Dispatches From the Other America: Part 1

http://www.truthout.org/docs_2006/080607R.shtml

Dispatches From the Other America
By Charles E. Anderson
t r u t h o u t | Guest Contributor

Monday 06 August 2007

(Photo: http://blogs.move.com/blogs)

The French Quarter bustles with hundreds of tanned tourists clad in Bermuda shorts, flip-flops and T-shirts bearing pithy slogans. They crowd in around tour guides who tell tall tales of the distant past - tales of Voodoo queens and illicit madams, stories of hard lives and cruel deaths. They rush to get on buses to tour the grand mansions and manicured lawns the of famed Garden District of New Orleans. They drink strong coffee and eat beignets at the Café Dumond; dine in the French Quarter's famous five-star restaurants and drink at the many bars along Bourbon Street. Greenbacks flow from worn leather wallets into the cash registers of the tourist district, seemingly faster than the mind can conceive. Farther downtown, a gas station turns a brisk business selling gasoline, snacks and cold drinks to hundreds of residents and visitors alike. Traffic is heavy on this thoroughfare that dissects one of the city's poorest neighborhoods, the 9th Ward. The sidewalks here are full with foot traffic. Residents go about their daily tasks of gutting homes and businesses, seeming to continue with their lives. Taking this in, it is almost easy for me to believe what I have been told: New Orleans is recovering well from Hurricane Katrina, and the city is on the road to recovery. But, this is New Orleans and the Crescent City is known for its facades.

It takes only two left turns off the major travel routes to discover the New Orleans I had hoped did not exist. It is the New Orleans the state and city governments do not want you to see. Houses lifted from their foundations by the floodwaters that inundated the city two years ago still sit as dilapidated piles of rubble; occasional FEMA trailers dot an otherwise barren landscape devoid of functioning businesses or inhabitable homes. The stench of mildew, mold and rotting garbage permeates the area. This view of "the other New Orleans" is haunting, like a graveyard of the living. Schools, once filled with the jubilant voices of youth, now sit silent and empty as though bearing silent witness to innocence lost; churches sit boarded and vacant, seeming to proclaim, "God doesn't live here anymore," and dozens of corner stores, bars and barber shops sit dormant, as if waiting for their hard-working owners to return and pick up where they left off August 28, 2005: the day before the storm. Yet, this empty view of the city is no more accurate than the image so carefully constructed by the city's Visitor's Bureau. The truth about New Orleans is somewhere between the cleaned-up, shiny image of the uptown districts and the nearly ghost town aura of the 9th Ward.

Somewhere in this haunted ghost town, I discovered a resilience of the human spirit I have never seen before. Signs proclaiming, "I'm coming home; I will rebuild; I am New Orleans" can be seen hanging in front windows and posted in the front yards of the iconic Louisiana shotgun-style houses. Lifelong residents struggle to gut their family homes, often without help. A new generation of New Orleanians, proud of their heritage, work long hours during the week only to work longer hours repairing their damaged homes on weekends. Children still play here and adults still congregate together on their front porches to talk about the hard times and to hope for a better future. Hundreds of caring souls from around the country work tirelessly to do what they can to help people they have never met. The story of this working-class district seems to cry out from its dilapidated buildings and vacant persona. Local residents yearn to tell their story and freely talk about the ordeal they have endured for the past two years as they suffered in silence.

Before I arrived in Louisiana, I had prepared myself to witness the destruction wrought by the hurricane, as well as the waste wrought by inept government. I was not, however, prepared to witness the abject suffering of the hurricane victims, nor was I prepared to experience the strength of faith and the resolve of character so steadfastly personified by these survivors. I had the pleasure of meeting elderly residents of the 9th Ward, many of whom have been working on their homes with no assistance; I met volunteers, motivated only by the desire to relieve human suffering, whose work has aided many, and I met a community "at the bottom of the world" in southern Louisiana where the locals are determined to rebuild their community. My eight days in Louisiana provided me with a view of the "other America" where resources are scarce; faith and will power are essential for survival, and in fact prove to be the heart of our national identity.

It's a story of incredible suffering, amazing faith and strong characters. It is the story of hurricane survivors, not hurricane victims. It is a story of a culture that is clinging to survival in the wake of powerful hurricanes and feeble governments. It is a story of the best, and the worst, of the American spirit.

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Coming Tomorrow: Meet some of the 9th Ward's residents as they attempt to reclaim their lives after the storm.

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Charles E. Anderson's writings have been published by Truthout, Common Dreams and The Huffington Post. He lives in Boone, North Carolina where he is a junior at Appalachian State University. He can be contacted through his web site: www.charleseanderson.com.