Michael flew home yesterday afternoon; the rest of us are leaving tonight. Yesterday was our play day. We went to the New Orleans School of Cooking. We had a great time, and were fed very well on crawfish etouffee, shrimp and artichoke soup, bread pudding, and pralines. The chef (Kevin) was a riot; he loved bantering back and forth with us, and he told great stories. It was the most fun I’ve had at lunch in a long time.
We went around the tables and said where we were from, and he asked us what we were doing in New Orleans. People shouted, “touristing,” “eating,” and suchlike. Michael called out, “House gutting.”
Kevin stopped us. “What?”
“House gutting.”
“Thank you.”
Several locals in the audience also thanked him/us. I felt really proud of Michael for having been able to do that; I have asthma and am rightly afraid of black mold. Vivian, Judy, and I did very worthwhile work here, but what is most clearly and widely needed is house gutting. Many neighborhoods in this city have block after block after block of flood-damaged homes. Kevin cited New Orleans Times-Picayune writer Chris Rose, who writes in his book One Dead in the Attic, “Our city has a bathtub ring around it.” From what we saw, that is literally true.
This exchange got me thinking. Most people, who live in cities that are not prone to hurricanes, and who have safe, sturdy houses, would view teams of strangers coming in and taking their houses apart from the inside, down to the studs, as a shockingly gross invasion. Here, the houses were damaged by being flooded with toxic water for up to six weeks. They have to be taken apart to be saved. There aren’t enough contractors in the city to do what needs to be done here, and most people couldn’t pay for that level of labor anyway. So, volunteers come in with Tyvek suits, respirators, and crow bars, and tear apart houses for free—to preserve the homeowners’ property rights.
You can’t just leave a flood-damaged house indefinitely; there are deadlines. One is coming up in mid-April; I don’t know if that is city-wide or only for the 9th Ward. But if houses aren’t “improved” by the deadlines given, they are condemned. Gutting counts as evidence of improvement.
I understand the issue. But the reality here once again makes my head spin.
We met a group of ABSW students for beignets, afterward; the Baptists had traveled from Berkeley to a town in Mississippi that was literally blown away by Katrina, to build houses with Habitat for Humanity. Then we walked around the park, into the cathedral, and back outside to listen to music. You know you’re in New Orleans when the street musicians are good.
After that, my friends visited a voodoo temple; Michael had met the priestess ten years ago. There was too much incense for me to stay, so I sat outside in the courtyard and called my friend Max, who gave me a piece of wisdom. Max traveled to El Salvador with a group from our church recently. They met Bishop Barahona, worked with children, and I don’t know what all they did there. Max told me, “I was there to do the work, but I was really there to let it change me.” One week is not enough time to save the world, or New Orleans. It is enough time to be changed forever, to be more deeply committed to being the body of Christ, to loving people everywhere, and to raising people’s awareness so that more can be done.
I really feel that I’ve found a piece of my calling. I can’t wait to get home and test it.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
Civil Society That so Perturbs
I have been reading a book entitled, "Our Word is Our Weapon," which is a collection of communiques from the rebel Zapatista group in the mountains of Southeastern Mexico. They have taken up arms to, from their perspective, defend themselves against the neoliberal schemes which threaten to destroy their lives and communities.
This letter is, as usual, to all the people of the world. The letter is a response to the 11th anniversary of an earthquake in Mexico City and, apparently, the governmnet's inability to adequately respond.
This letter strikes me as both long and intense, but I thought that the situation in Mexico City is strikingly parallel to our own in New Orleans. I wonder to what extent our response to New Orleans is like the Zapatista response to Mexico City?
:::::::::::::::::::
Sep. 19, 1996
To Civil Society, the only force that can save the country
To the people of Mexico
To the people and governments of the world
Brothers and Sisters:
As of today, September 19, 1996, it's been eleven years since a new political and social force emerged as a result of the government's inability to confront the problems of the earthquake that shook the capital. This new force proved that it could respond to destruction with creativity, to chaos with organization, to death with life.
While the government vacillated between false promises and stealing humanitarian aid, Civil Society organized itself, by itself, to revive and rebuild a city that, amid all the pain, quickly reminded itself that it's nothing without its inhabitants.
Thousands of residents mobilized themselves with nothing more than communal feeling, a feeling that had supposedly been buried in the earthquake of neoliberal modernity. Amid the debris, destruction, and death, these Mexicans rescued self-discovery and dignity.
Eleven years ago thousands of Mexicans didn't invent their strength; they remembered it and put it to work. With the country beside them, they discovered that you can take a direct part in solving problems the government leaders ignore.
There are not historic monuments or government ceremonies for all these men and women who put forth heroic efforts from the unsung places. Without asking for praise or making conditions, they lived and died nameless and faceless.
The anonymous, faceless heroism that illuminated September 1985 was an answer to Power's men in gray, who plotted to sell dignity and forget history.
From the first spontaneous response to that catastrophe, the force that emerged eleven years ago followed its own path, and in many cases, turned itself into a civic organization. The self-discovery of September 1985 was all that was needed to nurture, cultivate, and organize this strength.
This civil force, which has been around for eleven years, organized itself little by little to become proof that you can participate without aspiring to public office, that you can organize politically without being in a political party, that you can keep and eye on the government and pressure it to "lead by obeying," that you can have an effect and remain yourself, give of yourself, be noble and honest and not be selfish. This is how these organizations came to be. They served the people in the city and were compensated with the satisfaction of having done their duty, and having received national and international recognition of their work.
Today, eleven years later, the political forces with the most moral authority, legitimacy, and efficacy aren't the political parties or the government. The community organizations in today's Mexico are the only credible forces.
This new strength, the Civil Society that so perturbs the government leaders, today gives us hope that it's possible to rebuild the country despite the destruction the neoliberal project has brought to the Mexican society.
Meanwhile, Power tramples all over itself, administers violence and death, militarizing Mexican life through a state takeover that, although slow, is still authoritarian.
Meanwhile, Power closes its ears, delivers monologues at pointless negotiating tables, and only gives pride and arrogance weight as important issues.
Meanwhile, those who hide behind Power continue to steal the liberty of dissidents and non-conformists and bestow the gift of impunity on the real criminals who, yesterday and today, have made and still make up the government.
Meanwhile, Power enriches itself, decrees death for our national history, and sentences millions of Mexicans to poverty through neoliberalism.
Meanwhile, those who shield themselves behind Power exclude the only ones who can grant them dignity and self-respect through dialogue and a role in history; they persecute and harass everyone who doesn't mouth the message of Power's law and death, and scoff at those who promote agreement through dialogue, instead of armed conflict.
Two national projects, two countries, two Mexicos confronting each other. On the one hand, there is their nation, their country, their Mexico. A plan for the nation that Power holds up with bloody hands, with law and legitimacy soiled by corruption and crime. A plan for the nation that means destruction, misery, and death, with war everywhere at every level, and the use of force as the sole rationale for Power's monologue before its mirror. Despotism is consecrated as the "rule of law," while sovereignty is squandered. That is the Mexico that belongs to Power, the Mexico that is in agony.
One the other hand, there is the nation of the community organizations, the country of Civil Society, the Mexico of the Mexicans--a plan for the nation bearing the banner of democracy, liberty, and justice. A plan for the nation that means its reconstruction, justice, and life, with peace everywhere for everyone, with dialogue as a way that makes its own way and from with springs hope, with reason and heart as its driving force, with its sovereignty stolen, but this time by the Mexican people. That is the Mexico of Civil Society, the Mexico that lives again.
Two countries struggling between themselves to find a place in the future.
One, belonging to Power, that uses force.
The other, Civil Society's, that uses reason and feeling.
One, belonging to Power, that looks for war.
The other, Civil Society's, that looks for peace.
Yesterday, we Zapatistas were criticized for wanting a dialogue with Civil Society, for addressing her in our initiatives. Today we are criticized because we don't seek the support of political organizations--armed and unarmed--but reiterate our belief in Civil Society. They tell us that's a poor bet. They tell us we'll lose. They sentence us to defeat. They tell us that you don't speak to or listen to Civil Society; rather, you command it.
The possibility of a new motherland appeared within the debris of a city that, until that moment, had always been seen as synonymous with egoism and inhumanity. Since then, this new motherland walks hand in hand with people like those of September 1985. People, men and women, children and elders. People with whatever names, that is to say, without famous names. City people and country peole. Workers and farmers, indigenous people and mestizos, teachers and students, housewives and tenant farmers, artists and intellectuals, religious and lay people, professionals and the unemployed, people like every one, but not just like any one.
Civil Society, this discomfiting concept and disturbing reality. The forgotten of always, expect at election time. The disposable, except when they are required to fulfill their obligations. The excluded, except at tax time. The disregarded, except at the hour of death.
Civil Society and its proposal for the nation, now not only an intuition but a possibility, is confronting Power and its destruction. While Power militarized its plan of hopelessness and civil war on Mexican soil, Civil Society insists on holding back war and turning back the militarization of the nation.
While Power delivers a monologue, Civil Society demands a national dialogue, viable and inclusive.
While Power jails its opponents and lets criminals go free, Civil Society questions Power's lack of accountability and the jailing of political prisoners.
While Power brutally imposes a murderous economic model, Civil Society demonstrates for a a new political economy.
While Power destroys, Civil Society builds. While Power wages war, Civil Society seeks peace.
While Power belittles mediation, laughs at legislators, and attacks honest intellectual leadership, Civil Society works to create a Commission of Concordance and Peace for the whole nation.
While power kills, Civil Society lives.
Political parties and organizations--armed and unarmed, legal and illegal, open or secret, regional or national--sooner or later will have to choose between these two plans for the nation.
The EZLN has already chosen.
Long live the Mexican motherland, the new one.
No longer a cardboard motherland of vain, ostentatious military parades that frighten nobody. No longer a motherland full of gray speeches from gray bureaucrats. No longer a motherland up for sale to anyone in the neoliberal marketplace. No longer the dead motherland you can find in books and museums.
May Power and its war die forever.
May the men and women of Civil Society live forever.
Democracy!
Liberty!
Justice!
From the mountains of the Mexican Southeast
By the Clandestine Revolutionary Indigenous Committee General Command of the EZLN
This letter is, as usual, to all the people of the world. The letter is a response to the 11th anniversary of an earthquake in Mexico City and, apparently, the governmnet's inability to adequately respond.
This letter strikes me as both long and intense, but I thought that the situation in Mexico City is strikingly parallel to our own in New Orleans. I wonder to what extent our response to New Orleans is like the Zapatista response to Mexico City?
:::::::::::::::::::
Sep. 19, 1996
To Civil Society, the only force that can save the country
To the people of Mexico
To the people and governments of the world
Brothers and Sisters:
As of today, September 19, 1996, it's been eleven years since a new political and social force emerged as a result of the government's inability to confront the problems of the earthquake that shook the capital. This new force proved that it could respond to destruction with creativity, to chaos with organization, to death with life.
While the government vacillated between false promises and stealing humanitarian aid, Civil Society organized itself, by itself, to revive and rebuild a city that, amid all the pain, quickly reminded itself that it's nothing without its inhabitants.
Thousands of residents mobilized themselves with nothing more than communal feeling, a feeling that had supposedly been buried in the earthquake of neoliberal modernity. Amid the debris, destruction, and death, these Mexicans rescued self-discovery and dignity.
Eleven years ago thousands of Mexicans didn't invent their strength; they remembered it and put it to work. With the country beside them, they discovered that you can take a direct part in solving problems the government leaders ignore.
There are not historic monuments or government ceremonies for all these men and women who put forth heroic efforts from the unsung places. Without asking for praise or making conditions, they lived and died nameless and faceless.
The anonymous, faceless heroism that illuminated September 1985 was an answer to Power's men in gray, who plotted to sell dignity and forget history.
