Fwd: Bob Herbert: A Failure of Leadership

Go to Original     A Failure of Leadership     By Bob Herbert     The New York Times     Monday 05 September 2005     "Bush to New Orleans: Drop Dead"     Neither the death of the chief justice nor the frantic efforts of panicked White House political advisers can conceal the magnitude of the president's failure of leadership last week. The catastrophe in New Orleans billowed up like the howling winds of hell and was carried live and in color on television screens across the U.S. and around the world.     The Big Easy had turned into the Big Hurt, and the colossal failure of George W. Bush to intervene powerfully and immediately to rescue tens of thousands of American citizens who were suffering horribly and dying in agony was there for all the world to see.     Hospitals with deathly ill patients were left without power, with ventilators that didn't work, with floodwaters rising on the lower floors and with corpses rotting in the corridors and stairwells. People unable to breathe on their own, or with cancer or heart disease or kidney failure, slipped into comas and sank into their final sleep in front of helpless doctors and relatives. These were Americans in desperate trouble.     The president didn't seem to notice.     Death and the stink of decay were all over the city. Corpses were propped up in wheelchairs and on lawn furniture, or left to decompose on sunbaked sidewalks. Some floated by in water fouled by human feces.     Degenerates roamed the city, shooting at rescue workers, beating and robbing distraught residents and tourists, raping women and girls. The president of the richest, most powerful country in the history of the world didn't seem to notice.     Viewers could watch diabetics go into insulin shock on national television, and you could see babies with the pale, vacant look of hunger that we're more used to seeing in dispatches from the third world. You could see their mothers, dirty and hungry themselves, weeping.     Old, critically ill people were left to soil themselves and in some cases die like stray animals on the floor of an airport triage center. For days the president of the United States didn't seem to notice.     He would have noticed if the majority of these stricken folks had been white and prosperous. But they weren't. Most were black and poor, and thus, to the George W. Bush administration, still invisible.     After days of withering criticism from white and black Americans, from conservatives as well as liberals, from Republicans and Democrats, the president finally felt compelled to act, however feebly. (The chorus of criticism from nearly all quarters demanding that the president do something tells me that the nation as a whole is so much better than this administration.)     Mr. Bush flew south on Friday and proved (as if more proof were needed) that he didn't get it. Instead of urgently focusing on the people who were stranded, hungry, sick and dying, he engaged in small talk, reminiscing at one point about the days when he used to party in New Orleans, and mentioning that Trent Lott had lost one of his houses but that it would be replaced with "a fantastic house - and I'm looking forward to sitting on the porch."     Mr. Bush's performance last week will rank as one of the worst ever by a president during a dire national emergency. What we witnessed, as clearly as the overwhelming agony of the city of New Orleans, was the dangerous incompetence and the staggering indifference to human suffering of the president and his administration.     And it is this incompetence and indifference to suffering (yes, the carnage continues to mount in Iraq) that makes it so hard to be optimistic about the prospects for the United States over the next few years. At a time when effective, innovative leadership is desperately needed to cope with matters of war and peace, terrorism and domestic security, the economic imperatives of globalization and the rising competition for oil, the United States is being led by a man who seems oblivious to the reality of his awesome responsibilities.     Like a boy being prepped for a second crack at a failed exam, Mr. Bush has been meeting with his handlers to see what steps can be taken to minimize the political fallout from this latest demonstration of his ineptitude. But this is not about politics. It's about competence. And when the president is so obviously clueless about matters so obviously important, it means that the rest of us, like the people left stranded in New Orleans, are in deep, deep trouble.

You can go to their home page and sign up for thier free newsletters. -Bob

http://www.truthout.org/docs_2005/printer_090505X.shtml

Go to Original

A Failure of Leadership
By Bob Herbert
The New York Times

Monday 05 September 2005

"Bush to New Orleans: Drop Dead"

Neither the death of the chief justice nor the frantic efforts of panicked
White House political advisers can conceal the magnitude of the president's
failure of leadership last week. The catastrophe in New Orleans billowed up
like the howling winds of hell and was carried live and in color on television
screens across the U.S. and around the world.

