by seemslikeadream » Wed Sep 07, 2005 9:45 pm
Trapped EMS workers in NOLA have their say: <br> First By the Floods, Then By Martial Law Trapped in New Orleans<br><!--EZCODE AUTOLINK START--><a href="http://www.counterpunch.org/bradshaw09062005.html">www.counterpunch.org/brad...62005.html</a><!--EZCODE AUTOLINK END--> <br>By LARRY BRADSHAW and LORRIE BETH SLONSKY<br><br>LARRY BRADSHAW and LORRIE BETH SLONSKY are emergency medical services<br>(EMS) workers from San Francisco and contributors to Socialist Worker.<br>They were attending an EMS conference in New Orleans when Hurricane<br>Katrina struck. They spent most of the next week trapped by the<br>flooding--and the martial law cordon around the city.<br><br>Two days after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, the Walgreens<br>store at the corner of Royal and Iberville Streets in the city's<br>historic French Quarter remained locked. The dairy display case was<br>clearly visible through the widows. It was now 48 hours without<br>electricity, running water, plumbing, and the milk, yogurt, and cheeses<br>were beginning to spoil in the 90-degree heat.<br><br>The owners and managers had locked up the food, water, pampers and<br>prescriptions, and fled the city. Outside Walgreens' windows, residents<br>and tourists grew increasingly thirsty and hungry. The much-promised<br>federal, state and local aid never materialized, and the windows at<br>Walgreens gave way to the looters.<br><br>There was an alternative. The cops could have broken one small window<br>and distributed the nuts, fruit juices and bottled water in an<br>organized and systematic manner. But they did not. Instead, they spent<br>hours playing cat and mouse, temporarily chasing away the looters.<br><br>We were finally airlifted out of New Orleans two days ago and arrived<br>home on Saturday. We have yet to see any of the TV coverage or look at<br>a newspaper. We are willing to guess that there were no video images or<br>front-page pictures of European or affluent white tourists looting the<br>Walgreens in the French Quarter.<br><br>We also suspect the media will have been inundated with "hero" images<br>of the National Guard, the troops and police struggling to help the<br>"victims" of the hurricane. What you will not see, but what we<br>witnessed, were the real heroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief<br>effort: the working class of New Orleans.<br><br>The maintenance workers who used a forklift to carry the sick and<br>disabled. The engineers who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators<br>running. The electricians who improvised thick extension cords<br>stretching over blocks to share the little electricity we had in order<br>to free cars stuck on rooftop parking lots. Nurses who took over for<br>mechanical ventilators and spent many hours on end manually forcing air<br>into the lungs of unconscious patients to keep them alive. Doormen who<br>rescued folks stuck in elevators. Refinery workers who broke into boat<br>yards, "stealing" boats to rescue their neighbors clinging to their<br>roofs in flood waters. Mechanics who helped hotwire any car that could<br>be found to ferry people out of the city. And the food service workers<br>who scoured the commercial kitchens, improvising communal meals for<br>hundreds of those stranded.<br><br>Most of these workers had lost their homes and had not heard from<br>members of their families. Yet they stayed and provided the only<br>infrastructure for the 20 percent of New Orleans that was not under<br>water.<br><br>* * *<br><br>ON DAY Two, there were approximately 500 of us left in the hotels in<br>the French Quarter. We were a mix of foreign tourists, conference<br>attendees like ourselves and locals who had checked into hotels for<br>safety and shelter from Katrina.<br><br>Some of us had cell phone contact with family and friends outside of<br>New Orleans. We were repeatedly told that all sorts of resources,<br>including the National Guard and scores of buses, were pouring into the<br>city. The buses and the other resources must have been invisible,<br>because none of us had seen them.<br><br>We decided we had to save ourselves. So we pooled our money and came up<br>with $25,000 to have ten buses come and take us out of the city. Those<br>who didn't have the requisite $45 each were subsidized by those who did<br>have extra money.<br><br>We waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last 12 hours<br>standing outside, sharing the limited water, food and clothes we had.<br>We created a priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and newborn<br>babies. We waited late into the night for the "imminent" arrival of the<br>buses. The buses never arrived. We later learned that the minute they<br>arrived at the city limits, they were commandeered by the military.<br><br>By Day Four, our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was<br>dangerously bad. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime<br>as well as water levels began to rise. The hotels turned us out and<br>locked their doors, telling us that "officials" had told us to report<br>to the convention center to wait for more buses. As we entered the<br>center of the city, we finally encountered the National Guard.