Former FEMA and Arabian Horse Assocation Director Michael Brown, looking rested and ready, alert and assertive, appeared today before the sparsely populated House Committee investigating the federal response to hurricane Katrina.So, what went wrong down there?Instantly Brown demonstrated the kind of clear-visioned, supremely focused, steely vision that was the hallmark of his leadership.He admitted there were a few slipups on his part, negligible, but a few. However, Brown said, look--- this was the heart of it all: “I very strongly personally regret that I was unable to persuade Governor Blanco and Mayor Nagin to sit down, get over their differences and work together.” Brown, leaning firmly forward in his seat told the representatives, "I just couldn't pull that off."It quickly became clear that Brown has used these weeks of D-C dungeon downtime to gain a true perspective that will help move us forward and avoid the kind of unnecessary deaths and lingering homelessness we are still seeing. It was not him, certainly not the President, and clearly not FEMA that failed. Oh, no.So who was to blame?Ah, the fault to properly call in the cavalry, to race to the rescue of the displaced, the distressed, and the dead lay with the blubbery Louisiana Governor and the needy New Orleans Mayor.Brown testified, "My biggest mistake was not recognizing by Saturday that Louisiana was dysfunctional."Oh man, if only those, those, politicians had not been there none of this would have happened.But wait, ladies and gentleman--- there’s more.Brown continues to do a hell of a lot better than the folks along the Gulf Coast. Turns out that the new, reorganized FEMA itself, eager to make sure they don’t lose a second of these precious insights from Brown, has made sure to fire him, but at the same time to keep him on the payroll. CBS news reporter Gloria Borger says Brown is a fully paid “contractor,” while he is “transitioning out of his job.” FEMA, says Borger, told her “ the agency wants to get what it calls the "proper download of his (Brown’s) experience."Not that they could have simply insisted he tell them whatever he knew for free. Oh no, for sure not. And jesus god, they actually think he knew anything.Then, what’s this term, “proper download,” applied to a human being mean--- in English?Stands to reason that since we have FEMA spokespeople who can’t speak in any language on this planet how can we expect they will ever truly understand a simple call for help?
In the midst of the terrible continuing war in Iraq; as the mighty winds and rain rolled through the Gulf Coast, while the homeless seeking shelter slowly moved on their nomadic march; as the price for gasoline continued its upward spiral and we prepared for paying whatever it will take to drive and work and stay warm this winter--- during these days of fear, uncertainty, and great discomfort, one small wonderful cosmic sign of normalcy reappeared.At the direct center of my life when I was eight, nine, ten and growing up in The Bronx was The Yankees. It wasn’t that I didn’t do anything else, or care about anything else. I did. TV, girls, punchball, Bungalow Bar, Batman. But it was The Yankees that mattered.
I lived an easy, straight-shot 20-minute subway ride down the Grand Concourse from the giant, gleaming, white stadium where --- if you got there early enough and knew where to stand--- you could catch a quick glimpse of Phil Rizzuto, Snuffy Stirnweiss, Fireman Joe Page, and on the best, most amazing days a moment of Joe DiMaggio’s gleaming black hair as he hustled from limo to locker room. It didn’t hurt me that it was known around town that my uncle had written a best selling song about Joltin’ Joe only a few years before.There could be terrible weather, wars, awful movies, snow on the television screens. But The Yankees were what you could count on. The rest you’d learn to cope with. You didn’t have to question god or politicians so long as The Yankees took the field. And, in my way-back memory, the most constant aspect of the end of every season took place when The Bronx Bombers would play The Boston Red Sox to see who went into the championship, and then to most certainly win the World Series. I would lie on the floor of my cousin Herbie’s apartment and thrill to the game on radio. But the truth is, no matter how close the score, no matter whether The Yanks were behind with 2 out in the 9th, the outcome never was in doubt for me. Yankees. Always The Yankees.So much has changed since then. But this last week, as the hurricane of life swirled along its reckless, unsettling, disruptive path, the fact that The Red Sox and The Yankees were suddenly tied for first place, that the season was singing its final song, and that those 2 teams would once again play it out right at the end ---well that was the way it should be, the exact way we need it to be if there is going to be any balance left in the world.
