Haiti & Lessons from Katrina

"Some Much Needed Reality: Haiti's been a shithole for a century. People dying everyday. Crime that made looting-for-survival look tame. All of the sudden millions of you "care" because you see pictures and CNN tells you to; showing you "care" by sending a txt/ writing a check? Before spouting how much you "care," show me what you were doing 2-weeks ago, or just write your $10 check and shut the fuck up." -TWW, 1/23/10

It doesn't happen often, but occasionally I can't say it any better (or more succinctly) than I already have. Inundated with pleas to "Help Haiti," I've spent the last few days waiting out a string of Pacific storms, preparing to leave, and buried in old notebooks looking to add highlights to the beginnings of this Odyssey. Coincidentally, a large part of the backstory revolves around August & September, 2005: Hurricane Katrina, and volunteering in Mississippi and New Orleans during the aftermath.

Part of that "experience" was futilely trying to navigate the corporate charities and the "faith based" organizations who first wanted to know "how I was with Jesus", which I'm sure Our Redeemer greatly appreciated. For a full month in 2005, I tried the proper channels in Denver making it crystal clear that I was available for whatever they needed-- as long as they needed it. Unless I was a doctor, they just wanted my money. I pointed out, repeatedly, that I KNEW there had to be SOMETHING I could do-- even if it was just hauling debris. They assured me that the best way I could "help" was to send money-- at roughly the same time I was being told "Brownie" was "dooin' a helluva job." With that, I connected a few dots and remembered the accusations shortly after 9/11: that donations were embezzled or diverted in directions that, had the public known, would have caused millions of people (including me) to think twice about donating after September 11th. Since then, I refuse to give them a nickel. Disaster relief has taken on the putrid odor of reality TV mating with big business. What I personally saw on the ground in Mississippi and New Orleans confirmed it.

I'll provide links in the archives (Aug- Oct '05) as I get things transcribed, but there are 2 slogans I remember hearing repeatedly while there. "Fuck FEMA!" And, "Fuck the Red Cross!" In my week+, I saw exactly one Red Cross vehicle. It was two-days late. Short on supplies. The driver explained that they were understaffed. About then I heard the Denver Red Cross operator saying, "the best way to help is to send money!" Not, "can you drive a truck?" I found it telling that, despite the propaganda NO ONE on the ground had ANYTHING good to say about the Red Cross. In fact, they usually said "FEMA/ Red Cross" in the same breath. FEMA has been vilified since, but the Red Cross PR machine couldn't allow that to happen. I'd be willing to bet that few if any of my cohorts have donated to the Red Cross since Katrina. I'd invite you to do a little research. Google "Red Cross September 11 Scandal" and "Red Cross Scandal."

In typical fashion, in 2005 I ultimately told the corporate charities to go fuck themselves; a Red Cross operator I finally told literally. Then I hopped in my Jeep, drove the 1,000+ miles, and arrived on the Gulf Coast unannounced knowing I'd find someone who could use help. Through a disconnected tip, I found a Louisiana Humane Society setup, was eagerly welcomed and spent the week+ there-- which included a couple trips into New Orleans to try to gather displaced pets. What I saw both at the camp, and particularly in the city, shaped many of my core-beliefs-- as you can imagine. One of which is how to "be of help." Or, to invoke Andre, "be of maximum assistance." Writing a check, like flying a flag after 9/11, is literally the very least we can do. Unless you're adopting a family and mailing them to Finland, money donations are little more than a token gesture; something to make yourself feel warm and cuddly. "I am one with Haiti. Wait! Leno's back? But... I'M WITH COCO!" Worse, your money is likely to be gobbled up by the corporate structure and red tape of a bureaucratic machine like the Red Cross... even one clean of corruption.

I'm unsure when the Red Cross became The Official Charity of The United States of America, but since 9/11 it's come to resemble more of a saturation-style marketing machine. Every politician, every pundit, every Hollywood douchebag urging you to "give to the Red Cross!" as if there is NOTHING else you need to do. As if your $10 check will "save the children", and you can happily resume your lives completely inconvenienced and completely convinced that you "care" as you show the world via your Facebook status that you're a humanitarian!

If you truly "care" about the people there, you'll likely find a way to provide some sort of tangible assistance. If you can, you'll find something that just might, possibly, disrupt your comfortable routine. You'll get off your ass and get dirty; do something more than spend money to get drunk over at The Skank's Den because "proceeds go to Haiti relief!" If you choose to do so, fine. But keep in mind that you're not doing something particularly humanitarian. Most likely, you're doing what CNN is telling you to do during what's again become wall-to-wall disaster porn, and you're doing it on-cue. Anderson Cooper and Wolf Blitzer have become our purveyors of conscience. Unless you were involved in Haiti 3-weeks or 3-years ago, just write your check, pat yourself on the back quietly, and go about your business.