From the first spontaneous response to that catastrophe, the force that emerged eleven years ago followed its own path, and in many cases, turned itself into a civic organization. The self-discovery of September 1985 was all that was needed to nurture, cultivate, and organize this strength.
This civil force, which has been around for eleven years, organized itself little by little to become proof that you can participate without aspiring to public office, that you can organize politically without being in a political party, that you can keep and eye on the government and pressure it to "lead by obeying," that you can have an effect and remain yourself, give of yourself, be noble and honest and not be selfish. This is how these organizations came to be. They served the people in the city and were compensated with the satisfaction of having done their duty, and having received national and international recognition of their work.
Today, eleven years later, the political forces with the most moral authority, legitimacy, and efficacy aren't the political parties or the government. The community organizations in today's Mexico are the only credible forces.
This new strength, the Civil Society that so perturbs the government leaders, today gives us hope that it's possible to rebuild the country despite the destruction the neoliberal project has brought to the Mexican society.
Meanwhile, Power tramples all over itself, administers violence and death, militarizing Mexican life through a state takeover that, although slow, is still authoritarian.
Meanwhile, Power closes its ears, delivers monologues at pointless negotiating tables, and only gives pride and arrogance weight as important issues.
Meanwhile, those who hide behind Power continue to steal the liberty of dissidents and non-conformists and bestow the gift of impunity on the real criminals who, yesterday and today, have made and still make up the government.
Meanwhile, Power enriches itself, decrees death for our national history, and sentences millions of Mexicans to poverty through neoliberalism.
Meanwhile, those who shield themselves behind Power exclude the only ones who can grant them dignity and self-respect through dialogue and a role in history; they persecute and harass everyone who doesn't mouth the message of Power's law and death, and scoff at those who promote agreement through dialogue, instead of armed conflict.
Two national projects, two countries, two Mexicos confronting each other. On the one hand, there is their nation, their country, their Mexico. A plan for the nation that Power holds up with bloody hands, with law and legitimacy soiled by corruption and crime. A plan for the nation that means destruction, misery, and death, with war everywhere at every level, and the use of force as the sole rationale for Power's monologue before its mirror. Despotism is consecrated as the "rule of law," while sovereignty is squandered. That is the Mexico that belongs to Power, the Mexico that is in agony.
One the other hand, there is the nation of the community organizations, the country of Civil Society, the Mexico of the Mexicans--a plan for the nation bearing the banner of democracy, liberty, and justice. A plan for the nation that means its reconstruction, justice, and life, with peace everywhere for everyone, with dialogue as a way that makes its own way and from with springs hope, with reason and heart as its driving force, with its sovereignty stolen, but this time by the Mexican people. That is the Mexico of Civil Society, the Mexico that lives again.
Two countries struggling between themselves to find a place in the future.
One, belonging to Power, that uses force.
The other, Civil Society's, that uses reason and feeling.
One, belonging to Power, that looks for war.
The other, Civil Society's, that looks for peace.
Yesterday, we Zapatistas were criticized for wanting a dialogue with Civil Society, for addressing her in our initiatives. Today we are criticized because we don't seek the support of political organizations--armed and unarmed--but reiterate our belief in Civil Society. They tell us that's a poor bet. They tell us we'll lose. They sentence us to defeat. They tell us that you don't speak to or listen to Civil Society; rather, you command it.
The possibility of a new motherland appeared within the debris of a city that, until that moment, had always been seen as synonymous with egoism and inhumanity. Since then, this new motherland walks hand in hand with people like those of September 1985. People, men and women, children and elders. People with whatever names, that is to say, without famous names. City people and country peole. Workers and farmers, indigenous people and mestizos, teachers and students, housewives and tenant farmers, artists and intellectuals, religious and lay people, professionals and the unemployed, people like every one, but not just like any one.
Civil Society, this discomfiting concept and disturbing reality. The forgotten of always, expect at election time. The disposable, except when they are required to fulfill their obligations. The excluded, except at tax time. The disregarded, except at the hour of death.
Civil Society and its proposal for the nation, now not only an intuition but a possibility, is confronting Power and its destruction. While Power militarized its plan of hopelessness and civil war on Mexican soil, Civil Society insists on holding back war and turning back the militarization of the nation.
While Power delivers a monologue, Civil Society demands a national dialogue, viable and inclusive.
While Power jails its opponents and lets criminals go free, Civil Society questions Power's lack of accountability and the jailing of political prisoners.
While Power brutally imposes a murderous economic model, Civil Society demonstrates for a a new political economy.
While Power destroys, Civil Society builds. While Power wages war, Civil Society seeks peace.
While Power belittles mediation, laughs at legislators, and attacks honest intellectual leadership, Civil Society works to create a Commission of Concordance and Peace for the whole nation.
While power kills, Civil Society lives.
Political parties and organizations--armed and unarmed, legal and illegal, open or secret, regional or national--sooner or later will have to choose between these two plans for the nation.
The EZLN has already chosen.
Long live the Mexican motherland, the new one.
No longer a cardboard motherland of vain, ostentatious military parades that frighten nobody. No longer a motherland full of gray speeches from gray bureaucrats. No longer a motherland up for sale to anyone in the neoliberal marketplace. No longer the dead motherland you can find in books and museums.
May Power and its war die forever.
May the men and women of Civil Society live forever.
Democracy!
Liberty!
Justice!
From the mountains of the Mexican Southeast
By the Clandestine Revolutionary Indigenous Committee General Command of the EZLN
Getting it
I figured something out, yesterday. It happened in the course of two phone conversations.
First, I did get to talk to my priest, in between writing yesterday’s entry and posting it. We talked for about 20 minutes, about what it is and was like to be here, what I’m experiencing (and why the hard things are so difficult), and the conversation I’d had with Bill Terry+ at St. Anna’s. Tommy’s really excited about the work that the Diocese of Louisiana is doing. They’ve shifted focus completely away from caring about anybody’s sexuality, and are totally committed to serving the people most affected by Katrina. There are so many great projects happening here.
Hearing that, lit me up. I’d been thinking about how to continue this work at home, and we’re going to talk about it when I get back.
I called a friend at bedtime. I said to her, “I wouldn’t work with this organization again. But I’d come back here, and do this work, in a minute.” Coming here, to this third-world situation in my own obscenely wealthy country, has given me more empathy for all such situations. I’ve always cared. But I’d never felt compelled to go outside of myself, until I’d seen with my own eyes how the poorer people in New Orleans live. Fifteen minutes from the 9th Ward, is the bustling, happy, touristy French Quarter. I have genuinely had a lot of fun there. We’re going back today, to play. But the proximity of these two opposites makes the dichotomy too obvious to miss.
I’m going back tomorrow night, to one paper that’s late already and to a project I’ve just asked for an extension on. I miss my church community more than I miss taking showers, and I’m ready to go back. School right now doesn’t feel real to me at all. The mission bug has bitten me, hard. But coming here is only a small piece of this; it’s essential, but we’re limited to what we can do in one week. I’ll know if I’m truly called to this, if I continue the work at home. I already know that I’m a good organizer. I can’t wait to start experimenting.
First, I did get to talk to my priest, in between writing yesterday’s entry and posting it. We talked for about 20 minutes, about what it is and was like to be here, what I’m experiencing (and why the hard things are so difficult), and the conversation I’d had with Bill Terry+ at St. Anna’s. Tommy’s really excited about the work that the Diocese of Louisiana is doing. They’ve shifted focus completely away from caring about anybody’s sexuality, and are totally committed to serving the people most affected by Katrina. There are so many great projects happening here.
Hearing that, lit me up. I’d been thinking about how to continue this work at home, and we’re going to talk about it when I get back.
I called a friend at bedtime. I said to her, “I wouldn’t work with this organization again. But I’d come back here, and do this work, in a minute.” Coming here, to this third-world situation in my own obscenely wealthy country, has given me more empathy for all such situations. I’ve always cared. But I’d never felt compelled to go outside of myself, until I’d seen with my own eyes how the poorer people in New Orleans live. Fifteen minutes from the 9th Ward, is the bustling, happy, touristy French Quarter. I have genuinely had a lot of fun there. We’re going back today, to play. But the proximity of these two opposites makes the dichotomy too obvious to miss.
I’m going back tomorrow night, to one paper that’s late already and to a project I’ve just asked for an extension on. I miss my church community more than I miss taking showers, and I’m ready to go back. School right now doesn’t feel real to me at all. The mission bug has bitten me, hard. But coming here is only a small piece of this; it’s essential, but we’re limited to what we can do in one week. I’ll know if I’m truly called to this, if I continue the work at home. I already know that I’m a good organizer. I can’t wait to start experimenting.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Healing
I just finished my last shift at the “orange house,” or women’s shelter, run by Common Ground. I did a little bit of work on their resource database, and hung out with the women there. It was exactly what I wanted to do, on our last work day here.
Yesterday, I worked at the “blue house,” or distribution center; a combined clothing bank, food pantry, and tool library. It was strange to see the levee just a few blocks over; it’s a completely nondescript concrete wall. It doesn’t look imposing. And yet, its presence was in the back of my mind the whole time I was there.
Common Ground workers are staying in one of the houses on this block, and using four others, while their services are needed. (One has a functional bathroom; the other a kitchen, complete with filtered water. Another holds supplies that often end up in the distribution center.) The houses they use are mostly gutted; ubiqutous blue tarps apparently protect them from whatever gunk is still in the walls. One of the women who runs this particular project is a 19-year-old from Olympia. Six or seven years ago, I worked for her mother. We chatted a lot about home.
People come here from all over the country to help. That is deeply encouraging.
We got to go to church last night, at St. Anna’s. One of the women at the orange house told us about it, and we all wanted to go. My rector is friends with the rector there. We really, really, oh, so really—needed the worship. All of us were hungry. And all of us were fed.
I completely fell apart during the service, but it was a good falling-apart. I can’t remember what the hymn was, but there was a whole lot of soul in it. (St. Anna’s uses LEVAS, apparently heavily, and they have a better-than-decent worship band.) It hit me that I’d seen the horror of the effects of this storm, and that had overwhelmed me. Listening to this music, I saw beauty again. People can suffer so much, and still be beautiful. That realization was as wonderful, and as disorienting, as I imagine any resurrection would be. I was an absolute mess.
A woman sitting behind me held my hand as I was crying. I couldn’t go up for Communion or anointing for healing, because of the incense. The priest brought them to me, and my friends stood around me. I don’t quite know how to say how I felt, but it was definitely better.
I sort of feel silly, falling apart as much as I have this week, because this is not my home. It’s not my city; not my life, and I’ve only seen strength, and graciousness, in the people I’ve met who live here. But it’s also good to cry for something bigger than myself. I’m going to do something with these experiences, when I get home. This church has a benefit potluck dinner for musicians every Wednesday, and a free legal clinic, acupuncture, and a couple other services at the same time. I asked the priest, “What would you want me to take back to California with me?” He answered, “Peace. Hope. And send us money.” I’m going to work on that when I get back. I cannot come here and not do something after I leave.
Michael just called; we’re going out to dinner in ten minutes. Time to post this and go. Thank you all for your prayers, your thoughts, and your love. We definitely feel them.
Yesterday, I worked at the “blue house,” or distribution center; a combined clothing bank, food pantry, and tool library. It was strange to see the levee just a few blocks over; it’s a completely nondescript concrete wall. It doesn’t look imposing. And yet, its presence was in the back of my mind the whole time I was there.
Common Ground workers are staying in one of the houses on this block, and using four others, while their services are needed. (One has a functional bathroom; the other a kitchen, complete with filtered water. Another holds supplies that often end up in the distribution center.) The houses they use are mostly gutted; ubiqutous blue tarps apparently protect them from whatever gunk is still in the walls. One of the women who runs this particular project is a 19-year-old from Olympia. Six or seven years ago, I worked for her mother. We chatted a lot about home.