And, leaving aside any recent history, and despite the obvious loss of intelligent reasoning on the part of at least 2 of my beloved grandchildren, I still know how it is going to turn out. For sure.Bet you a nickel.
I watched, of course I did. Just as you did if you had your TV on--- but I am deeply concerned about the implications.Last night as I was looking around for updated information on Rita ripping toward Texas I came upon live pictures of a large jet circling around somewhere. Typically when I am going from station to station I leave the sound down and the closed captioning up. These days when I see shots of a plane my first thought is about terrorists so I pumped the audio immediately.Not terrorists, as we all know by now; a JetBlue passenger plane with broken down landing gear making circles above LAX, using up its weighty fuel, getting lighter, moving toward the dangerous descent onto the runways below. 146 people aboard, sealed inside that metal envelope, and every cable channel had marshaled its ever ready cadre of resident experts for commentary.(An aside: where do they keep these experts? Does an unlimited cache of these people live in some special wing at each of the news channels on perpetual standby just in case something, anything, happens?)Anyway, I watched. The slow, soundless circling filling my screen, the tension building. Then the swift and seemingly sudden descent onto the tarmac. I was on CNN at that moment, and Larry King kept asking one of their experts whether the landing gear really looked "broken." He seemed reassured in some bizarre backward way when they could tell him, without reservation, that this was a real problem, with real potential for drama and disaster, and not just a false alarm.The plane, as we all know, bumped down, front end up for as long as the pilot was able. Then there was the terrible few seconds as the flames erupted. Five minutes later it was all over. Everyone walked safely from the front exit; not an ambulance was needed.Good news, yes?But then I thought about it. I had just witnessed a plane with all those passengers and crew aboard headed toward possible death. And I saw it live. If the plane exploded, if bodies shot out windows, heads and arms and legs everywhere there would have been no turning back, no turning away. And for what greater good? Why did I need to see this live? Why could the networks not have shown the plane at the beginning, kept up running updates, and then played the videotape seconds after resolution?This was not a sudden situation. Appropriate news judgments were possible all along the way, but they were never made. There was plenty of time for decisions by news managers. But it's such a competitive world out there, and the only desire was to have the best pictures, the most immediate information, the most penetrating close-ups as the wheels hit ground. This was the standard applied, the only one these days. Concern for the people inside the JetBlue never outweighed the need to show every second as it happened, when it happened. If they could have had a camera in the cabin and shown the agony of the passengers and crew you can believe that would have been done as well. I used to be the one who made those decisions, way back when, and I know if I opted not to show the action last night I'd be out looking for a job today.It was all about giving those thrill seeking, but safe, viewers like me what we craved--- and to do it immediately. All about how to drive up those ratings pal.UPDATE: Turns out JetBlue left its in-cabin seat TV monitors on, and passengers wating out their uncertain fate watched the coverage live along with all of us... and some passengers had camcorders that they used so that today we actually DO have the added bonus of being able to witness them preparing for their possible deaths. We live in an age of great technical marvels, and thank god we clearly can count on equally great sensitivity on the part of the television decision makers.
They are in cars, and busses, and on foot heading out of Galveston and Houston. Thousands and thousands of them. Once again disproportionately poor. The rest of the Gulf Coast waits nervously, uncertainly. It's like being told you are going to die twice down there, and the season still has more time to go."Galveston, oh Galveston, I still hear your sea waves crashing"
Ok, question of the day: what do the new Martha Stewart daily show, the three network hurricane relief concerts and the Emmy Award show have in common?Hint: if you used the words pretentious, boring and irrelevant you are on the right track.
