Sharon's Muse.... Let's chat over coffee while I ponder some things
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Sharon's Muse.... Let's chat over coffee while I ponder some things |
About Me
Name::Sharon Cullars
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RAINE'S BLUES 
Now available at Loose-Id Watch trailer for Raine's Blues
GOLD MOUNTAIN 
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AGAIN
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TOOL & BAD BOYS Short, Short Ebooks My Artwork
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Read my business guides at Work.com
Read my profile on Air Station Savannah's pivotal Katrina rescues
Read my article on the Fair Trade system
Credits |
Tuesday, August 22, 2006 When the Levees Broke I knew the tears would come at some point when I sat down to watch the first two hours of Spike Lee's requiem for Katrina, When the Levees Broke. It was hard seeing those images again, especially the distended bodies floating around like so much garbage; such an ignoble way to die. And the babies being held up in desperate hands, distraught parents appealing to the world that children are dying. The footage was heartbreaking. The tears started as I watched a survivor recount the slow, torturous death of his wheel-chair bound elderly mother. They had evacuated to the convention center and every five to ten minutes the elderly woman would ask her son when were the buses coming to take them out of there. All he could tell her is what a national guardsman had assured him; that the buses were on their way, and that the elderly woman would be the first on board due to her age and tenuous health. But the hours passed, the sun blazed down brutally and still no buses. At one point, the son realized his mother hadn't said anything for more than ten minutes and he turned to check on her. He thought that she had nodded off, but then he slowly realized that she had passed away quietly while they both waited for salvation. There was nowhere to put her body, so the people who worked at the center shoved her wheelchair to the side. All the son could do was write her name and his name on a piece of paper and put it in her hands so that she could be identified. The image of the frail woman, bent over as though in repose, and knowing that her last moments on this earth had been so unnecessarily devastating - the tears flowed and my throat constricted. I found it hard to breathe. She reminded me of my own frail grandmother who passed away twenty-two years ago. I applaud Lee for his dignified treatment in recounting one of the most devastating natural-made disasters, exacerbated by the casual incompetence of those in charge. Despite his critics' predictions, Lee was evenhanded in telling the stories not just from the black survivors, but from the poor whites who were just as devastated, just as forgotten. Thanks to the documentary, I discovered that there was one governmental entity on their toes and I give a hearty shoutout to the Coast Guard, who took it upon themselves to chuck out the rule books that would have limited their rescue efforts; those guys were there from day one, airlifting evacuees, sometimes going hours without sleep in defiance of the rules. Would that other governmental entities had had such foresight; more lives might have been saved. I don't know if I have the strength to watch the last two hours, but it seems that I must. All of us owe at least that much - to hear the stories of the victims both dead and alive, and not let them wander into the recesses of stale news. As it is, the children who survived are still suffering.
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