I Know What It Means

August 29th, 2007.
730 days after the storm.

When I travel, the first question I am asked is, "New Orleans? Oh, how's it doing?" The second question is, inevitably, "Were you there during Katrina?"

No. I did not have to weigh the options about evacuation. I did not board up my windows and carry anything of importance to the top shelves of the second floor; except for the photos which go in the car. I did not have to try to convince the national guard to let me return to my own home and have them watch me as I scrambled to collect items before the time limit was up. Instead, two years ago I was sitting on the Lewis's couch, watching over and over the images on CNN. I remember feeling terrified. I remember feeling helpless. I remember wanting to pick up and go to a city that I'd never visited, wanting in some way to help.

And here I am, an adopted New Orleanian, still wanting in some way to help. Because the answer to the first question is, "Not great." To be fair, this city was doing not-so-good before the storm. But to have a city of such poverty and social strife and then to decimate it with a disaster created not by nature but by humans...and then to realize that this city has been nearly forgotten, that aid is only trickling in and it's going to take years and years before we truly see recovery...I realize that when people ask me how New Orleans is, that's the first time they've really thought about her. I'm a living reminder, even if the storm itself barely touched my life. I'm a reminder of the failure of humans to protect one another, of true injustice, a reminder that complete devastation can come into our lives at any time. But most don't want to see this reminder. They don't want to remember, they don't want to know that they still should be thinking about New Orleans, and more than that doing something about New Orleans.

My challenge to you--do something! Come see my city. I have a couch, it's free, but I can't make promises that it's yours during Mardi Gras so I'd try a different time. Come see the neighborhoods, see the Xs on buildings letting rescuers know if a body was found in that home, see how a perfectly rebuilt home will stand next to one falling down. Talk to people. Ask them how it feels to be living in a FEMA trailer while waiting for Road Home money. Spend money (in Orleans Parish) so that you're helping people have jobs. This city is amazing, exciting, unique. It's unlike any other in this country. To let it die would be like emptying the Smithsonian, except it's real, it's living.

There's hope here. You don't have to look far. But come see. Come stay.

Oh and check out this video if you want to know more:
http://www.youtube.com/v/mNUePU5Jkbo