People come here from all over the country to help. That is deeply encouraging.
We got to go to church last night, at St. Anna’s. One of the women at the orange house told us about it, and we all wanted to go. My rector is friends with the rector there. We really, really, oh, so really—needed the worship. All of us were hungry. And all of us were fed.
I completely fell apart during the service, but it was a good falling-apart. I can’t remember what the hymn was, but there was a whole lot of soul in it. (St. Anna’s uses LEVAS, apparently heavily, and they have a better-than-decent worship band.) It hit me that I’d seen the horror of the effects of this storm, and that had overwhelmed me. Listening to this music, I saw beauty again. People can suffer so much, and still be beautiful. That realization was as wonderful, and as disorienting, as I imagine any resurrection would be. I was an absolute mess.
A woman sitting behind me held my hand as I was crying. I couldn’t go up for Communion or anointing for healing, because of the incense. The priest brought them to me, and my friends stood around me. I don’t quite know how to say how I felt, but it was definitely better.
I sort of feel silly, falling apart as much as I have this week, because this is not my home. It’s not my city; not my life, and I’ve only seen strength, and graciousness, in the people I’ve met who live here. But it’s also good to cry for something bigger than myself. I’m going to do something with these experiences, when I get home. This church has a benefit potluck dinner for musicians every Wednesday, and a free legal clinic, acupuncture, and a couple other services at the same time. I asked the priest, “What would you want me to take back to California with me?” He answered, “Peace. Hope. And send us money.” I’m going to work on that when I get back. I cannot come here and not do something after I leave.
Michael just called; we’re going out to dinner in ten minutes. Time to post this and go. Thank you all for your prayers, your thoughts, and your love. We definitely feel them.
Judy Surfaces
This is quite an adventure, not unlike my work in Sierra Leone. I've learned over the years, that one rarely gets what they think they've signed up for when doing mission work. But, then, that's all part of the learning experience. Amidst the devastation, it is essential to find a little bit of beauty, a significant amount of laughter, and a hint of joy. It's a challenge, but it can be done if we choose to focus on God in our midst, His all consuming love and ever present grace. There are large clover, healthy and green, growing out of a 2 foot hight pile of dried sewage in the play yard at the Women's Shelter. There are graceful, snow white cattle egrets looking for mice in the leveled lower ninth ward. The Amazon Parrots sqawk in the palm trees which overlook all that's been swept away. An elderly black man has a perpetual station at a huge hole in the pavement, his ministry is to warn passing motorists and wave with a "God Bless You" as we pass by. The cloud formations blowing in from the gulf are sculptures in the blue sky. Flowers bloom in the front yards of homes that no longer exist. A young man in our room is up at 6:30 strolling the halls waking us with the smoothest tenor sax I've ever heard. And there are smiles, lots of them, on the faces of all we serve. There is unbounded gratitude and endless thank you's, with hugs freely received and given.
Is this a terrible place as some would say? I would say no. It is a beautiful place where terrible things have devastated people and places and where terrible things continue to happen. It's a place where we ask many questions. How will the city and its poor people recover? How will families reunite when they are spread across the country and have no homes to which they can return? When will the next hurricane come? How much havoc will it wreck before the Katrina work is even 10% complete? How do people get up in the morning when they have nothing to get up to? How do we convince the school system to spare the expense to run the buses to the lower ninth ward for the handful of children there who need to go to school, children whose parents lost their cars and can't spare the money for bus fare because they need it for food? Who cares that these kids aren't in school? How are marriages reconciled when out of despair and depression, alcohol and drugs lead self-medicated spouses into abusers and fornicators? How do we effectively intervene in family theft rings where children steal for their parents, steal from volunteers? How do we make an impact working with a group of poorly organized anti-establishment kids who really don't appear to want professional help with program management and systems implementation? The questions go on and on, and we may ask, "Does prayer really help?" If it does, and we know there are millions of people praying, where are the results? Where is God in all of this? Why can't He just say, "wah lah! you are healed!" These people want to know; how do we answer without giving lip service? So many have lost their faith, and yet so many, like our new friend, Joanne, from the Women's Center, has found faith and her new family at St. Anna's Episcopal Church. We must all choose to see God in our midst, working in the lives of the survivors and the volunteers.
Can we still laugh? Can we still experience joy? Of course, if we maintain perspective and don't allow ourselves to become prisoners to the sadness, anger, helplessness, and fear of it all. We will do what we can do, and we will do it with "gladness and singleness of heart". We will work our backsides off during the day and we will rest and recharge our batteries in the evenings with quality time in the French Quarter...great Creole food, beignets and chickory coffee, browsing through funky shops, and wandering through beautiful neighborhoods. We will laugh at the fed-up ER triage nurse who exploded when someone slid the whole clipboard through the paper slot in her door. We will laugh at the absurdity of the PVC quasi shower set-up with the ice cold water. Although we should be horrified, we will laugh when volunteers are told the water isn't safe to drink, but it's ok to brush their teeth! We will laugh at the insanity of 9 toilets and 4 showers for 550 volunteers. We will laugh at the lack of essential priorities, such as toilet paper! We will laugh at ourselves when we have a trunk full of food and a non-existent address to which it is to be delivered. We will laugh at Michael when he slips into his southern boy accents and expressions. We will laugh at my wild curly red hair which looks like it went through the hurricane. We will laugh at Vivian trying to learn a southern drawl. Yes, we will laugh because we need to. It's ok. It doesn't show disrespect or insensitivity. It shows that we care enough about the people and our work here to take care of ourselves. This is hard, very hard, but there is joy in our midst. Thanks be to God!
Thank you for your prayers, your support, and your love.
Is this a terrible place as some would say? I would say no. It is a beautiful place where terrible things have devastated people and places and where terrible things continue to happen. It's a place where we ask many questions. How will the city and its poor people recover? How will families reunite when they are spread across the country and have no homes to which they can return? When will the next hurricane come? How much havoc will it wreck before the Katrina work is even 10% complete? How do people get up in the morning when they have nothing to get up to? How do we convince the school system to spare the expense to run the buses to the lower ninth ward for the handful of children there who need to go to school, children whose parents lost their cars and can't spare the money for bus fare because they need it for food? Who cares that these kids aren't in school? How are marriages reconciled when out of despair and depression, alcohol and drugs lead self-medicated spouses into abusers and fornicators? How do we effectively intervene in family theft rings where children steal for their parents, steal from volunteers? How do we make an impact working with a group of poorly organized anti-establishment kids who really don't appear to want professional help with program management and systems implementation? The questions go on and on, and we may ask, "Does prayer really help?" If it does, and we know there are millions of people praying, where are the results? Where is God in all of this? Why can't He just say, "wah lah! you are healed!" These people want to know; how do we answer without giving lip service? So many have lost their faith, and yet so many, like our new friend, Joanne, from the Women's Center, has found faith and her new family at St. Anna's Episcopal Church. We must all choose to see God in our midst, working in the lives of the survivors and the volunteers.
Can we still laugh? Can we still experience joy? Of course, if we maintain perspective and don't allow ourselves to become prisoners to the sadness, anger, helplessness, and fear of it all. We will do what we can do, and we will do it with "gladness and singleness of heart". We will work our backsides off during the day and we will rest and recharge our batteries in the evenings with quality time in the French Quarter...great Creole food, beignets and chickory coffee, browsing through funky shops, and wandering through beautiful neighborhoods. We will laugh at the fed-up ER triage nurse who exploded when someone slid the whole clipboard through the paper slot in her door. We will laugh at the absurdity of the PVC quasi shower set-up with the ice cold water. Although we should be horrified, we will laugh when volunteers are told the water isn't safe to drink, but it's ok to brush their teeth! We will laugh at the insanity of 9 toilets and 4 showers for 550 volunteers. We will laugh at the lack of essential priorities, such as toilet paper! We will laugh at ourselves when we have a trunk full of food and a non-existent address to which it is to be delivered. We will laugh at Michael when he slips into his southern boy accents and expressions. We will laugh at my wild curly red hair which looks like it went through the hurricane. We will laugh at Vivian trying to learn a southern drawl. Yes, we will laugh because we need to. It's ok. It doesn't show disrespect or insensitivity. It shows that we care enough about the people and our work here to take care of ourselves. This is hard, very hard, but there is joy in our midst. Thanks be to God!
Thank you for your prayers, your support, and your love.
Anna, Joanne and Acupuncture: Or, encounters with Jesus in an Episcopal Church
Hi Folks, this is Michael, yet again....
Since I've become the cripple of the trip, I get more time to blog, so I'll tell you a little about yesterday.
PILGRIMAGE
Lunch delivery: New Orleans is not on a regular grid. In fact, at one point, I told Judy that I felt like trying to navigate the streets of New Orleans is like having a kaleidoscope for a map: every few seconds, just as you are getting your bearing, the scope is turned, the pieces move, and everything is in a new pattern.
The grids here, which are relatively organized, are intersected by random weaving streets, and change center, it appears, based on the twists and turns of the Mississippi River. It's more like an octagon, with various one-mile chunks of street missing and showing up several blocks later.
EUCHARIST
We took four and a half hours, from 12:00-4:30, to get lunch delivered - not good for the folks out there working hard. Part of this is due to the (lack of) pre-organization, preparing the addresses (sometimes you are given the wrong street name, which could be an existing or non-existing street), and no directions - just a map and address. Today, I'm doing the same thing again, and know where most of the sites are. Also, I've got a little plan for making things more organized, so delivery should go more quickly. And yet, no one complained - everyone was grateful and overflowing with an abundance of "thank yous."
EUCHARIST, PART I
Last night, we went to mass at St. Anna's (Episcopal). Kirstin's rector is friends with the priest here. It was good to be in church, and there were a number of volunteers there. Jesus was there too, though ever present with the poor and homeless who were all over the city. We feasted on and with Jesus in this wonderful, multi-racial church.
BALM IN NEW ORLEANS
Afterwards, the priest offered anointing and laying on of hands. Several of us went forward, and felt the balm soothing our foreheads in a cross pattern, as the priest prayed that our anxiety and fear and pain would be entered into by Jesus.
EUCHARIST PART II
After, we went to dinner in the parish hall - they have an open dinner with a jazz band every Wednesday. All kinds of folks are there - some who go to Eucharist, some who don't. Some who have jobs and families, some who don't.
BALM IN GILEAD, PART II:
Then, Judy, Kirstin and I tried acupuncture, which was being offered for free. It helped me, at least. But the gash is still there.
EUCHARIST, PART III,
WITH SUGAR ON TOP
A wonderful person staying at the "orange house" (women's shelter) suggested the church to us also - she goes there. We sat with her at dinner, and then to thank her for recommending us to come to St. Anne's, we treated her to beignets at the Cafe DuMonde (are you keeping track of how many times we have been!!!). She is really cool - a great personality with tons of interesting experiences, and smart as a whip. Unfortunately, she is not getting the help she needs for housing here in NOLA, and has decided to move to another city. Keep Joanne in your prayers, please.
TODAY
Well, it's Thursday, and our last "work" day. I'm on meals again, Judy is on security at Common Ground, helping keep our luggage safe while we are all out working. Vivian is at the "blue house" (distribution center), and Kirstin is at the "orange house" (women's shelter). It will be early days, I anticipate for all of us.
From this point on, we will be celebrating, saying goodbye, and enjoying a little bit of traditional NOLA tourism. Tonight, we are going for a nice dinner, and plan to sit and talk for a good-long while. Tomorrow, we'll go to the New Orleans Cooking School (they teach a lot of NOLA history and culture, so this should be fun, but also educational). Then, we are planning to meet with a Voodoo priestess, Priestess Miriam, whom I know from early research days as an undergrad in comparative religious studies. This will provide an opportunity to learn more about New Orleans, and understand better an often MIS-understood religion.
Then, I go to the airport, and the rest fly home Saturday, after a Cajun Swamp Tour.
