very nature the town and its vicinity are surrounded on three sides by water. As the hurricane made its way ashore, as we would soon learn from the locals, the waters rose to 40 feet above sea level and sloshed back and forth over the community until nothing had been spared.

Yet, regardless of the severity of destruction here in Mississippi, people here were every bit as resilient as those in New Orleans. In fact, as we progressed toward the village, the restoration already taking place was evident. There were bursts of color within the deadness as flowers willfully sprouted out through the rubble where any beam of sunlight had managed to find its way. People were actively reconstructing their homes on the outskirts of town. The strong feelings of faith and compassion for the community as a whole poured out from every individual we were fortunate enough to meet.

Another striking difference here in Pass Christian was the economic status of the community as a whole. Here was a community of wealthy home owners who were every bit as effected by the storm as anyone we had met yet. It was the moment for me when I was truly able to see how Katrina did not pick and choose her victims. Regardless of race, ethnicity, socio-economic status, or what neighborhood people were from, people were all effected by this disaster.