STEWART: If you’ve ever been at a party and got inadvertently locked in a conversation with someone you didn’t really know, who told meaningless self-involved stories with unfocused and unfunny payoffs, then you have met Martha Stewart. Fifteen minutes in and you want to fall forward into the dip. I admit it, I didn’t like her that much even before she was a felon. Telling me how to decoupage my mailbox didn’t seem like a major life priority. My subscription to the Martha magazine lapsed before it even started. But millions obviously disagreed then, and millions more may disagree now. Friend O Mine, more informed about this empty world than I ever was, tells me the first week ratings for her post-jail show are not terrible. All I know is that I watched three of them, each one worse and more deadly than the last. I gave up about three quarters of the way through the hour-long birthday salute to her 91-year-old mother who she calls Big Martha. Little Martha, it should be noted, seems scared and unsure in her mommy’s presence. Even her live studio audience, filled with Martha groupies I presume (Little Martha, not so much Big), wasn’t responding, and it seemed to me they had to artificially “sweeten” the applause track. The show is humorous the way your grandmother’s funeral might have its light moments, and warm and genuine like a Katrina speech by George Bush.
RELIEF CONCERTS: New Orleans music, Cajun music, as I understand it, has a natural spirit and optimistic view of life
even in the most serious of circumstances. Why then were the two separate hour-long fund raisers for that region on the broadcast TV and cable networks turned into the most dreary and unimaginative experiences? Sure, the intent was good (so is Jerry Lewis’) but the results had virtually no feeling, no impact. Flat. The artists showed up, they performed or read poorly from cue cards, and they went home. Everything was slick and packaged and carefully produced and disconnected from any genuine emotion. And then there was the PBS concert over the weekend, a never ending poorly executed four hour tribute not so much to the dislocated people down south but to the egos of certain folks from Lincoln Center, to executives at the public broadcasting network, and to hosts who seemed to have a great need to deliver lengthy clichéd lectures about our moral obligations under these unfortunate circumstances. Aside from Mark O’Connor doing a beautiful violin riff on Amazing Grace, Robin Williams with a spirited, disciplined and funny few minutes (for once), and a cornet player whose name I missed, the performances were uninspired. I assume the audience in the theater stayed either because they were too embarrassed to get up and leave, or because their bodies were numb and they became immobilized, or because they trained for the ordeal by attending the new Martha Stewart Show.
EMMY AWARDS: Here’s what was good: Donald Trump in overalls singing Green Acres, and William Shatner and Frederica von Stade “singing” the unsingable theme from Star Trek. Here’s what seemed genuine: the response to Jennings, Brokaw and Rather. Here’s what was oddly stilted and slightly embarrassing: Letterman’s reading of the tribute to Johnny Carson, and the hosting of Degeneris throughout. Here’s what was terrible: everything else. I found myself almost longing for Martha Stewart.And now the new television season begins. Oh boy.
Just watched Bush. So which party does he belong to? He's proposing the biggest federal giveaway in history; FDR and LBJ would be proud. When all else fails throw money. But who is gonna' pay?I noticed the President’s accent becomes more southern when he appears down there, and tonight he seemed to have developed this peculiar and disconcerting tongue poking out his mouth thing, like a nervous mouse.Karl Rove orchestrated the entire presentation and all that was missing was the President marching onto the grounds playing the cornet.
Let me be the first to tell you. ABC News is going to name 20/20 lead Elizabeth Vargas and correspondent Bob Woodruff co-anchors of World News Tonight as successors to Peter Jennings.I had that sudden intuitive certainty watching the two of them work the Katrina story together recently.