The swamp tour (having done it myself earlier) is also quite educational - especially as one is able to learn about the effects of Hurricanes, and particularly Katrina, on the course of the Mississippi River, the wetlands and other environmental impacts of the hurricane and of human beings' attempt to control rivers, master the land, and "settle" territory.
Enough for now - I've got meals to get delivered, and today's goals is done by 2:00 p.m.! Keep us in your prayers, as we wrap up our work; process what we have seen, heard and learned; and in our travels home.
The Lord shall watch over your going out and your coming in....
Peace,
Mpb
Since I've become the cripple of the trip, I get more time to blog, so I'll tell you a little about yesterday.
PILGRIMAGE
Lunch delivery: New Orleans is not on a regular grid. In fact, at one point, I told Judy that I felt like trying to navigate the streets of New Orleans is like having a kaleidoscope for a map: every few seconds, just as you are getting your bearing, the scope is turned, the pieces move, and everything is in a new pattern.
The grids here, which are relatively organized, are intersected by random weaving streets, and change center, it appears, based on the twists and turns of the Mississippi River. It's more like an octagon, with various one-mile chunks of street missing and showing up several blocks later.
EUCHARIST
We took four and a half hours, from 12:00-4:30, to get lunch delivered - not good for the folks out there working hard. Part of this is due to the (lack of) pre-organization, preparing the addresses (sometimes you are given the wrong street name, which could be an existing or non-existing street), and no directions - just a map and address. Today, I'm doing the same thing again, and know where most of the sites are. Also, I've got a little plan for making things more organized, so delivery should go more quickly. And yet, no one complained - everyone was grateful and overflowing with an abundance of "thank yous."
EUCHARIST, PART I
Last night, we went to mass at St. Anna's (Episcopal). Kirstin's rector is friends with the priest here. It was good to be in church, and there were a number of volunteers there. Jesus was there too, though ever present with the poor and homeless who were all over the city. We feasted on and with Jesus in this wonderful, multi-racial church.
BALM IN NEW ORLEANS
Afterwards, the priest offered anointing and laying on of hands. Several of us went forward, and felt the balm soothing our foreheads in a cross pattern, as the priest prayed that our anxiety and fear and pain would be entered into by Jesus.
EUCHARIST PART II
After, we went to dinner in the parish hall - they have an open dinner with a jazz band every Wednesday. All kinds of folks are there - some who go to Eucharist, some who don't. Some who have jobs and families, some who don't.
BALM IN GILEAD, PART II:
Then, Judy, Kirstin and I tried acupuncture, which was being offered for free. It helped me, at least. But the gash is still there.
EUCHARIST, PART III,
WITH SUGAR ON TOP
A wonderful person staying at the "orange house" (women's shelter) suggested the church to us also - she goes there. We sat with her at dinner, and then to thank her for recommending us to come to St. Anne's, we treated her to beignets at the Cafe DuMonde (are you keeping track of how many times we have been!!!). She is really cool - a great personality with tons of interesting experiences, and smart as a whip. Unfortunately, she is not getting the help she needs for housing here in NOLA, and has decided to move to another city. Keep Joanne in your prayers, please.
TODAY
Well, it's Thursday, and our last "work" day. I'm on meals again, Judy is on security at Common Ground, helping keep our luggage safe while we are all out working. Vivian is at the "blue house" (distribution center), and Kirstin is at the "orange house" (women's shelter). It will be early days, I anticipate for all of us.
From this point on, we will be celebrating, saying goodbye, and enjoying a little bit of traditional NOLA tourism. Tonight, we are going for a nice dinner, and plan to sit and talk for a good-long while. Tomorrow, we'll go to the New Orleans Cooking School (they teach a lot of NOLA history and culture, so this should be fun, but also educational). Then, we are planning to meet with a Voodoo priestess, Priestess Miriam, whom I know from early research days as an undergrad in comparative religious studies. This will provide an opportunity to learn more about New Orleans, and understand better an often MIS-understood religion.
Then, I go to the airport, and the rest fly home Saturday, after a Cajun Swamp Tour.
The swamp tour (having done it myself earlier) is also quite educational - especially as one is able to learn about the effects of Hurricanes, and particularly Katrina, on the course of the Mississippi River, the wetlands and other environmental impacts of the hurricane and of human beings' attempt to control rivers, master the land, and "settle" territory.
Enough for now - I've got meals to get delivered, and today's goals is done by 2:00 p.m.! Keep us in your prayers, as we wrap up our work; process what we have seen, heard and learned; and in our travels home.
The Lord shall watch over your going out and your coming in....
Peace,
Mpb
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Going beyond ourselves
"If you have come to help me
you are wasting your time,
but if you have come because
your liberation is bound up
with mine,
then let us work together."
From an Aboriginal activist group.
Hi Folks, this is Michael again.
I have a few minutes before Judy and I start helping deliver lunch to the work teams out on their various assignments: gutting; landscaping; building; helping with the women's center. Due to my injury, I'm limited in what I can do, but glad to be of some help. There is a quote on the wall here in our "couchateria" - "If you have come to help me you are wasting your time, but if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together." Kirstin continues helping with the "Blue House" - the distribution center. Vivian is helping with the "Orange House", which is the women's shelter. I believe she has been assigned to a particular client to whom she is attending (helping with doctor's appointments, travel to work, etc.).
We've had a good time so far, though we have met with challenges. Dared we to think we wouldn't be asked , perhaps demanded, by the present conditions to go beyond ourselves and our daily comforts? We each face different inner battles, I think, while here. For me, it is accepting my limitations,and working to be "attentive" to the stories of people around me. Others face fear, some struggle with the way in which Common Ground's organizing is different from our personal preferences. These are all real feelings, and add to our experience. Hopefully we are growing as individuals while we engage these feelings - we certainly are growing as a community.
Last night, we got a taste of New Orleans - trying some different cuisine and walking through the Quarter. Having been to New Orleans many times, it is sad to see the effects of the lack of tourism. A few of my favorite places have closed (which means less jobs). A number of chain stores have closed, and Bourbon Street is looking calmer than ever (perhaps a win for temperance?). While there is, of course, decadence beyond belief (typical for NOLA's Quarter), there is also destruction.
Again, there is pain and hope. You may find it difficult to imagine house, after house - block after. Imagine an entire city block unlivable - having been flooded. Imagine now that extends to the next block. Then the next. Then the next. Then the next. Getting a picture now?
I had a wonderful conversation with a young man staying here from Boston - he's been here a month. He rips up the piano, and plays a pretty sax, too. He said he has mixed feelings, and I agree. Why am I here? Where is our government?
New Orleans needs a new deal - hire people who need work to do the work that so obviously needs to be done. That way they get an income, and the work can continue. We who call ourselves volunteers ought to be standing up in righteous outrage to advocate for the people of New Orleans. I wonder if our greatest power is not coming here for a week to play volunteer, but forming advocacy projects where we are.
It seems we are here not merely to give a week of our time, but to better understand not only the work that needs to continue in New Orleans, but to better understand ourselves and the work that we need to do at home, for social justice.
There is a quote on the wall here in our "couchateria" - If you have come to help me you are wasting your time, but if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together."
With whom is your liberation bound up?
you are wasting your time,
but if you have come because
your liberation is bound up
with mine,
then let us work together."
From an Aboriginal activist group.
Hi Folks, this is Michael again.
I have a few minutes before Judy and I start helping deliver lunch to the work teams out on their various assignments: gutting; landscaping; building; helping with the women's center. Due to my injury, I'm limited in what I can do, but glad to be of some help. There is a quote on the wall here in our "couchateria" - "If you have come to help me you are wasting your time, but if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together." Kirstin continues helping with the "Blue House" - the distribution center. Vivian is helping with the "Orange House", which is the women's shelter. I believe she has been assigned to a particular client to whom she is attending (helping with doctor's appointments, travel to work, etc.).
We've had a good time so far, though we have met with challenges. Dared we to think we wouldn't be asked , perhaps demanded, by the present conditions to go beyond ourselves and our daily comforts? We each face different inner battles, I think, while here. For me, it is accepting my limitations,and working to be "attentive" to the stories of people around me. Others face fear, some struggle with the way in which Common Ground's organizing is different from our personal preferences. These are all real feelings, and add to our experience. Hopefully we are growing as individuals while we engage these feelings - we certainly are growing as a community.
Last night, we got a taste of New Orleans - trying some different cuisine and walking through the Quarter. Having been to New Orleans many times, it is sad to see the effects of the lack of tourism. A few of my favorite places have closed (which means less jobs). A number of chain stores have closed, and Bourbon Street is looking calmer than ever (perhaps a win for temperance?). While there is, of course, decadence beyond belief (typical for NOLA's Quarter), there is also destruction.
Again, there is pain and hope. You may find it difficult to imagine house, after house - block after. Imagine an entire city block unlivable - having been flooded. Imagine now that extends to the next block. Then the next. Then the next. Then the next. Getting a picture now?
I had a wonderful conversation with a young man staying here from Boston - he's been here a month. He rips up the piano, and plays a pretty sax, too. He said he has mixed feelings, and I agree. Why am I here? Where is our government?
New Orleans needs a new deal - hire people who need work to do the work that so obviously needs to be done. That way they get an income, and the work can continue. We who call ourselves volunteers ought to be standing up in righteous outrage to advocate for the people of New Orleans. I wonder if our greatest power is not coming here for a week to play volunteer, but forming advocacy projects where we are.
It seems we are here not merely to give a week of our time, but to better understand not only the work that needs to continue in New Orleans, but to better understand ourselves and the work that we need to do at home, for social justice.
There is a quote on the wall here in our "couchateria" - If you have come to help me you are wasting your time, but if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together."
With whom is your liberation bound up?
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Attention
Vivian thinks it is kinda creepy. I am a little bemused, and said it is the hand of God. The triage nurse brought me a rubber glove with ice to place on my shin, where I have a gory little gash from a misstep I took on my worksite today.
Yesterday I gutted. Today, Monday, was supposed to be a day off for gutters, and so we slept late. As I was waking, I overheard some guys talking about helping out on another house, so they didn’t have to be idle, and I said to myself, “Self, I don’t want to be idle either,” so I offered to join them. They needed the help. I’ve been to New Orleans three times since the Hurricane, and conditions have not changed a lot, except there is evidence of hope and efforts to rebuild. The evidence is in the attitude and graciousness of our host city’s residents. The city, in the poorest areas (by which I mean to be sure you are aware that the homes of the wealthiest, as in many cities, are rarely built in flood plains), looks like a war zone. Even though houses don’t look bombed out, they are unliveable, empty, dark, often filled above the windows with clutter. How could I take a day off when I am only here for a week?
I was excited to be able to go out and work. Ours was a little negotiation. We were helping a contractor on a hired job, in exchange for some materials to complete a house through Common Ground Collective. I think that’s fair – you have to make negotiations in times of disaster, especially when the money is not flowing to those who really need it (thanks, politicians not working together).
We laid footing and cinder blocks to support the wooden beams of the floor (the cheapest way to build a foundation), raised about 28 inches above the ground. Since we were walking on beams, we laid boards out, but the boards would hang over, so you didn’t want to step on the end, or you’d be on a see-saw trip down. As we were wrapping up, I was walking through the house, I glanced down at some string I was coiling, and apparently misjudged what I saw, because inspite of a whole day’s work without incident, down I went. At first it stung, but I wasn’t worried. I did a couple of other things before glancing down and to see my pants legs were damp. Then I pulled up my cuffs and dropped them immediatley – it took a second before I could look at the gash in my leg. Oh well. At least it was the end of the day, and I’d done some good, hard work.