The Big Easy had turned into the Big Hurt, and the colossal failure of
George W. Bush to intervene powerfully and immediately to rescue tens of
thousands of American citizens who were suffering horribly and dying in agony
was there for all the world to see.

Hospitals with deathly ill patients were left without power, with
ventilators that didn't work, with floodwaters rising on the lower floors and
with corpses rotting in the corridors and stairwells. People unable to breathe
on their own, or with cancer or heart disease or kidney failure, slipped into
comas and sank into their final sleep in front of helpless doctors and
relatives. These were Americans in desperate trouble.

The president didn't seem to notice.

Death and the stink of decay were all over the city. Corpses were propped up
in wheelchairs and on lawn furniture, or left to decompose on sunbaked
sidewalks. Some floated by in water fouled by human feces.

Degenerates roamed the city, shooting at rescue workers, beating and robbing
distraught residents and tourists, raping women and girls. The president of the
richest, most powerful country in the history of the world didn't seem to
notice.

Viewers could watch diabetics go into insulin shock on national television,
and you could see babies with the pale, vacant look of hunger that we're more
used to seeing in dispatches from the third world. You could see their mothers,
dirty and hungry themselves, weeping.

Old, critically ill people were left to soil themselves and in some cases
die like stray animals on the floor of an airport triage center. For days the
president of the United States didn't seem to notice.

He would have noticed if the majority of these stricken folks had been white
and prosperous. But they weren't. Most were black and poor, and thus, to the
George W. Bush administration, still invisible.

After days of withering criticism from white and black Americans, from
conservatives as well as liberals, from Republicans and Democrats, the
president finally felt compelled to act, however feebly. (The chorus of
criticism from nearly all quarters demanding that the president do something
tells me that the nation as a whole is so much better than this
administration.)

Mr. Bush flew south on Friday and proved (as if more proof were needed) that
he didn't get it. Instead of urgently focusing on the people who were stranded,
hungry, sick and dying, he engaged in small talk, reminiscing at one point
about the days when he used to party in New Orleans, and mentioning that Trent
Lott had lost one of his houses but that it would be replaced with "a fantastic
house - and I'm looking forward to sitting on the porch."

Mr. Bush's performance last week will rank as one of the worst ever by a
president during a dire national emergency. What we witnessed, as clearly as
the overwhelming agony of the city of New Orleans, was the dangerous
incompetence and the staggering indifference to human suffering of the
president and his administration.

And it is this incompetence and indifference to suffering (yes, the carnage
continues to mount in Iraq) that makes it so hard to be optimistic about the
prospects for the United States over the next few years. At a time when
effective, innovative leadership is desperately needed to cope with matters of
war and peace, terrorism and domestic security, the economic imperatives of
globalization and the rising competition for oil, the United States is being
led by a man who seems oblivious to the reality of his awesome
responsibilities.

Like a boy being prepped for a second crack at a failed exam, Mr. Bush has
been meeting with his handlers to see what steps can be taken to minimize the
political fallout from this latest demonstration of his ineptitude. But this is
not about politics. It's about competence. And when the president is so
obviously clueless about matters so obviously important, it means that the rest
of us, like the people left stranded in New Orleans, are in deep, deep trouble.

Paramedics: Police Prevent People from Leaving New Orleans

http://www.truthout.org/docs_2005/printer_090805A.shtml

Hurricane Katrina - Our Experiences
By Parmedics Larry Bradsahw and Lorrie Beth Slonsky
EMSNetwork News

Tuesday 06 September 2005

Two days after Hurricane Katrina struck New Orleans, the Walgreen's store at
the corner of Royal and Iberville streets remained locked. The dairy display
case was clearly visible through the widows. It was now 48 hours without
electricity, running water, plumbing. The milk, yogurt, and cheeses were
beginning to spoil in the 90-degree heat. The owners and managers had locked up
the food, water, pampers, and prescriptions and fled the City. Outside
Walgreen's windows, residents and tourists grew increasingly thirsty and
hungry.

