We have all the technology. That we do not lack. The tracking devices, the computer generated coordinates, the oddly and cruelly compelling color photographs swirling in evil hypnotic pinwheels on our screens, the live video cameras, the TV reporters windblown, strained, somber. We have seen the residents sad, largely resigned, the automobiles packing the roads out, the lines and lines and lines of those left behind, unable to leave, patiently waiting for admission and for some degree of communal solace inside the Superdome. If we do not live there we can be grateful for where we are, be prayerful for those in the path. And we can acknowledge we are in awe at the evil majesty of this oncoming crushing natural onslaught.
We get the second-by-second updates, hear the most expert information. We can marvel over the sophistication of the vast arsenal of machinery that is able to measure shifts in wind speeds within a tenth of a mile, explain the meaning of the most minute changes, report the arrival time, project the inevitability of the outcome. But despite all the machinery and the ever-growing avalanche of information the truth is clear. We can know everything, but can do nothing. Except offer up our frail human hope that Katrina might make an unexpected, charitable, blessed turn. It is not in our hands. We are crippled before her. We are waiting.
We get the second-by-second updates, hear the most expert information. We can marvel over the sophistication of the vast arsenal of machinery that is able to measure shifts in wind speeds within a tenth of a mile, explain the meaning of the most minute changes, report the arrival time, project the inevitability of the outcome. But despite all the machinery and the ever-growing avalanche of information the truth is clear. We can know everything, but can do nothing. Except offer up our frail human hope that Katrina might make an unexpected, charitable, blessed turn. It is not in our hands. We are crippled before her. We are waiting.