Judy showed up with the whole gang in tow – a little overpowering for an introvert, but I suppose since I am part of a community I have to deal. I’ve never liked fuss when I’m sick – I prefer to crawl in a hole. So, now I am sitting in the Emergency Room – I knew how to get there having driven someone else a couple of nights ago. Maybe I’ll meet a cute intern ;)
I thought about calling the chaplain and having a conversation and prayer – I could write it up for my verbatim for Pastoral Theology, but decided I’d use a previous conversation instead – I’d hate to annoy the chaplain, especially when I have three seminary students hanging out with me, taking pictures of my bloody leg….
The lesson – where is our attention? Where is my attention, what am I seeing down here in New Orleans, not only on the job, but this amazing surrounding, where there is such beauty, culture, history, awesome food – but also such tragedy and hope, defeat and overcoming, destruction and reconstruction. To what are you paying attention? To whom are we paying attention, as we make our lenten journey?
Yesterday I gutted. Today, Monday, was supposed to be a day off for gutters, and so we slept late. As I was waking, I overheard some guys talking about helping out on another house, so they didn’t have to be idle, and I said to myself, “Self, I don’t want to be idle either,” so I offered to join them. They needed the help. I’ve been to New Orleans three times since the Hurricane, and conditions have not changed a lot, except there is evidence of hope and efforts to rebuild. The evidence is in the attitude and graciousness of our host city’s residents. The city, in the poorest areas (by which I mean to be sure you are aware that the homes of the wealthiest, as in many cities, are rarely built in flood plains), looks like a war zone. Even though houses don’t look bombed out, they are unliveable, empty, dark, often filled above the windows with clutter. How could I take a day off when I am only here for a week?
I was excited to be able to go out and work. Ours was a little negotiation. We were helping a contractor on a hired job, in exchange for some materials to complete a house through Common Ground Collective. I think that’s fair – you have to make negotiations in times of disaster, especially when the money is not flowing to those who really need it (thanks, politicians not working together).
We laid footing and cinder blocks to support the wooden beams of the floor (the cheapest way to build a foundation), raised about 28 inches above the ground. Since we were walking on beams, we laid boards out, but the boards would hang over, so you didn’t want to step on the end, or you’d be on a see-saw trip down. As we were wrapping up, I was walking through the house, I glanced down at some string I was coiling, and apparently misjudged what I saw, because inspite of a whole day’s work without incident, down I went. At first it stung, but I wasn’t worried. I did a couple of other things before glancing down and to see my pants legs were damp. Then I pulled up my cuffs and dropped them immediatley – it took a second before I could look at the gash in my leg. Oh well. At least it was the end of the day, and I’d done some good, hard work.
Judy showed up with the whole gang in tow – a little overpowering for an introvert, but I suppose since I am part of a community I have to deal. I’ve never liked fuss when I’m sick – I prefer to crawl in a hole. So, now I am sitting in the Emergency Room – I knew how to get there having driven someone else a couple of nights ago. Maybe I’ll meet a cute intern ;)
I thought about calling the chaplain and having a conversation and prayer – I could write it up for my verbatim for Pastoral Theology, but decided I’d use a previous conversation instead – I’d hate to annoy the chaplain, especially when I have three seminary students hanging out with me, taking pictures of my bloody leg….
The lesson – where is our attention? Where is my attention, what am I seeing down here in New Orleans, not only on the job, but this amazing surrounding, where there is such beauty, culture, history, awesome food – but also such tragedy and hope, defeat and overcoming, destruction and reconstruction. To what are you paying attention? To whom are we paying attention, as we make our lenten journey?
I thought I knew poverty...
I didn’t. I was a Catholic Worker for a year in Olympia, WA. It’s a white, middle-class state capital and college town, with a vocal, active underclass who are still not as poor as they think they are. I thought I knew racism. I worked in non-profits; I was given all the proper diversity trainings, by white, middle-class Olympians. They taught what they knew, and they meant well. I begrudge them nothing. But no amount of repeating, “Power + prejudice = oppression,” equals the experience of three days in Louisiana.
The people in New Orleans are caught, quite literally, between Mother Nature and Big Oil. They have Lake Pontchartrain on one side, connected tenuously to the Gulf of Mexico. The river’s on the other. And down from the river, fed by its delta, are the wetlands, disappearing at a rate of an acre every 33 minutes. That disappearance is accounted for both by efforts to control the river, and oil companies drilling the bayou. Levees prevent the river from changing its course. They help to protect the city from normal, cyclical flooding—they also funnel the silt the river carries directly into open, deep water. If the river were allowed to run, silt would be distributed among the wetlands, keeping them intact, slowly increasing their area. As the wetlands are drilled, they sink, leaving the coast—and the city of New Orleans—ever more exposed.
When a hurricane hits, every three miles of wetlands reduce the category of that storm by one. Katrina had just downgraded to a Category 3 hurricane when it made landfall. It took 43 days to pump New Orleans dry. Half the population of the city has not returned from the evacuation. Without wetlands protection, and with the increase in hurricanes (due partly to global warming), more Category 4 and 5 storms will hit here. Recovery? What’s that?
I was told by one of the women’s shelter coordinators, something about the racism issue that just makes me seethe. The 9th Ward is/was primarily African-American. There is evidence to suggest that some of these levees were blown on purpose, during Katrina. Also, a casino company wanted to raze the houses and build a casino here, protected by a 14-foot levee. The people sued to keep their houses, and won. Essentially to punish them, the destroyed 10-foot levee is being rebuilt. “Sure, you can have your houses. But we’ll leave you with less protection than you need.”
I’m going to have to research that, but it’s easy to believe.
I called a friend in Berkeley last night, from the emergency room at Tulane University Hospital. (We had to take Michael there for a gash in his leg. He’ll be okay.) She’s a tax lawyer. She lives comfortably. But she gets it, and I knew she would. The first thing she asked me was what they could do for me. (Whether she meant she and her partner or the St. Aidan’s community, or both, is beside the point.) “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Pray a lot.” We talked about violence, safety, building in floodplains, and how when I get back, I’m not going to know which of these worlds is Earth and which is Mars. One is so wealthy; the other so poor. I was a self-confessed “poor hippie” in Olympia. I didn’t know what I was talking about. I have choices, and resources, that the poor people of New Orleans couldn’t dream of.
She closed the conversation with, “We love you.” I know they do. And that little bit of humanity, from my other world, meant so much.
We were at the ER from 7 p.m. until about 12:30 a.m. Everyone in there was African-American, but us. Some had obvious emergent injuries. One man left paintbrush-sized swipes of blood on three chairs, from a stab wound in his back. Others appeared to simply need routine health care. One man was vomiting; a family held their coughing infant. A woman cussed out one of the techs; she called security immediately. I finally broke down while they were treating Michael. I haven’t slept well since I got here; I don’t feel safe in the building we’re staying in, and that plus the effects of everything I’m seeing caught up with me.
The night after we got here, we went to get beignets in the Quarter. The next afternoon, we went driving around the 9th Ward, and I took 60 pictures of the neighborhood. (I’m struggling to upload them here; I’ll display them as soon as I can.) I won’t describe them now; I’ll wait until I can show them in context. Yesterday, we spent five hours in the emergency room, and a man came in with a stab wound in his back. What kind of city is this? I don’t know how to make sense of what I’m experiencing. And I know that I can go home. For these people, this is their home. This is their life.
I woke at 3:45 this morning, and broke down sobbing again. My friends took care of me. Judy sat with me, talked to me, prayed with me. Vivian rubbed my shoulder. Michael moved his cot to between me and the door, and held my hand while I lay down, until I was calm. I got up to go to the bathroom, and ended up talking to Roderick, an African-American long-term volunteer from Georgia, who had given us our midnight tour of the building when we first got here on Friday. We talked about poverty and racism. I didn’t know what to do with my outrage, but sharing it helped, and we laughed a little. Then I went back to bed, and slept some. I want to get up and go work—but I’m still so tired. I haven't slept well since I got here.
I need to call my priest; I need to talk about what’s happening here, with someone who is not here anymore, but who knows it well. He’s a native of the area; he left three months after Katrina. I came here thinking I was supposed to share the presence of God. The women at the shelter have more faith than I do, here. They have nothing, materially, but their spirits are strong. All I have the strength to do—all I think I ever could effectively do—is hear their stories, and share them at home.
I said something on the phone to my friend, that she said I needed to write down. I cannot imagine myself, any group I belong to, or anyone I love, being this completely forgotten. (As uneasy as I feel about some aspects of our host organization, they are doing more than FEMA.) I cannot, and will not, ever forget this.
The people in New Orleans are caught, quite literally, between Mother Nature and Big Oil. They have Lake Pontchartrain on one side, connected tenuously to the Gulf of Mexico. The river’s on the other. And down from the river, fed by its delta, are the wetlands, disappearing at a rate of an acre every 33 minutes. That disappearance is accounted for both by efforts to control the river, and oil companies drilling the bayou. Levees prevent the river from changing its course. They help to protect the city from normal, cyclical flooding—they also funnel the silt the river carries directly into open, deep water. If the river were allowed to run, silt would be distributed among the wetlands, keeping them intact, slowly increasing their area. As the wetlands are drilled, they sink, leaving the coast—and the city of New Orleans—ever more exposed.
When a hurricane hits, every three miles of wetlands reduce the category of that storm by one. Katrina had just downgraded to a Category 3 hurricane when it made landfall. It took 43 days to pump New Orleans dry. Half the population of the city has not returned from the evacuation. Without wetlands protection, and with the increase in hurricanes (due partly to global warming), more Category 4 and 5 storms will hit here. Recovery? What’s that?
I was told by one of the women’s shelter coordinators, something about the racism issue that just makes me seethe. The 9th Ward is/was primarily African-American. There is evidence to suggest that some of these levees were blown on purpose, during Katrina. Also, a casino company wanted to raze the houses and build a casino here, protected by a 14-foot levee. The people sued to keep their houses, and won. Essentially to punish them, the destroyed 10-foot levee is being rebuilt. “Sure, you can have your houses. But we’ll leave you with less protection than you need.”
I’m going to have to research that, but it’s easy to believe.
I called a friend in Berkeley last night, from the emergency room at Tulane University Hospital. (We had to take Michael there for a gash in his leg. He’ll be okay.) She’s a tax lawyer. She lives comfortably. But she gets it, and I knew she would. The first thing she asked me was what they could do for me. (Whether she meant she and her partner or the St. Aidan’s community, or both, is beside the point.) “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Pray a lot.” We talked about violence, safety, building in floodplains, and how when I get back, I’m not going to know which of these worlds is Earth and which is Mars. One is so wealthy; the other so poor. I was a self-confessed “poor hippie” in Olympia. I didn’t know what I was talking about. I have choices, and resources, that the poor people of New Orleans couldn’t dream of.
She closed the conversation with, “We love you.” I know they do. And that little bit of humanity, from my other world, meant so much.
We were at the ER from 7 p.m. until about 12:30 a.m. Everyone in there was African-American, but us. Some had obvious emergent injuries. One man left paintbrush-sized swipes of blood on three chairs, from a stab wound in his back. Others appeared to simply need routine health care. One man was vomiting; a family held their coughing infant. A woman cussed out one of the techs; she called security immediately. I finally broke down while they were treating Michael. I haven’t slept well since I got here; I don’t feel safe in the building we’re staying in, and that plus the effects of everything I’m seeing caught up with me.
The night after we got here, we went to get beignets in the Quarter. The next afternoon, we went driving around the 9th Ward, and I took 60 pictures of the neighborhood. (I’m struggling to upload them here; I’ll display them as soon as I can.) I won’t describe them now; I’ll wait until I can show them in context. Yesterday, we spent five hours in the emergency room, and a man came in with a stab wound in his back. What kind of city is this? I don’t know how to make sense of what I’m experiencing. And I know that I can go home. For these people, this is their home. This is their life.