Woodruff has the long lean look, and a presence similar to Jennings’. He is a former attorney who came to the business somewhat later, and his experience in the field matches the kind Jennings brought to the anchor desk when he returned there after a brief horrendous time when he was too young, too unformed. Woodruff is calm and has a compelling manner. Check out his eyes as well. When I was in television we’d talk about the few people who pour through the camera, and pray we might find and hire them. Woodruff does that. When he’s there he’s really there.Vargas is well known for her work on 20/20 and as a sub for Jennings, especially when he got so sick, and then after his death. She has a strong background working stories for the newscasts, and in the longer
magazine and special report format as well. When she reported from Louisiana during the immediate aftermath of the hurricane I was struck by her strength and ability to carry the coverage. She is a hard-hitting deliverer of copy, and has a sympathetic demeanor when necessary. She also appears extremely confident and at ease with herself.So there you have it. Breaking news...film at 11.
What’s with standing ovations?Genuine, deeply felt and given applause is no longer enough. Now there are Standing O’s before anything happens, no performance necessary. Just walking out justifies one. A standing ovation has become the starting point, the most routine, and frequently if it is not also accompanied by stamping and squealing then you can just feel the disappointment on stage. A gloomy sense of failure descends. You must stand up again at the conclusion, and sometimes during breaks or intermissions, and if you don’t you run the risk of being badly mauled by the rest of the folks there, an outcast drowning in a sea of standing, stomping, screaming sycophants.I am talking about people like Martha Stewart and Oprah and Dr. Phil. It’s built into their shows. I am thinking about two unknown guitarists (for good reason) I heard the other night in concert. So many others. You’ve been there when it’s occurred. I know you have. The Big O before, during, and after. And in the case of the TV people they will be receiving them every single day, and in reruns forever. After they are dead.Whatever happened to earning something before you get it? It used to be a performance that caused the audience to rise to their feet in appreciation was rare and unusual indeed. You had to feel the artist had done something great before you stood up, and even then not everyone would. If you were there when a standing ovation was justified you considered yourself to have been extremely fortunate, a witness to a rare and extraordinary event. And you told everyone about it for days, probably years.But now expectations are virtually nonexistent; standards of quality have never been lower; nearly everything has been cheapened. What was low is considered high, and what was medium is off the charts. The implications are widespread.Once I asked someone next to me, a person who had jumped up four times to applaud, and who remained on her feet long after the stage was clear, whether she loved the show. ”It was OK. Pretty good,” she said.So, people come on. Let’s hear it. Hey over there--- you, yes you--- on your feet for the ordinary.
Friend O’ Mine sent me a fast email with the CNN story saying Bush had apologized for his response to the hurricane. “WOW!” he said. “This is a first.”I responded this way: “Smart.... America loves a contrite, apologetic confessional and the person who makes one.”Then I wrote Friend O’ Mine, “Bet in fuller context he means that he was the person with final responsibility (buck stops here deal) and should have known better despite the layers of otherwise information and advice...etc. etc. Sniff: do you smell the lurking smell of Karl Rove in the ‘bushes?’”It was supposed to be slightly more clever than it was certain, so I checked out the story. Damn if I wasn’t correct.Our stand-up President actually said, “…to the extent that the federal government didn't fully do its job right, I take responsibility."That’s the kind of apology I used to give to my mother when I was a kid and she caught me doing something bad. I also always immediately promised that I’d never do it again. Until the next time I get caught, I was really thinking.And Thursday night Bush goes on TV to tell us how much he cares. At least now. Ah, but it’s only the hot breath of Karl Rove breathing down his neck, like my mother used to with me.
The NY Times, which has long been known as the Gray Lady, the journalistic standard, well she ain't what she used to be. Woman I Know (WIK) who cares, deeply, about such things discovered that the Times was running a list, supplied to it by the infamous FEMA of fast and furious Katrina response fame, of places you and I can send our hurricane relief money to. Included in the list is one for Operation Blessing, a project underwritten by the equally infamous Pat Robertson, so recently blogged right here. Now this Woman I Know finds anything associated with Robertson slightly suspect, feels that it comes with conservative Christian strings attached. Nothing in the Times list was revealed. So WIK went right at it with the Public Editor (aka Ombudsman, aka aka Byron Calame) asking why the paper of record wasn't on the record about any of this. From what I understand there were phone calls and emails between WIK and the public editor (his assistant actually) until she finally received this:Thank you for your message and your concern for those in need.