Bragging about it is, to me, enraging; a slap in the face to the people I saw sleeping in tents at a Winn Dixie parking lot. People who would periodically have to not only CHASE their tents, which the wind blew away from time-to-time because it's impossible to stake a tent on concrete, but also had their main shelter roped down to concrete wheel-stops-- which were also unstable due to the wind! These people worked non-stop in primitive, ridiculous conditions because there wasn't enough staff. They needed help, not money. Volunteers going door-to-door performing body-checks. They needed help, not canned peas. People pulling survivors off roofs and out of the rubble. They needed people willing to miss this week's episode of 24. Folks passing out bottled water because there was/ is no safe water to drink. They need MORE water, not help with Gail McGovern's $500,000 annual salary or $65,000 signing bonus.

Winn Dixie, New Orleans

Remembering the conversation with Howard in August, I decided to try once again to find channels through which to personally get to Haiti. After running into the same systemic static, I decided to save the frustration and continue on as planned. If like me you can't/ choose not to get involved directly, at least investigate other avenues beyond the mega corporate-charities. If you're going to give money, give it locally... for example a secular organization sending volunteers from your area. Or, at least give to an organization that comes with a referral from someone other than Nancy Pelosi! You can also buy non-perishables, sanitary supplies, etc. yourself and give them directly to donation stations. The actual items have a much higher likelihood of arriving intact than money given to buy them! And of course, if you know of a group with an extra seat on the plane, let me know...

Attempted (and failed) rescue. The Dog would NOT leave its house.
Note the water lines on the van...

3/23/08: A New Orleans Easter-Jimmy & Trisha

**It's poorly articulated here, but this would turn out to be one of those monumental days that resound and echo indefinitely.**

Well...things here are different! Jimmy and I got what we were looking for: a change from Odessa, and we got it for sure!

This outfit is much smaller and much less...intense...then Texas. We got into New Orleans on-time, called Willie from the bus station, he then sent two guys to pick us up. The vibe was instantly better. Much more positive. We both had a great feeling about this decision and were quite happy to get here. We chatted with Willie in person on Saturday, and since today is Easter and his family is here, haven't really seen him since.

We all seemed to get along well last night and met some pretty good people, one in particular--Tricia. She would seem to be in the same mold as Carrie and Sarah, yet a great deal different. She is exactly the opposite of those two in almost every way! She's from Little Rock, Arkansas and just a good ol' girl. Yet, she's also tuned in. She "gets it"--doesn't realize it--yet she does. She's aware and trying to process and define what she's aware of. Been there. She wants to travel; suffers from that same affliction I do. She's frustrated and seems ready to do something about it. It was odd when I first got here; we were immediately drawn (not physically...pervert) to each other. It's like there is an internal guide pointing out the right people and the situations in which to find them. My mystical senses are returning to a degree; paying attention to these "coincidences." Steve, Jim, Tricia. I thoroughly enjoyed this trip so far, for the most part.

There are some twisted, ironic, some would say comical shades McComb [MS, 2005, following Katrina] here in relation to my friendship with Trish. The gay guys here are pissed off! And, so are the straight ones! The gay guys are gnarled up because they viewed me as their "fresh fish!" Of course, the breeders are pissed off because they've been trying to get on Tricia since she first got here and now she's begun to use me as sort of a shield! I find it hilarious! There are rumors etc. already; it's pretty pathetic and drives me up the wall.

I'm getting in tune with myself too, I'm aware of my reactions to all of this. My mindset is slowly adapting to my surroundings and my tolerance level is sinking. I have become more aware of who I am and how that differs from past experiences. My personality also seems to be changing more & more as I adapt. I've become more honest, much more open with some people, and seem to have developed some bizarre leadership qualities from my experiences over the past few years. I don't bother with the idiots, charlatans, posers and punks. I blatantly disengage from them and gravitate back to the ones that posses some kind of character and honesty; and I don't care about hurting feelings in the process. I'm looking for "my people" and not really bothering with the rest.

I feel myself becoming more a more direct. For example, Jimmy drank pretty much all day [after the levee experience-below], and it bothered me. Not that he drank, but that he drank and was trying to communicate. I can't hold any of that against him, but it's a mirror of myself from not so long ago. I can't stand being sober and dealing with drunks anymore. In fact, it's been a long time since I could, but now I have next to no tolerance. I'm doing to some people what Danny, Dyson, Jason, Greg, and others did to me: judging. I don't really like that, but it's happening. Tricia got lit up tonight and was passed out by 7:30. After the day we had, it was a study in extremes and bothered me a bit, although I was more forgiving of her because in the short time I've been here, our friendship has caused her much grief for no reason, and she needed the escape.