I woke at 3:45 this morning, and broke down sobbing again. My friends took care of me. Judy sat with me, talked to me, prayed with me. Vivian rubbed my shoulder. Michael moved his cot to between me and the door, and held my hand while I lay down, until I was calm. I got up to go to the bathroom, and ended up talking to Roderick, an African-American long-term volunteer from Georgia, who had given us our midnight tour of the building when we first got here on Friday. We talked about poverty and racism. I didn’t know what to do with my outrage, but sharing it helped, and we laughed a little. Then I went back to bed, and slept some. I want to get up and go work—but I’m still so tired. I haven't slept well since I got here.
I need to call my priest; I need to talk about what’s happening here, with someone who is not here anymore, but who knows it well. He’s a native of the area; he left three months after Katrina. I came here thinking I was supposed to share the presence of God. The women at the shelter have more faith than I do, here. They have nothing, materially, but their spirits are strong. All I have the strength to do—all I think I ever could effectively do—is hear their stories, and share them at home.
I said something on the phone to my friend, that she said I needed to write down. I cannot imagine myself, any group I belong to, or anyone I love, being this completely forgotten. (As uneasy as I feel about some aspects of our host organization, they are doing more than FEMA.) I cannot, and will not, ever forget this.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
First impressions
We're staying in what was St. Mary of the Angels Catholic school in the 9th Ward, until Katrina. (There are lots of abandoned schools around; literally half of the city hasn't come back after they were evacuated, 19 months ago.) We sleep on cots in the classrooms; the room where our group sleeps currently hosts 18 people.
The shower (there are 4, but two don't have hot water) is a contraption involving propane tanks and PVC pipes. You get the temperature you get; you can't adjust it. Dishes are washed in tubs with soap and bleach, but still manage to feel greasy all the time. We can wash our hands to our hearts’ content, and are encouraged to, but there is nothing to dry them on.
They ask us to work three shifts here, as well as 40 hours/week at our placements. I pulled a security shift from 3-9 this morning. I was on the third floor, where long-term volunteers sleep. During the night, someone tried to break into the refrigerated truck out back, holding our food.
Urban camping is more of a challenge than I was ready for. But the conditions here are not very different from some other places in the neighborhood.
Judy, Vivian, and I worked in a women's shelter yesterday; an average-size house that 17 people call home. I don't know how they do it. I talked for a long time with a cargo worker from the Port of New Orleans, who is staying in the shelter because her second house since Katrina was condemned two weeks ago. She's tried twice to leave, and got sent back by her union (or so I understand). She says that because she’s from New Orleans, she’s having a terrible time finding work at other ports. The city’s reputation for violent crime precedes her wherever she goes. I asked her, “What do you want me to say about New Orleans when I get home?” Her answer: “Get the troops out of Iraq, and bring them here. This is a war zone.”
She was essentially calling for martial law. I am very uncomfortable with that entire idea—but this is not my city, not my home. I don’t have the right to make decisions about what happens here. I can use my voice to amplify the voices of the people who live here; that is what I am doing.
I went to get a glass of water, and the "cold" tap didn't work—but the "hot" only had cold water running out of it. I was told that one of the bathrooms only had hot water. The residents only use the upstairs toilet, because the downstairs one doesn't work. Someone said that's typical; there's sea water underneath the city, messing with the pipes. They can't fix it, because there's not enough money to do that kind of work in the city.
We three will be back at the shelter tomorrow; they want me at 7 a. m. to ride with people on the bus to the walk-in clinic that opens at 8. Apparently it's a 15-minute bus ride, but the buses come at odd intervals that nobody can figure out. There are not enough mechanics to fix them when they break down, which is often, on these pothole-covered streets. They come when they can. And last time, 30 people waited in line for the clinic to open; only the first 9 were seen.
Michael, the only one in our group who's been here before, took us to Café du Monde for beignets last night. It was a bustling, happy place, full of sugar and laughter. We walked around the Quarter for awhile, wandering into shops, looking at monuments, feeling the history. It was busy, brightly lit, and filled with other gawkers just like us. They were filming a TV pilot in the park. That's one of the strange things about this: working in a disaster area, and then going out to a different neighborhood, playing tourist, having fun. My task today is to begin telling as many people as I can, what is happening here. I'll upload pictures later.
The shower (there are 4, but two don't have hot water) is a contraption involving propane tanks and PVC pipes. You get the temperature you get; you can't adjust it. Dishes are washed in tubs with soap and bleach, but still manage to feel greasy all the time. We can wash our hands to our hearts’ content, and are encouraged to, but there is nothing to dry them on.
They ask us to work three shifts here, as well as 40 hours/week at our placements. I pulled a security shift from 3-9 this morning. I was on the third floor, where long-term volunteers sleep. During the night, someone tried to break into the refrigerated truck out back, holding our food.
Urban camping is more of a challenge than I was ready for. But the conditions here are not very different from some other places in the neighborhood.
Judy, Vivian, and I worked in a women's shelter yesterday; an average-size house that 17 people call home. I don't know how they do it. I talked for a long time with a cargo worker from the Port of New Orleans, who is staying in the shelter because her second house since Katrina was condemned two weeks ago. She's tried twice to leave, and got sent back by her union (or so I understand). She says that because she’s from New Orleans, she’s having a terrible time finding work at other ports. The city’s reputation for violent crime precedes her wherever she goes. I asked her, “What do you want me to say about New Orleans when I get home?” Her answer: “Get the troops out of Iraq, and bring them here. This is a war zone.”
She was essentially calling for martial law. I am very uncomfortable with that entire idea—but this is not my city, not my home. I don’t have the right to make decisions about what happens here. I can use my voice to amplify the voices of the people who live here; that is what I am doing.
I went to get a glass of water, and the "cold" tap didn't work—but the "hot" only had cold water running out of it. I was told that one of the bathrooms only had hot water. The residents only use the upstairs toilet, because the downstairs one doesn't work. Someone said that's typical; there's sea water underneath the city, messing with the pipes. They can't fix it, because there's not enough money to do that kind of work in the city.
We three will be back at the shelter tomorrow; they want me at 7 a. m. to ride with people on the bus to the walk-in clinic that opens at 8. Apparently it's a 15-minute bus ride, but the buses come at odd intervals that nobody can figure out. There are not enough mechanics to fix them when they break down, which is often, on these pothole-covered streets. They come when they can. And last time, 30 people waited in line for the clinic to open; only the first 9 were seen.
Michael, the only one in our group who's been here before, took us to Café du Monde for beignets last night. It was a bustling, happy place, full of sugar and laughter. We walked around the Quarter for awhile, wandering into shops, looking at monuments, feeling the history. It was busy, brightly lit, and filled with other gawkers just like us. They were filming a TV pilot in the park. That's one of the strange things about this: working in a disaster area, and then going out to a different neighborhood, playing tourist, having fun. My task today is to begin telling as many people as I can, what is happening here. I'll upload pictures later.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Common Ground Collective
For those of us who are interested in learning more about the organization through whom our friends are working, here is a link to an interview about Common Ground Collective with its founder Malik Rahim. This is from one year after the hurricane hit, August of 2006.
More generally, if you are interested in learning details about post-Katrina New Orleans, you can search "Katrina" in the Democracy Now, archives (on the left side of thier home site) and read through the headlines to find stories of interest to you.
I have felt consistently lucky as I have witnessed Democracy Now's coverage of Katrina.
More generally, if you are interested in learning details about post-Katrina New Orleans, you can search "Katrina" in the Democracy Now, archives (on the left side of thier home site) and read through the headlines to find stories of interest to you.
I have felt consistently lucky as I have witnessed Democracy Now's coverage of Katrina.
Finally Here
It's hard to believe, but we're finally here! Judy, Kirstin, Michael, and I arrived safely at volunteer headquarters at Common Ground very late last evening. We're tired, but excited to be here in New Orleans. More to come later, but we just wanted to get a quick post up before we get started on our first day of work to let you know that we have gotten here. Thank you for all your support! We'll post more as the days unfold...
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Listen - a word for our prayers
I held a small token in my hand. On it was the word LISTEN, and it struck me because we were listening to the story of Rev. Webster, who visited with us in our pre-meeting trip Tuesday, and we were listening to the story of the pieces of debris I found in areas devastated by Katrina, and we have been listening to the story of New Orleans, told in media and told in Common Ground Collective. But, it is easy to go to NOLA with presumption – even when I am thinking I am not being presumptuous, when I stop to evaluate, I find I am. Listening is the practice of being present without assuming. We feel we have to know the words to say to fix or heal or work miracles. Listening is watching the Holy Spirit in us, and the people, and place we are going to be working. I pray we listen as witnesses to the amazing power of the Holy Spirit in and around.
Listen.
Listen.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Going with God
Last night, the four of us headed to New Orleans held our last pre-trip gathering. We heard from a Baptist pastor, now living in the Bay Area. Pastor Dwight had lived for the past two decades in New Orleans; he still travels there frequently. He told us something of what to expect of the people we meet there, and how to be genuinely helpful. The most effective volunteers that Pastor Dwight had met there were a group of Buddhists (I think their name was Tzu Chi), who approached the people they were serving without presumption; without any preconceived notions about who they were, what they needed, or how they got there. They were present, and patient.
I am not at all sure I can do that, but I will try. It feels very strange to be going to a place that is so famous for its culture, to work in a disaster zone. I am focusing on approaching this as openly as I can.
I talked to my priest this morning; he’s from Baton Rouge, and has been in California for barely over a year. He gave me ideas for places to go on our off-time, and told me to take his cell phone number with me. I also spent a few hours online, learning about the physical environment of the Delta in general, recovery efforts, and the general political feelings there. I feel a little more prepared—and very much more naïve.
Our group has been taking turns leading our Tuesday night meetings, which all conclude with some sort of devotion. Last night, there were metal coins strewn all over the coffee table. Most had a picture on one side, and a word on the other. We were instructed to look at the coins carefully, and choose one to mentally take with us. The first one I picked, I knew was right for me. It depicted a sailboat; the word on the flip side was “Explore.”
I am going where the wind of the Spirit takes me. I am called to be open to this adventure; to travel fearlessly into my own soul, to meet the souls of others. I am called to explore my own sense of (white middle-class) privilege, my own desire to serve others in a place I’ve never been; my own trepidation and joy at doing this. We are called to be the hands and feet of God, and to find and honor God in all people, everywhere. I get to be pulled out of my books for a week, and go to New Orleans, to do this.
I really can’t wait.
I am not at all sure I can do that, but I will try. It feels very strange to be going to a place that is so famous for its culture, to work in a disaster zone. I am focusing on approaching this as openly as I can.
I talked to my priest this morning; he’s from Baton Rouge, and has been in California for barely over a year. He gave me ideas for places to go on our off-time, and told me to take his cell phone number with me. I also spent a few hours online, learning about the physical environment of the Delta in general, recovery efforts, and the general political feelings there. I feel a little more prepared—and very much more naïve.
Our group has been taking turns leading our Tuesday night meetings, which all conclude with some sort of devotion. Last night, there were metal coins strewn all over the coffee table. Most had a picture on one side, and a word on the other. We were instructed to look at the coins carefully, and choose one to mentally take with us. The first one I picked, I knew was right for me. It depicted a sailboat; the word on the flip side was “Explore.”
I am going where the wind of the Spirit takes me. I am called to be open to this adventure; to travel fearlessly into my own soul, to meet the souls of others. I am called to explore my own sense of (white middle-class) privilege, my own desire to serve others in a place I’ve never been; my own trepidation and joy at doing this. We are called to be the hands and feet of God, and to find and honor God in all people, everywhere. I get to be pulled out of my books for a week, and go to New Orleans, to do this.
I really can’t wait.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
SF NOLA Solidarity
MARK YOUR CALENDARS: APRIL 7 IN SAN FRANCISCO
Join Us For an Evening in Solidarity with the Katrina Survivors!