Unfortunately, The Times can't be more helpful in this situation. The
paper is already trying to make it as clear as possible that the list of
charities is suggested by FEMA and not The Times.
I hope you can understand that The Times simply doesn't have the resources
required to check out each charity and repeat those checks frequently
enough to vouch for a long list of charities.
Byron Calame
Public Editor
The New York Times
It was as though she had received a "dear occupant" letter for all its real concern.This is the New York Times! They don't have the resources?The paper certainly does have absolute responsibility to check out any list submitted to them they use for editorial purposes (though none for advertising) whether by private or governmental sources. If the logic that Calame applied was true then all we'd see would be unsubstantiated reports provided by the Defense Department on the fighting in Iraq (no resources or time to check--- too many details) and State Department information on the status of war prisoners, (no resources or time to check---too complicated).So go ahead, just send out your money. Of course God only knows where it will end up. We know you read it in the Times. But of course we can't and won't vouch that it was correct. And we don't, you know, like really care.Here's the second story. I know about the details of this one first hand. A staffer at the New York Times recently reported that she had seen coverage of the storm by Geraldo Rivera (loathsome in general, and an easy target I agree) and he had pushed away a solider trying to help a storm victim so he, Geraldo, could get in the shot. You want to believe it was true, right? Well, the videotape of the event does not show that at all, and the Times not only refused to print a retraction but no one there would take any calls seeking a comment about the matter. Not enough resources to answer the phones I assume.The Gray Lady is hiding behind her own skirt these days.
And the horse you rode in on.One down... but so many more to go.
Four years later: a Tuesday then; I was making my long daily drive and listening to Imus when the first one hit. I don’t know why, but I knew instantly. Trouble. Big trouble. By the time of the second plane everyone knew. I called my old friends in California, yanking them out of bed and into the day of flames and fear and uncertainty and horror.
Four years later: these few zealots, with a couple of dollars and some charge cards have caused us to expend billions, to put our young men and women once more at risk in a wild card war in a far away country, for reasons that shift more frequently than current fashions. We have held investigations, created new governmental departments, and a crazy color warning system that seems more connected to our traffic light system than to any real threats. Those who claim to know tell us it is not a question of whether but when the terrorists will strike again. These are the same people who are telling us we will rebuild New Orleans though the World Trade Center site in New York remains untouched, a silent monument to our unending capacity for bickering and politics.Four years later: there have been no further attacks here. We’ve had our full compliment of Super Bowls, mass New Year’s gatherings on Times Square, another presidential election and more. All the preplanned, all the public, as usual. Plenty of targets; plenty of opportunity. Nothing has been cancelled yet nothing has been attacked. Even during this past week or so of massive confusion, stumble-bum responses and diverted resources, not even one attempt, and it isn’t because they have compassion for our poor uprooted homeless down south.Four years later: where have they been? Surely, and especially since our feeble response to the hurricane, they really can’t believe our Homeland Security, or our inept local governments, or our insensitive President can keep them out if they want, really want, to come. Osama still runs free, no weapons of mass destruction have been found, and terrorists can roam pretty much undetected and unstoppable as before. Just ask Londoners. But since the fire and destruction of 9/11/2001 they have been limited to pulling off small time jobs, like minor league hit men.Four years later: perhaps the terrorism threat isn’t all we have been encouraged to believe. Maybe, just maybe, that small band of terrible men who seized the planes four years ago were emblematic of a particular passion and evil intent and a moment in time, but not a plan with long-range implications or possibilities.Today: where I am we have had a beautiful, quiet day so far. We are on the cusp between summer and fall. People wear heavier jeans and a sweater but with sandals, pushing out the summer for as long as they can, not quite wanting yet to acknowledge the inevitably of the seasons. Elsewhere in America it is not so pleasant or so simple. The worst disaster this country has had to face also fell from the sky just two weeks ago. We were no more prepared to handle that then we were when the planes hit and the Twin Towers crumbled four years ago.