I have hardly eaten anything since leaving NM last week; I'd love to get on a scale. I must be in that 165-pound range by now. I've had 2 cups of Ramen Noodles today, and a few M&Ms. I've also discovered how much shit I really do have... and shouldn't. My backpack is 45 pounds, and I need to ship some stuff home. It's rather hard to keep all that shit organized, let alone keep track of it.

Today was an interesting, enlightening, and frustrating day all wrapped into one. Jimmy took Tricia and I across the adjacent road to the levee the banks of the Mississippi River, letting us sit in on one of his Indian rituals where he says he "asks the spirits for guidance." We sat inside of a natural circle depressed into the grass, and just talked and bonded -- just the three of us. Afterwards he said our Indian names were Little Feather and Runs with the Wind. While I sat there playing with a twig, they both looked at me with an odd, astonished look and said I was doing some kind of Indian weave -- something I had never heard of. I really had no idea what I was doing, but just thought it looked cool. We went out there about 9:30 and didn't come back -- didn't leave the circle -- until 3:30. Just talking, lying on the grass in the sun. Had the day ended then, it was one of the best of days. I felt so at peace and comfortable...with both myself and them. It was a tiny taste of that experience I've been craving. No distractions or bullshit obligations. Just me, my people, and out in my place being -- me. It was the closest thing to Nirvana I can probably get, and it occurred to me that I may have already started my adventure. I felt free and unmolested!

Then, as soon as we rejoined the herd, a relative black energy/vibe returned. As soon as we crossed the road! I won't elaborate on more of the drama inside Winter Quarters this Easter Night, but it provided something that, using the first part of the day, could have been a case study in extremes. It got to the point where Trish and I discussed, and even tentatively decided, to leave here tomorrow and "just go." She says she wants to today. She says she wants to go with me when I/we begin my/our trip. But, of course she'd like to work it out so we stay on for a few months to get cash together.

We'd both like Jimmy to be with us if he chooses to, and if today was an anomaly (the drinking). If not, I don't think we will be doing anything together after New Orleans is done. He's a wonderful guy, yet one who's battling something within. He has much to offer, yet also has that self-destructive air about him when he drinks. If both he and Tricia could keep handles on that, I'd be fine and would love for us to keep it together.

The view from here regarding the "backpack trip" is a bit different. I could see the three of us doing it, but believe Jimmy will carry on his way. And Tricia may remain here, or just go home to be near her son in Arkansas. I don't really know. I just feel that I've met some wonderful people in the five short days I've been gone. I feel like I'm on the right course and can see some possibilities. It'll be interesting to see what else develops. So far, this trip's been exactly what I need, and I still find it remarkable that I'm in New Orleans. New Mexico feels remote and far away today. We'll see how it all goes; off to Baton Rouge in the morning.

3/22/08: Escape from Odessa-Jimmy & Steve

Greyhound between Baton Rouge and New Orleans, Louisiana

Long story short: I met two other guys. Jimmy and Steve are both from Oklahoma, and after Steve was pushed for the 5th time to buy cocaine, we called Mike [recruiter] told him what was going on, and requested that he get us out of there. We all decided to ride together to New Orleans and hook up with another outfit with a friend of Mike's named Willie.

I asked direct questions and let those two listen so they could decide for themselves. Mike bought the tickets, we packed up, and while we were waiting Steve's mother called to tell him that his father had died!

Of course, that sent him back to Oklahoma. Steve's a lot like me with the indecisiveness, only worse! And much more tentative. He's just a country boy who's never been away for long, so he was apprehensive. It may have been good for him to come down here and live a little, and he still may. I sensed something familiar in him, and deeply respected his independence. The three of us had a nice synergy, and could have been good friends--all of us. I'm rather surprised at how good of friends we became anyhow. I hope things in New Orleans are as Willie and Mike say they are, and if so, I also hope that Steve comes down here in a couple of weeks.

Jimmy and I are very similar in many ways, although our backgrounds are very different. He's Chickasha Indian and abhors drugs because his son committed suicide while on them. That was the common thread between we three that got us hanging out in the first place. We were the minority who weren't looking to work then simply get fucked up up afterwards--calling that life. Wash-rinse-repeat. One of my goals/hopes was to find some like-minded people I could relate to, and after 2 1/2 days in a traveling drug-den, I found some. That's encouraging.