Fundraiser to Build Support for the
International Tribunal on Katrina and
the Second Survivors Assembly (end of August 2007)
Fundraiser Date: Saturday, April 7, 2007
Time: 7-9 p.m.
Place: Centro del Pueblo, 474 Valencia St. (@16th St in the Mission
District, one block from Mission-16th St. BART station) in San
Francisco
Keynote Speaker:
Kali Akuno, Executive Director, People's Hurricane Relief
Fund-Oversight Committee (PHRF-OC)
Also Solidarity Statements from:
Clarence Thomas, Co-Chair, Million Worker March Movement
Daniel Gluckstein, Coordinator, International Liaison Committee of
Workers and People (ILC), France
Javad Jahi, Malcolm X Grassroots Movement
Chloe Underdue, Revolution Youth, Mission High School, SF
Also:
"Down But Not Out" -- A Film on the Katrina Survivors by David Zlutnick
and Music by Leith Kahl and Spoken Word by Bay Area artists
Sponsored by:
PHRF-OC, Bay Area Katrina Solidarity Committee, Million Worker March
Movement, International Liaison Committee of Workers and Peoples
(ILC), Malcolm X Grassroots Movement, Revolution Youth, and The
Organizer newspaper
(If you cannot attend, please send a financial contribution to build
support for the Katrina Tribunal and the Second Survivors Assembly --
both of which will be held at the end of August 2007. Make check
payable to PHRF and send to PHRF-OC, 1418 N. Clairborne #2, New
Orleans, LA 70116. Please mark April 7 SF Fundraiser on Memo line of
your check.)
---
[Note: Please contact us at if you are
interested in receiving a PDF version of the attractive fundraising
leaflet for duplication and distribution to your friends, family and
co-workers.]
Join Us For an Evening in Solidarity with the Katrina Survivors!
Fundraiser to Build Support for the
International Tribunal on Katrina and
the Second Survivors Assembly (end of August 2007)
Fundraiser Date: Saturday, April 7, 2007
Time: 7-9 p.m.
Place: Centro del Pueblo, 474 Valencia St. (@16th St in the Mission
District, one block from Mission-16th St. BART station) in San
Francisco
Keynote Speaker:
Kali Akuno, Executive Director, People's Hurricane Relief
Fund-Oversight Committee (PHRF-OC)
Also Solidarity Statements from:
Clarence Thomas, Co-Chair, Million Worker March Movement
Daniel Gluckstein, Coordinator, International Liaison Committee of
Workers and People (ILC), France
Javad Jahi, Malcolm X Grassroots Movement
Chloe Underdue, Revolution Youth, Mission High School, SF
Also:
"Down But Not Out" -- A Film on the Katrina Survivors by David Zlutnick
and Music by Leith Kahl and Spoken Word by Bay Area artists
Sponsored by:
PHRF-OC, Bay Area Katrina Solidarity Committee, Million Worker March
Movement, International Liaison Committee of Workers and Peoples
(ILC), Malcolm X Grassroots Movement, Revolution Youth, and The
Organizer newspaper
(If you cannot attend, please send a financial contribution to build
support for the Katrina Tribunal and the Second Survivors Assembly --
both of which will be held at the end of August 2007. Make check
payable to PHRF and send to PHRF-OC, 1418 N. Clairborne #2, New
Orleans, LA 70116. Please mark April 7 SF Fundraiser on Memo line of
your check.)
---
[Note: Please contact us at if you are
interested in receiving a PDF version of the attractive fundraising
leaflet for duplication and distribution to your friends, family and
co-workers.]
Monday, March 12, 2007
Making travel plans
In less than two weeks, the four of us will be in New Orleans. We are spending our Spring Break there; leaving California on March 23, and returning on and around March 31. We are getting our assignments sorted out; the only one I'm sure of is my own, as it was given to me this morning. I will be working in a women's shelter for the week, because I have experience as a Catholic Worker in Olympia. We will be staying in volunteer housing run by the Common Ground Collective, and going to the work sites they have given us during the day. We plan to write about our encounters with others, with the landscape, and with God in this disaster zone. We also will hold events to educate our home communities when we return.
I got my tetanus shot last weekend; I was overdue for it anyway. The ache in my arm makes this even more real. We are meeting with each other regularly, making plans, dividing up projects, praying, sharing Compline. We are getting to know one another as co-workers and friends. I am getting excited around the edges; I think I can say the same for all of us.
Please consider supporting our trip, by clicking the donations link in the sidebar. We have set a fundraising goal of $6000. Any amount beyond what we use (for transportation, contributions to our hosts, and unforeseen incidentals) will be donated to the people of New Orleans.
Thank you.
I got my tetanus shot last weekend; I was overdue for it anyway. The ache in my arm makes this even more real. We are meeting with each other regularly, making plans, dividing up projects, praying, sharing Compline. We are getting to know one another as co-workers and friends. I am getting excited around the edges; I think I can say the same for all of us.
Please consider supporting our trip, by clicking the donations link in the sidebar. We have set a fundraising goal of $6000. Any amount beyond what we use (for transportation, contributions to our hosts, and unforeseen incidentals) will be donated to the people of New Orleans.
Thank you.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
More from Episcopal Relief and Development
ERD and Diocese of Louisiana dedicate outreach ministry center in New Orleans; long-term recovery work continues in the city
Episcopal Relief and Development (ERD) and the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana are furthering efforts to rebuild lives and communities in the City of New Orleans.
The Episcopal Urban Ministry Center (EUMC), in the Center City neighborhood, was dedicated on Monday, February 26. This center will serve as headquarters for comprehensive humanitarian services reaching people living and returning to the local community. EUMC is located on Seventh Street between Carondelet Street and St. Charles Avenue. The center will house a community room, case management services, volunteer housing and offices for the Jericho Road Episcopal Housing Initiative.
“The opening and dedication of this ministry center represents our partnership with Episcopal Relief and Development and our commitment to the recovery and rebuilding of New Orleans,” said the Rt. Rev. Charles E. Jenkins, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana.
Community members, local clergy, and ERD’s Board of Directors were among those who attended the dedication and ribbon cutting ceremony. Remarks were made by Bishop Jenkins, the Rt. Rev. Harry Bainbridge, Chair of ERD’s Board of Directors, Robert W. Radtke, ERD President, and Saundra Reed, Co-Director of the Central City Renaissance Alliance. A New Orleans brass band played at the ceremony’s conclusion.
“The Episcopal Urban Ministry Center will be a sanctuary to help people heal and access critical services such as pastoral care, counseling, housing and many others so they can rebuild their lives,” said Robert W. Radtke, ERD President.
“When I look at the church in New Orleans, I see the church at its best. I believe our witness to the gospel is directly connected to our willingness to embrace suffering,” said the Rt. Rev. Robert J. O’Neill, Bishop of the Diocese of Colorado. “ERD’s partnership with communities invites us to do just that,” said Bishop O’Neill. Bishop O’Neill, along with Catherine George and Erwin Fredie, are the three new members of ERD’s Board.
Progress being made as New Orleans struggles to rebuild
On Saturday, February 23, a celebration was held for the Jericho Road Episcopal Housing Initiative, a partnership of the diocese and ERD. Jericho Road received the first titles to four adjudicated properties under the City of New Orleans Targeted Neighborhood Development Project. Jericho Road hopes to build up to 500 homes over the next five to seven years in the Center City neighborhood.
Together with the diocese, ERD is supporting long-term rebuilding programs in Louisiana focusing on livelihood and housing renewal, psychosocial counseling, health care and distribution of critical goods. ERD’s work with the diocese has served over 194,000 individuals and families in the past 18 months.
“Through a mobile respite unit, people in the Lower 9th Ward are receiving critical assistance and pastoral care. A mobile medical unit provides on-site medical treatment to residents working on damaged homes,” said Richard Ohlsen, ERD’s Director of Domestic Disaster Preparedness and Response. “Since many stores have not yet reopened in the city, our partnership with St. George’s and Mobile Loaves and Fishes is delivering food to more than 2,000 families each month in low-income neighborhoods,” said Ohlsen.
So far, over 3,330 people have volunteered with ODR, helping survivors gut out their homes and salvage belongings. More volunteers are needed. For more information, go to http://www.edola.org/odr_volunteer_main.php or call (504) 895-4304.
“There are many challenges to why Katrina survivors cannot return to New Orleans,” said Archdeacon Dennis McManis, Operations Director for the Office for Disaster Response (ODR) in the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana. “Many don’t have the resources, there are no transitional living accommodations, commerce hasn’t returned and infrastructure is still being rebuilt,” said McManis.
For more information on Episcopal Relief and Development’s response, please visit www.er-d.org or call 1-800-334-7626, ext. 5129.
Episcopal Relief and Development is the international relief and development agency of the Episcopal Church of the United States. An independent 501(c) (3) organization, ERD saves lives and builds hope in communities around the world. ERD’s programs work toward achieving the Millennium Development Goals. We provide emergency assistance in times of crisis and rebuild after disasters. We enable people to climb out of poverty by offering long-term solutions in the areas of food security and health care, including HIV/AIDS and malaria.
Episcopal Relief and Development (ERD) and the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana are furthering efforts to rebuild lives and communities in the City of New Orleans.
The Episcopal Urban Ministry Center (EUMC), in the Center City neighborhood, was dedicated on Monday, February 26. This center will serve as headquarters for comprehensive humanitarian services reaching people living and returning to the local community. EUMC is located on Seventh Street between Carondelet Street and St. Charles Avenue. The center will house a community room, case management services, volunteer housing and offices for the Jericho Road Episcopal Housing Initiative.
“The opening and dedication of this ministry center represents our partnership with Episcopal Relief and Development and our commitment to the recovery and rebuilding of New Orleans,” said the Rt. Rev. Charles E. Jenkins, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana.
Community members, local clergy, and ERD’s Board of Directors were among those who attended the dedication and ribbon cutting ceremony. Remarks were made by Bishop Jenkins, the Rt. Rev. Harry Bainbridge, Chair of ERD’s Board of Directors, Robert W. Radtke, ERD President, and Saundra Reed, Co-Director of the Central City Renaissance Alliance. A New Orleans brass band played at the ceremony’s conclusion.
“The Episcopal Urban Ministry Center will be a sanctuary to help people heal and access critical services such as pastoral care, counseling, housing and many others so they can rebuild their lives,” said Robert W. Radtke, ERD President.
“When I look at the church in New Orleans, I see the church at its best. I believe our witness to the gospel is directly connected to our willingness to embrace suffering,” said the Rt. Rev. Robert J. O’Neill, Bishop of the Diocese of Colorado. “ERD’s partnership with communities invites us to do just that,” said Bishop O’Neill. Bishop O’Neill, along with Catherine George and Erwin Fredie, are the three new members of ERD’s Board.
Progress being made as New Orleans struggles to rebuild
On Saturday, February 23, a celebration was held for the Jericho Road Episcopal Housing Initiative, a partnership of the diocese and ERD. Jericho Road received the first titles to four adjudicated properties under the City of New Orleans Targeted Neighborhood Development Project. Jericho Road hopes to build up to 500 homes over the next five to seven years in the Center City neighborhood.
Together with the diocese, ERD is supporting long-term rebuilding programs in Louisiana focusing on livelihood and housing renewal, psychosocial counseling, health care and distribution of critical goods. ERD’s work with the diocese has served over 194,000 individuals and families in the past 18 months.
“Through a mobile respite unit, people in the Lower 9th Ward are receiving critical assistance and pastoral care. A mobile medical unit provides on-site medical treatment to residents working on damaged homes,” said Richard Ohlsen, ERD’s Director of Domestic Disaster Preparedness and Response. “Since many stores have not yet reopened in the city, our partnership with St. George’s and Mobile Loaves and Fishes is delivering food to more than 2,000 families each month in low-income neighborhoods,” said Ohlsen.