Scapegoating Are Us: Brownie is nearly gone. Relieved of "command" in the hurricane emergency, the NY Times writes, without a snicker over the word command or the decision itself. Actually only his ass is gone, his head is still technically on top of FEMA. But shortly expect him to be entirely ridden off into the sunset, though not on one of those fine Arabian stallions he couldn't control before. Clearly the Bush administration hopes this will settle all us nervous nellies down. That we will now turn back to more pleasant matters, like how well the President is handling the war in Iraq.
It’s over.Forget Bush’s failures, FEMA’s pitiful responses, the Louisiana governor’s petty politics. There’s good news: as of late yesterday we’ve done all we can do. Entertainment Tonight sent Richard Simmons into New Orleans to deal with the damn flood. I saw it. Dressed in his short-shorts, his spangley t-top, his frizzed out nest of thinning hair shifting in the breeze, Richard came, saw, whimpered, murmured “my home,” and crossed himself at the church he used to attend when he was growing up not far from the French Quarter oh so many many years ago. Never mind he caused an older woman looking for her family to cry silently after he demanded she say “It’s going to be all right,” to him. Never mind that he put his face on her heaving bosom while she looked away, the tears rolling down her cheeks. Never mind that he pulled uncomprehending children, who had no idea who he was, to him, and kissed their little heads while they tried to get away. Never mind any of it. Because he brought himself to that decimated city, and that was enough.The stars have arrived in New Orleans; can the sun be far behind?
This may seem like nothing to you (if there are any of you), but it’s my blog and I’ll blog if I want to…blog if I want to.Today, for the third time in the last month I was almost run down by a human on a bicycle rampaging through the downtown streets of Boston paying no attention to me, the signs, or the law. One of them gave me the finger when I jumped back. Not messengers working, just folks out cruising for the exercise and pleasure of it all. I wasn’t crossing illegally, or in the middle of the street, honestly. I have also been witness to at least two near misses of others.Wait before you assume anything: I’m a big supporter of fresh air, the healthier lifestyle and especially no gas guzzling or pollution. In fact, when I moved into the city several years ago, after a lengthy stay in a quieter place on the ocean up north, I donated my car to a charity and for the first time since I was 16 have been walking or taking rapid transit (the “T” here) or (god help me) busses when necessary. So someone who talks to me about riding a bike instead of driving has had my regards, my support, and until recently my good will.But now: they, these killers on two wheels, ride swiftly alongside the autos in traffic, an ipod growing from their heads. These are the ones who don’t wear helmets or any kind of protective gear. They ignore stop signs or red lights. They should have smiley face t-shirts that say, No Stopping! If there is a sufficient crowd at the corner, they will sometimes slow down coming to the intersection, which at first I thought was a small nod to rudimentary courtesy; now I am sure it is so they can try to aim at me more accurately.They often swerve suddenly to make unannounced left or right turns, and more than once I have witnessed them moving along unconcerned, going the wrong way on a one-way street.They most often stay hidden in the far left or far right lane, obscure until the last second from view. If you happen to be crossing from the opposite side you might only feel the wisp of a breeze as they zoom on by, missing making contact by a millimeter.They are silent like a stealth weapon there on the streets of the city. Neither they nor their Schwin’s (or whatever the hell these days) make a sound. The better to drive over your head with a minimum of fuss or noise, and then be on their way without missing one second of a song on their ‘pod. At night they wear no marked clothing, have no lights. These tree hugging mean bastards.“Hey old dude,” I swear they say, as they pedal triumphantly and swiftly out of sight toward their next unsuspecting target, “ I got the fresh air to breathe, the legs to pump up, the lungs to purify, the places to go. Drive a car if you want to get around, or get a guide dog if gotta’ walk and you can’t handle the pressure on your own. Or best of all, just stay home and watch Oprah. ”
