Ancrene Wiseass

A would-be medievalist holds forth on academia, teaching, gender politics, blogging, pop culture, critters, and whatever else comes her way.

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Yes, this really is yet another blog by a disillusioned grad student. I sympathize, but that's just the way it has to be. For hints as to what my bizarre alias means, click here and here and, if needed, here and here. To get a sense of what I'm up to, feel free to check out the sections called "Toward a Wiseass Creed" and "Showings: Some Introductory Wiseassery" in my main blog's left-hand sidebar. Please be aware that spamming, harassing, or otherwise obnoxious comments will be deleted and traced.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Beyond NOLA

I'd been wondering about all the areas other than NOLA hit by Katrina: Nearly all I've seen are a few scattered mentions that the damage extends over much of Louisiana and Mississippi along the coastline, Trent Lott seeking federal help for Mississippians, and the heartwrenching testimony of Aaron Broussard from Jefferson Parish. But, even though I looked, I couldn't seem to find much about the other victims of Katrina and her governmental aiders and abetters.

But now, news from those other areas is starting to trickle in. And it's not good. CNN's featuring an AP story from Chalmette, Louisiana that, I suspect, mirrors the situation in many of the smaller towns. A couple of excerpts:

If you dropped a bomb on this place, it couldn't be any worse than this," said Ron Silva, a district fire chief in St. Bernard Parish. "It's Day 8, guys. Everything was diverted first to New Orleans, we understand that. But do you realize we got 18 to 20 feet of water from the storm, and we've still got 7 to 8 feet of water?"

. . . .

As relief efforts sputtered in the days after the storm, Verlyn Davis Jr., an out-of-work electrician, took charge. He transformed his parents' bar and seafood restaurant, Lehrmann's, into a shelter where he dispatches people to clear roads, hook up generators and help in the disaster relief process.

About 20 people have been staying there these days. On a boarded-up window out front is a blue spray-painted sign: "ABOUT TIME BUSH!"

"The governor and the president let thousands of people die and they let them die on their roofs and they let them die in the water," said Davis, 45. "We got left. They didn't care."

Help has begun to pour in -- the sound of the military helicopters overhead interrupts the silence. Search teams in boats pound on rooftops. They shout, "Anybody home?" But they know the answer.

I don't think it's pessimistic to say that we'll keep hearing stories like this for days--and maybe even weeks--to come; it's realistic.

And, as usual these days, the reality is just about unbearable.