So far, over 3,330 people have volunteered with ODR, helping survivors gut out their homes and salvage belongings. More volunteers are needed. For more information, go to http://www.edola.org/odr_volunteer_main.php or call (504) 895-4304.
“There are many challenges to why Katrina survivors cannot return to New Orleans,” said Archdeacon Dennis McManis, Operations Director for the Office for Disaster Response (ODR) in the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana. “Many don’t have the resources, there are no transitional living accommodations, commerce hasn’t returned and infrastructure is still being rebuilt,” said McManis.
For more information on Episcopal Relief and Development’s response, please visit www.er-d.org or call 1-800-334-7626, ext. 5129.
Episcopal Relief and Development is the international relief and development agency of the Episcopal Church of the United States. An independent 501(c) (3) organization, ERD saves lives and builds hope in communities around the world. ERD’s programs work toward achieving the Millennium Development Goals. We provide emergency assistance in times of crisis and rebuild after disasters. We enable people to climb out of poverty by offering long-term solutions in the areas of food security and health care, including HIV/AIDS and malaria.
Remembering Katrina: Louisiana diocese uses hammers, advocacy to house hurricane survivors
Episcopal News Service
By: Jerry Hames
Posted: Monday, February 26, 2007
At the end of another week of frustration and hostility directed at city and state governments for their inability to resolve the housing crisis since Hurricane Katrina laid waste to much of New Orleans, an Episcopal initiative to build new, affordable housing in the Central City neighborhood was celebrated with the opening of its first homes.
A street party on February 24 with a brass band, food and outdoor festivities, including speeches from black evangelical pastors and civic leaders, marked the occasion.
Neighborhood residents toured one of the three new "Jericho Road" houses after a ribbon cutting ceremony by Louisiana Bishop Charles Jenkins. The three-bedroom, two-bath modular houses, with large front porches, are 18 feet wide and 70 feet long. The $115,000 price includes carpeting, central air conditioning and appliances, including washer and dryer.
The Jericho Road Episcopal Housing Initiative, incorporated less than a year ago, is a cooperative effort of the Diocese of Louisiana and Episcopal Relief and Development (ERD) to build new housing in an area slow to return to normal after Hurricane Katrina flooded large sections of the city 18 months ago.
Just 48 hours before the Jericho Road celebration, U.S. Representative Maxine Waters (D-Calif.), chair of the congressional subcommittee on Housing and Community Opportunity, convened a hearing at the city's Dillard University to hear testimony from Louisiana's governor, the city's mayor, representatives of churches and public housing advocates. The congressional panel heard repeatedly that many residents are still stuck in Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) housing trailers, sharing homes and apartments, or commuting from out-of-town accommodations while they wait for the state's "The Road Home" recovery program to hit full stride.
Mayor Ray Nagin charged that the Road Home program, in which the state is authorized to distribute federal grants to those who lost their homes in the disaster, is not working. "It is overwhelmed, understaffed and technically flawed," he said, seeking control of the program by the city.
Of 108,751 applications received by the Road Home contractor, only 782 have received final payments, the panel was told.
In stark contrast, the Episcopal diocese, although it too is hampered by government red tape, according to Jenkins, is moving forward with great strides by working ecumenically in housing initiatives and at the same time partnering with Central City black pastors to try to put an end to street violence that last week alone claimed four lives.
Rebuilding neighborhoods
In its first phase, Jericho Road expects to develop 55 properties clustered near churches and businesses. While it still waits for the city to award it property upon which to build, the diocese purchased three lots for the first houses.
At the February 23 opening, Brad Powers, executive director of Jericho Road, announced that the housing initiative will be the first to receive available lots under the city's adjudicated land program. "The next step in the next 12 to 18 months is to build 50 more houses," he said. Cheering greeted his announcement.
Donations to ERD have provided the initial funding totaling $2.3 million, which is being used for administrative management, property acquisition and construction. The funding from ERD, combined with planned financing from various community development corporations will result in an investment in the Central City neighborhood of more than $20 million, Powers said.
"This initiative is about community," Jenkins said to those who gathered for the celebration. "It could be an act of those who have means, but that is not what Jericho Road is about. We don't want it to be seen as a sense of power over those who have no power. We want this to be a community offering. We are not simply building homes for people, but transforming lives and changing neighborhoods."
He said the name "Jericho Road" was taken from the sermon, "Beyond Vietnam," given by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., at New York's Riverside Church in 1967. "True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar," King said. "It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring."
"Hurricane Katrina laid bare years of racism, economic exclusion and inferior education," Jenkins said. "All were exposed by that flood."
To assure it was a true community partnership, the bishop, who is the corporate head of Jericho Road, named to the board of directors some of the area's black evangelical pastors. "We're putting up the money; they are putting up the soul," he said.
One community leader at the celebration, Saundra Reed, co-director of the Central City Renaissance Alliance, praised the role of the Episcopal Church.
"We have all seen that government intentions have failed, fallen short," she said. "When the Episcopalians came, they came with their own dollars. They didn't wait for the government. They stepped out in faith on their own."
Obstacles to goal
In an interview in his office February 22, Jenkins said the biggest obstacles he has encountered have been "the state of Louisiana and the city of New Orleans." He said the fact that neither government was prepared to advance "soft second mortgages" to low-income families meant that the affordable housing that Jericho Road builds will be available to only 20 percent of low income people.
"We want them to be available to 60 percent of people," he said.
Two days later, at the house opening, Jenkins said he learned that the city will move to advance soft second mortgages to low income families.
More people in New Orleans are reduced to renting homes or apartments than in many other American cities. In pre-Katrina New Orleans, about 54 percent of the city's residents were paying rent instead of a mortgage, the congressional panel was told, so the issue of public housing and low income rentals is paramount. The city, which had 5,100 families living in public housing before Katrina, now has roughly 1,200.
The decision by the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development in June to close the city's four largest public housing developments and demolish them in order to develop mixed market-rate rentals and subsidized housing incenses Jenkins.
"The federal government has closed housing when we have hundreds of thousands of people who want to come home," he said. "There is no place for them to go. No one told me I couldn't go back to my house."
Many agree with the bishop's assessment of the situation.
"This is, by far, the toughest environment I've ever had to work in," said Steven C. Richards, a former FEMA official and now chief executive officer of American Renaissance Homes, builder of the modular houses that the diocese has purchased for its Jericho Road initiative.
"You're dealing with people's emotions, all of the fear, anxiety, discouragement and emotional trauma that people are going through. I hope what you see here," he said, standing in the front room of the new Jericho Road home, "is just the beginning of a recovery."
By: Jerry Hames
Posted: Monday, February 26, 2007
At the end of another week of frustration and hostility directed at city and state governments for their inability to resolve the housing crisis since Hurricane Katrina laid waste to much of New Orleans, an Episcopal initiative to build new, affordable housing in the Central City neighborhood was celebrated with the opening of its first homes.
A street party on February 24 with a brass band, food and outdoor festivities, including speeches from black evangelical pastors and civic leaders, marked the occasion.
Neighborhood residents toured one of the three new "Jericho Road" houses after a ribbon cutting ceremony by Louisiana Bishop Charles Jenkins. The three-bedroom, two-bath modular houses, with large front porches, are 18 feet wide and 70 feet long. The $115,000 price includes carpeting, central air conditioning and appliances, including washer and dryer.
The Jericho Road Episcopal Housing Initiative, incorporated less than a year ago, is a cooperative effort of the Diocese of Louisiana and Episcopal Relief and Development (ERD) to build new housing in an area slow to return to normal after Hurricane Katrina flooded large sections of the city 18 months ago.
Just 48 hours before the Jericho Road celebration, U.S. Representative Maxine Waters (D-Calif.), chair of the congressional subcommittee on Housing and Community Opportunity, convened a hearing at the city's Dillard University to hear testimony from Louisiana's governor, the city's mayor, representatives of churches and public housing advocates. The congressional panel heard repeatedly that many residents are still stuck in Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) housing trailers, sharing homes and apartments, or commuting from out-of-town accommodations while they wait for the state's "The Road Home" recovery program to hit full stride.
Mayor Ray Nagin charged that the Road Home program, in which the state is authorized to distribute federal grants to those who lost their homes in the disaster, is not working. "It is overwhelmed, understaffed and technically flawed," he said, seeking control of the program by the city.
Of 108,751 applications received by the Road Home contractor, only 782 have received final payments, the panel was told.
In stark contrast, the Episcopal diocese, although it too is hampered by government red tape, according to Jenkins, is moving forward with great strides by working ecumenically in housing initiatives and at the same time partnering with Central City black pastors to try to put an end to street violence that last week alone claimed four lives.
Rebuilding neighborhoods
In its first phase, Jericho Road expects to develop 55 properties clustered near churches and businesses. While it still waits for the city to award it property upon which to build, the diocese purchased three lots for the first houses.
At the February 23 opening, Brad Powers, executive director of Jericho Road, announced that the housing initiative will be the first to receive available lots under the city's adjudicated land program. "The next step in the next 12 to 18 months is to build 50 more houses," he said. Cheering greeted his announcement.
Donations to ERD have provided the initial funding totaling $2.3 million, which is being used for administrative management, property acquisition and construction. The funding from ERD, combined with planned financing from various community development corporations will result in an investment in the Central City neighborhood of more than $20 million, Powers said.
"This initiative is about community," Jenkins said to those who gathered for the celebration. "It could be an act of those who have means, but that is not what Jericho Road is about. We don't want it to be seen as a sense of power over those who have no power. We want this to be a community offering. We are not simply building homes for people, but transforming lives and changing neighborhoods."
He said the name "Jericho Road" was taken from the sermon, "Beyond Vietnam," given by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., at New York's Riverside Church in 1967. "True compassion is more than flinging a coin to a beggar," King said. "It comes to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring."
"Hurricane Katrina laid bare years of racism, economic exclusion and inferior education," Jenkins said. "All were exposed by that flood."
To assure it was a true community partnership, the bishop, who is the corporate head of Jericho Road, named to the board of directors some of the area's black evangelical pastors. "We're putting up the money; they are putting up the soul," he said.
One community leader at the celebration, Saundra Reed, co-director of the Central City Renaissance Alliance, praised the role of the Episcopal Church.
"We have all seen that government intentions have failed, fallen short," she said. "When the Episcopalians came, they came with their own dollars. They didn't wait for the government. They stepped out in faith on their own."
Obstacles to goal
In an interview in his office February 22, Jenkins said the biggest obstacles he has encountered have been "the state of Louisiana and the city of New Orleans." He said the fact that neither government was prepared to advance "soft second mortgages" to low-income families meant that the affordable housing that Jericho Road builds will be available to only 20 percent of low income people.
"We want them to be available to 60 percent of people," he said.
Two days later, at the house opening, Jenkins said he learned that the city will move to advance soft second mortgages to low income families.
More people in New Orleans are reduced to renting homes or apartments than in many other American cities. In pre-Katrina New Orleans, about 54 percent of the city's residents were paying rent instead of a mortgage, the congressional panel was told, so the issue of public housing and low income rentals is paramount. The city, which had 5,100 families living in public housing before Katrina, now has roughly 1,200.
The decision by the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development in June to close the city's four largest public housing developments and demolish them in order to develop mixed market-rate rentals and subsidized housing incenses Jenkins.
"The federal government has closed housing when we have hundreds of thousands of people who want to come home," he said. "There is no place for them to go. No one told me I couldn't go back to my house."
Many agree with the bishop's assessment of the situation.
"This is, by far, the toughest environment I've ever had to work in," said Steven C. Richards, a former FEMA official and now chief executive officer of American Renaissance Homes, builder of the modular houses that the diocese has purchased for its Jericho Road initiative.
"You're dealing with people's emotions, all of the fear, anxiety, discouragement and emotional trauma that people are going through. I hope what you see here," he said, standing in the front room of the new Jericho Road home, "is just the beginning of a recovery."
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