... is the one he had chosen.Surely this was, as The Washington Post is already writing, the safest choice. After the week he had, could we expect any more from a president who is diverted, and devoting all his time and energy to implementing Karl Rove's PR plan to counteract the damage done to him by Katrina. He may have been slow to react to what happened to the people down there-- but the aftermath, and all the negative coverage directed his way? Hey, that was personal.So Roberts it will be. It's not only a safe choice it's a smart one for the president. Bush knows who he is getting; he was sure about Roberts when he named him a month ago, he is surer now.The media, which suprised itself by getting it up for Katrina, expending almost all its energy down on the bayou, is not about to launch a serious investigative examination of Roberts credentials to head The Supreme Court, any more than it did before.The only real anger will most likely be privately held by Scalia, who expected to become Chief and who has been that in his own mind since before he was even appointed to the bench. On the other hand, Thomas, apparently considered by some as a possibility for the job, is not disappointed and probably unaware anything even has happened.Senator Kennedy and the usual others will ask for more information, more records about Roberts' prior service. But the momentum will be too much. In the end Roberts will be confirmed, Scalia will sulk, Thomas will not notice, and we will watch as The Supreme Court rapidly moves in an ever more conservative direction.And there is still one more to come.
From the streets of New Orleans... says it all
The strategy is working.First time out, name someone whose opinions and whose votes you are certain of, but not someone likely to stirs things up too much. Someone charming but not too much on the record. Then wait. Be patient. You can afford to because you know it won’t take too long before you can move into the second phase.It didn’t.Now that Rehnquist is dead the President gets to do it a second time. And the person he names is going to be the Big Payoff, the Reason We Voted For The Guy In The Second Place. Our Conservative brethren are already falling to their knees in gratitude.
When is enough, enough?I don’t recall exactly when this happened, how long after, but I remember feeling that if I saw those planes smash into the World Trade Center one more time--- saw the second jet move into slow motion, witnessed the flames, the bodies hurtling to earth, the grey ash covering the terrified people racing from the scene --- that if I was shown that one more time, I would jump from a nearby window myself.And then came the numbness. What moved me before only made me glance up now, like watching an old movie. I didn’t need to see it anymore to know it always came out the same. What was once shock and disbelief became curiosity and recollection. I'm not certain how long that took, but it was relatively soon.It is that way for me now with Katrina.First the pounding of the relentless storm, and then the pounding of the relentless images, repeated over and over so that the actual day and time they occurred became a blur. I am having trouble even a after only a week recalling the exact details of when things happened, and I am watching less and less,Of course, in the beginning when it was new and riveting, when the images were fresh and most horrifying, none of us could control our needing to know, our appetite for the latest information, It was then that our President could not be bothered. And when he finally responded so very late and under pressure, all he could do was deepen his southern accent and make feeble jokes at the airport about how much fun he had growing up in Houston. But could never bring himself to experience the stink of the Super Dome or the Convention Center or to admit he hadn’t done what he should for his people. I will remember that.I will remember our FEMA director, a man fired from his biggest previous job because he could not work with horses, saying on Thursday that he was not aware of what was going on in the Convention Center and calling eyewitness news reports “rumors.” Michael Brown, who proudly declared a day later, "We have had no shootings at anyone in the last 48 hours.”I will remember Michael Chertoff our head of the oxymoronic Homeland Security saying today, Sunday, "I think when we go back and look at it a lot of things worked well and some things didn't work well.” That’s as close to recognition or an apology as he could get. I will remember that.And now the next wait begins as the waters go down and the dead rise to the surface. Thousands of our neighbors lost to us right here, in America.
