In America, we face an identity crisis. We feel the need to marginalize that which we are not proud of. The poor is clearly one of those groups. The segregated nature of Boston, one of America’s progressive beacons, makes this clear. But they will suffer in the aftermath of disaster, and when devastation strikes anywhere in the world, without insurance or homes that can weather the destruction, they are the first to have everything taken away and often are the first to die.
As the nation watched, floodwaters of Hurricane Katrina crept up to the rooftops of people’s homes in New Orleans three weeks ago displacing many of the city’s inhabitants to Houston and leaving most of the Gulf Coast shaking its head.
The world has witnessed two natural disasters of epic proportions in the past year in Indonesia and India, but those were on the other side of the world.
The residents of New Orleans faced a plight. Inhabitants knew the risk of destruction, but were content to remain until it happened to them.
Despite the different perspectives about where humans come from, the universal truth remains that what we have in front of us is, if not completely fragile, teetering on existence.
Personally, I am more than willing to claim a unity with the whole of humanity on that fact alone. More so, though, this disaster points out the need to acknowledge all – not just the rich, or just the poor – of those who find their livelihoods destroyed.
So, the residents of New Orleans and throughout Louisiana pushed on, and were beaten back. But, now they will rebuild. It is not as though America has never faced such disaster. With populations centered on faults and in hurricane paths, we are a geographically-awkward country. Even Boston, filled with land because it was originally surrounded by water, is at risk of a devastating earthquake that could dislodge the splendid permanence of our own storied civilization.
Even for the most knowledgeable urban planner, it is virtually impossible to take a position as to whether this decision was right or wrong. To weigh the majestic past against the uncertain future is a comparison no one should be forced to make.
In the stories that have already been written and those that are yet to be written, Katrina is likely to expose all of the ills and triumphs of the urban experiment as it existed in New Orleans. This was the case when tsunami waves struck the chord of the impoverished Southern Indian Ocean, and when an earthquake tore a hole in the ground underneath the already destitute village of Bam in Central Iran.
No matter where we come from as students, we are now city dwellers, forced into brethren with the residents of New Orleans. We are appreciative of the heightened pace and interest in life the city can give us simply by stepping outside our front door. Though we may desire more space, we see value close to one another because it gives us a sense that our own place in the wide world is, in fact, relatively miniscule. Most firmly, though, we are mindful that we are sharing our space with people from all walks of life: the downtrodden, the imported (or exported), the lavish and the working class. Because of this, we are in a position to be prepared to unite in crises of the magnitude faced late last month.
This is the human spirit. I suspect it exists everywhere, but in its time of need, the Gulf Coast could use an extra thousand spoonfuls.
— Stephen Babcock is a junior journalism major and a member of the News staff.