<br><br>The guard members told us we wouldn't be allowed into the Superdome, as<br>the city's primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health<br>hellhole. They further told us that the city's only other shelter--the<br>convention center--was also descending into chaos and squalor, and that<br>the police weren't allowing anyone else in.<br><br>Quite naturally, we asked, "If we can't go to the only two shelters in<br>the city, what was our alternative?" The guards told us that this was<br>our problem--and no, they didn't have extra water to give to us. This<br>would be the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile<br>"law enforcement."<br><br>* * *<br><br>WE WALKED to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street and<br>were told the same thing--that we were on our own, and no, they didn't<br>have water to give us. We now numbered several hundred.<br><br>We held a mass meeting to decide a course of action. We agreed to camp<br>outside the police command post. We would be plainly visible to the<br>media and constitute a highly visible embarrassment to city officials.<br>The police told us that we couldn't stay. Regardless, we began to<br>settle in and set up camp.<br><br>In short order, the police commander came across the street to address<br>our group. He told us he had a solution: we should walk to the<br>Pontchartrain Expressway and cross the greater New Orleans Bridge to<br>the south side of the Mississippi, where the police had buses lined up<br>to take us out of the city.<br><br>The crowd cheered and began to move. We called everyone back and<br>explained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation,<br>so was he sure that there were buses waiting for us. The commander<br>turned to the crowd and stated emphatically, "I swear to you that the<br>buses are there."<br><br>We organized ourselves, and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with<br>great excitement and hope. As we marched past the convention center,<br>many locals saw our determined and optimistic group, and asked where we<br>were headed. We told them about the great news.<br><br>Families immediately grabbed their few belongings, and quickly, our<br>numbers doubled and then doubled again. Babies in strollers now joined<br>us, as did people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and other<br>people in wheelchairs. We marched the two to three miles to the freeway<br>and up the steep incline to the bridge. It now began to pour down rain,<br>but it didn't dampen our enthusiasm.<br><br>As we approached the bridge, armed sheriffs formed a line across the<br>foot of the bridge. Before we were close enough to speak, they began<br>firing their weapons over our heads. This sent the crowd fleeing in<br>various directions.<br><br>As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward and<br>managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of<br>our conversation with the police commander and the commander's<br>assurances. The sheriffs informed us that there were no buses waiting.<br>The commander had lied to us to get us to move.<br><br>We questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as<br>there was little traffic on the six-lane highway. They responded that<br>the West Bank was not going to become New Orleans, and there would be<br>no Superdomes in their city. These were code words for: if you are poor<br>and Black, you are not crossing the Mississippi River, and you are not<br>getting out of New Orleans.<br><br>* * *<br><br>OUR SMALL group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from the<br>rain under an overpass. We debated our options and, in the end, decided<br>to build an encampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway--on<br>the center divide, between the O'Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We<br>reasoned that we would be visible to everyone, we would have some<br>security being on an elevated freeway, and we could wait and watch for<br>the arrival of the yet-to-be-seen buses.<br><br>All day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the<br>same trip up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be<br>turned away--some chased away with gunfire, others simply told no,<br>others verbally berated and humiliated. Thousands of New Orleaners were<br>prevented and prohibited from self-evacuating the city on foot.<br><br>Meanwhile, the only two city shelters sank further into squalor and<br>disrepair. The only way across the bridge was by vehicle. We saw<br>workers stealing trucks, buses, moving vans, semi-trucks and any car<br>that could be hotwired. All were packed with people trying to escape<br>the misery that New Orleans had become.<br><br>Our little encampment began to blossom. Someone stole a water delivery<br>truck and brought it up to us. Let's hear it for looting! A mile or so<br>down the freeway, an Army truck lost a couple of pallets of C-rations<br>on a tight turn. We ferried the food back to our camp in shopping<br>carts.