Take out your pencils. Here are the essay questions of the day:You make take as long as you like to fill in your answers in your blue books. Please fold your hands and sit quietly when you are finished. - Based on the Bush Homeland Security response after a week, what do you believe would have happened if there had been terrorist attacks on this country in multiple lcoations rather than a single, predictable hurricane?
- What do you think might occur if another hurricane rips through the Gulf Coast this season. Or in the near future?
Found and safe! Excellent.Now if only we can get him some decent clothes.
I just heard that in the midst of the ruin of New Orleans that Fats Domino is missing and feared dead. If he is indeed lost to us that will add a dimension to the tragedy of the last week impossible for me to calculate.I can remember the first time I heard Fats, sitting alone in my room in the Bronx, struggling to navigate through my adolescence. Ever since, whenever I was feeling low and trying to get back in touch with myself I would listen to him bang one out."Do you remember me baby like I remember you?"
I am doing that right now."Got my ticket in my hand...I'm goin' to New Orleans..."
Katrina on television:Aside from the thousands of frightened, helpless people still stranded in New Orleans and along the Gulf Coast, does anyone look more lost, more out of control than Wolf Blizter on CNN? Someone close down the Situation Room. It will be an act of mercy.So far has anyone done a more humane, elegant, professional job of telling this terrible story than Arron Brown on CNN and Elizabeth Vargas on ABC? (Hint: the answer is "no.")
Katrina: Bits & Pieces# 1: Katrina came and went having done no more and no less than she was created to do, emptying out her ectoplasm in one hell of a wild ride along the coast. And having done her work now a faded killer queen, a whisper of herself disappearing on the horizon. Behind is the slime of her presence. The crumpled homes, destroyed landscape, mangled cars and boats floating across our screens. The hundreds, perhaps thousands, of dead beneath the fetid, debris clogged waters waiting to emerge.It should be more than enough.# 2: But now… now the real story is emerging.The one where thousands cling to rooftops and wave white flags, or hold up handmade signs saying “Save Me.”The one where families are separated and can not find each other, or contact each other.The one where guns are grabbed and stealing begins.
The one where those waiting to be rescued fire at those who have come to rescue them.The one where the bodies of people who have died since Katrina danced on through begin to pile up. These are the innocents, the left behind, the ones who were supposed to have been saved who lie lifeless on the ground, or propped up in chairs, or on makeshift gurneys. Some covered in sheets; some not. And the grownups watch and the children watch and surround them, and grow hungrier and hotter and more frightened and more desperate and angry. These helpless victims of neglect, and failed response.# 3: The one where Bush, our cowboy president peers out the tiny window from inside the upholstered cocoon on Air Force One. Above the waters, away from the dead, the smell. Safe in the clouds, nearer his God to him.“Jesus,” he must have thought, “You gave me 9/11 and I rode that pretty hard on pure instinct. What am I going to do with this?” Then making his vacuous, cliché ridden statement. We will be fine, stronger, as a result of this he tells us. But it will take “years.” Right. Tell that to the terrified, dying and hungry spilling out of the New Orleans Dome. They want to know what he will do for them now. Thursday.# 4: The one where we want to know why authorities, who had enough advance warning to ask people to leave New Orleans before Katrina did not provide free busses and boats and whatever it took to get the poor, the sick, the old out at the same time. The ones packing the Dome, crouched on their rooftops, or bloated and dead under and above the water.We wonder, does it have to do with the fact that they are mostly Black.And even if that nasty suspicion could not possibly be true (after all New Orleans mayor is African American) still…but still….# 5. The one where the finger pointing and the questions and the blame finding has only begun.It will be as ugly and vicious and enduring as anything Katrina left behind.
Former FEMA and Arabian Horse Assocation Director Michael Brown, looking rested and ready, alert and assertive, appeared today before the sparsely populated House Committee investigating the federal response to hurricane Katrina.