Jimmy's 46, and has been living a nomadic life for some time now. He's been all over and has tons of experience that he's willing to share. He's respectful, and deserves respect. We talked a lot last night between Odessa and Dallas having much to chat about; our ideas parallel each other in many ways. Like me, he relishes freedom above most everything. We are both cautiously excited about New Orleans and since we have the night off, and a little money, are planning on Bourbon Street later tonight.

To put a bow on the Odessa experience, they did pay us what they owed us, minus $15 for "rent" in the bunkhouse: another monetary surprise. In retrospect it was fitting! Outside of the drug culture, the main theme of that outfit was the fact that they found new and exciting ways, everyday, to surprise you with new ways to shrink your paycheck! "Paying the bus ticket", "security deposit", "key deposit, shirt, etc.... none of which was explained beforehand. Then condescending and indignant when you asked questions. No leadership. People screaming and knife fighting and 5 a.m. outside the bunkhouses. (I was more concerned with the screaming--if someone was cut, eventually they'd at least be quiet) To be fair, it is the stereotype and not completely unexpected; just not for me.

Despite all that, I told Jimmy last night I wouldn't trade it. I did meet some good people, and most importantly I didn't run home, although the thought did occur to me Thursday! I got through it and found that I enjoyed the actual work--when the public's there. I made a little money, and am now having another experience in New Orleans. My spirit through all of this has been remarkably high -- even through the bullshit. I feel in control of my life, and at ease with myself, my surroundings and others. Looking forward. Let's see what happens in New Orleans...

10/9/05: Tylertown, MS-Dog Thieves, Ringo, & New Orleans Devastation

Another beautiful Mississippi Sunday afternoon, though it's morning. Finally got a shower last night, first one since Monday. Went into Brookhaven, about 40 minutes from here, with Carrie and Jessica. A dry county.. Apparently, that means they can sell at stores, but there are no bars and you can't drink at restaurants. I'm trying very hard not to … judge this state, but it seems messed up! There are hints of Mississippi Burning corruption in the local law enforcement, too. Especially when we called the sheriff about the Deliverance Klan cutting thru fences and stealing the pit-bulls. It was a "boys-will-be-boys" response, after waiting all day for them to show up. Guarding/walking the perimeter at night, I’ve run a few off the cowards off myself. What’s funny is that so have some of the 50-year old women! Brookhaven was full of the stereotypical rednecks. Big trucks, squealing tires etc. Fuck Mississippi.

My mindset is strange. I have little emotional investment here. That ended Friday, when I returned from New Orleans. New Orleans was intense. Seeing the black water lines on the houses. Houses completely destroyed. NEIGHBORHOODS destroyed! The sites that made no logical sense; cars on their sides in yards, boats in places they just didn't belong…like roofs. The decomposing dogs still tied up in the backyard. Six Weeks after the fact!

I was amazed at what the people at the Winn-Dixie parking lot were coping with. They were doing the same things for the animals we were, with far less. Their tent was falling down from the wind. They had ropes tied to the concrete parking barriers because they are in a parking lot and couldn't tie their tents down. Sometimes, out of nowhere, you'd see people actually chasing their tents! I have tons of respect for all of them. I sensed nothing but "get it done."

I missed the high volume rescues, but went on a couple with Mark. I pictured dogs that would be thrilled to see people. Ha! These animals are traumatized. We chased, or better, tried to chase a dog at coffee warehouse for 90 minutes. That dog wanted no part of us and was quite the genius! Another in one of the neighborhoods would let us feed him, but went nuts when we got anywhere near him or his fence. None of the rescue people are using dog bite gear. I can only imagine the shit they’ve seen over the past month plus.

Rick was blindsided by a large pit bull here on Thursday. That dog was screwed up. When I walked by his cage feeding them; one second he'd seem happy in the next he was trying to tear through the fence to get me. Rick never saw him coming, and was drug 4 or 5 feet by his forearm. He wound up in the hospital all day and now has a brace on his arm. "Ringo" (he had ringworm) was put down that afternoon and tested for rabies. Everyone here seems to be pro-pitbull, but after seeing that dog I understand the laws. Some of the pits are very gentle dogs, but several seemed quite aggressive. Ringo had bitten another handler that same day.

Carrie and Jessica are leaving today; driving back to Indiana. Jessica flies back to Portland tomorrow. My new battle is to figure out what I want to do next. I not sure I want to stay here much longer. Things have settled into a routine, stabilized. They have plenty of volunteers. That's great for them, but doesn't motivate me as much as I could be. New Orleans was it. The day flew by and I did some good. I'll put that together soon, I guess.