<br><br>Now--secure with these two necessities, food and water--cooperation,<br>community and creativity flowered. We organized a clean-up and hung<br>garbage bags from the rebar poles. We made beds from wood pallets and<br>cardboard. We designated a storm drain as the bathroom, and the kids<br>built an elaborate enclosure for privacy out of plastic, broken<br>umbrellas and other scraps. We even organized a food-recycling system<br>where individuals could swap out parts of C-rations (applesauce for<br>babies and candies for kids!).<br><br>This was something we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of Katrina. When<br>individuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out<br>for yourself. You had to do whatever it took to find water for your<br>kids or food for your parents. But when these basic needs were met,<br>people began to look out for each other, working together and<br>constructing a community.<br><br>If the relief organizations had saturated the city with food and water<br>in the first two or three days, the desperation, frustration and<br>ugliness would not have set in.<br><br>Flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing<br>families and individuals. Many decided to stay and join us. Our<br>encampment grew to 80 or 90 people.<br><br>From a woman with a battery-powered radio, we learned that the media<br>was talking about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and<br>news organizations saw us on their way into the city. Officials were<br>being asked what they were going to do about all those families living<br>up on the freeway. The officials responded that they were going to take<br>care of us. Some of us got a sinking feeling. "Taking care of us" had<br>an ominous tone to it.<br><br>Unfortunately, our sinking feeling (along with the sinking city) was<br>accurate. Just as dusk set in, a sheriff showed up, jumped out of his<br>patrol vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces and screamed, "Get off the<br>fucking freeway." A helicopter arrived and used the wind from its<br>blades to blow away our flimsy structures. As we retreated, the sheriff<br>loaded up his truck with our food and water.<br><br>Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway. All the law<br>enforcement agencies appeared threatened when we congregated into<br>groups of 20 or more. In every congregation of "victims," they saw<br>"mob" or "riot." We felt safety in numbers. Our "we must stay together"<br>attitude was impossible because the agencies would force us into small<br>atomized groups.<br><br>In the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we<br>scattered once again. Reduced to a small group of eight people, in the<br>dark, we sought refuge in an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on<br>Cilo Street. We were hiding from possible criminal elements, but<br>equally and definitely, we were hiding from the police and sheriffs<br>with their martial law, curfew and shoot-to-kill policies.<br><br>The next day, our group of eight walked most of the day, made contact<br>with the New Orleans Fire Department and were eventually airlifted out<br>by an urban search-and-rescue team.<br><br>We were dropped off near the airport and managed to catch a ride with<br>the National Guard. The two young guardsmen apologized for the limited<br>response of the Louisiana guards. They explained that a large section<br>of their unit was in Iraq and that meant they were shorthanded and were<br>unable to complete all the tasks they were assigned.<br><br>* * *<br><br>WE ARRIVED at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. The<br>airport had become another Superdome. We eight were caught in a press<br>of humanity as flights were delayed for several hours while George Bush<br>landed briefly at the airport for a photo op. After being evacuated on<br>a Coast Guard cargo plane, we arrived in San Antonio, Texas.<br><br>There, the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort<br>continued. We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we<br>were forced to sit for hours and hours. Some of the buses didn't have<br>air conditioners. In the dark, hundreds of us were forced to share two<br>filthy overflowing porta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with<br>any possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) were<br>subjected to two different dog-sniffing searches.<br><br>Most of us had not eaten all day because our C-rations had been<br>confiscated at the airport--because the rations set off the metal<br>detectors. Yet no food had been provided to the men, women, children,<br>elderly and disabled, as we sat for hours waiting to be "medically<br>screened" to make sure we weren't carrying any communicable diseases.<br><br>This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heartfelt<br>reception given to us by ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker<br>give her shoes to someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street<br>offered us money and toiletries with words of welcome.<br><br>Throughout, the official relief effort was callous, inept and racist.<br>There was more suffering than need be. Lives were lost that did not<br>need to be lost.<br> <br> <p></p><i></i>