The much-promised federal, state and local aid never materialized and the
windows at Walgreen's gave way to the looters. There was an alternative. The
cops could have broken one small window and distributed the nuts, fruit juices,
and bottle water in an organized and systematic manner. But they did not.
Instead they spent hours playing cat and mouse, temporarily chasing away the
looters.

We were finally airlifted out of New Orleans two days ago and arrived home
yesterday (Saturday). We have yet to see any of the TV coverage or look at a
newspaper. We are willing to guess that there were no video images or
front-page pictures of European or affluent white tourists looting the
Walgreen's in the French Quarter.

We also suspect the media will have been inundated with "hero" images of the
National Guard, the troops and the police struggling to help the "victims" of
the Hurricane. What you will not see, but what we witnessed, were the real
heroes and sheroes of the hurricane relief effort: the working class of New

Orleans. The maintenance workers who used a fork lift to carry the sick and
disabled. The engineers, who rigged, nurtured and kept the generators running.
The electricians who improvised thick extension cords stretching over blocks to
share the little electricity we had in order to free cars stuck on rooftop
parking lots. Nurses who took over for mechanical ventilators and spent many
hours on end manually forcing air into the lungs of unconscious patients to
keep them alive. Doormen who rescued folks stuck in elevators. Refinery workers
who broke into boat yards, "stealing" boats to rescue their neighbors clinging
to their roofs in flood waters. Mechanics who helped hot-wire any car that
could be found to ferry people out of the City. And the food service workers
who scoured the commercial kitchens improvising communal meals for hundreds of
those stranded.

Most of these workers had lost their homes, and had not heard from members
of their families, yet they stayed and provided the only infrastructure for the
20% of New Orleans that was not under water.

On Day 2, there were approximately 500 of us left in the hotels in the
French Quarter. We were a mix of foreign tourists, conference attendees like
ourselves, and locals who had checked into hotels for safety and shelter from
Katrina. Some of us had cell phone contact with family and friends outside of

New Orleans. We were repeatedly told that all sorts of resources including
the National Guard and scores of buses were pouring in to the City. The buses
and the other resources must have been invisible because none of us had seen
them.

We decided we had to save ourselves. So we pooled our money and came up with
$25,000 to have ten buses come and take us out of the City. Those who did not
have the requisite $45.00 for a ticket were subsidized by those who did have
extra money. We waited for 48 hours for the buses, spending the last 12 hours
standing outside, sharing the limited water, food, and clothes we had. We
created a priority boarding area for the sick, elderly and new born babies. We
waited late into the night for the "imminent" arrival of the buses. The buses
never arrived. We later learned that the minute the arrived to the City limits,
they were commandeered by the military.

By day 4 our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was
dangerously abysmal. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as
well as water levels began to rise. The hotels turned us out and locked their
doors, telling us that the "officials" told us to report to the convention
center to wait for more buses. As we entered the center of the City, we finally
encountered the National Guard. The Guards told us we would not be allowed into
the Superdome as the City's primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian
and health hellhole. The guards further told us that the City's only other
shelter, the Convention Center, was also descending into chaos and squalor and
that the police were not allowing anyone else in. Quite naturally, we asked,
"If we can't go to the only 2 shelters in the City, what was our alternative?"
The guards told us that that was our problem, and no they did not have extra
water to give to us. This would be the start of our numerous encounters with
callous and hostile "law enforcement".

We walked to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street and were
told the same thing, that we were on our own, and no they did not have water to
give us. We now numbered several hundred. We held a mass meeting to decide a
course of action. We agreed to camp outside the police command post. We would
be plainly visible to the media and would constitute a highly visible
embarrassment to the City officials. The police told us that we could not stay.
Regardless, we began to settle in and set up camp. In short order, the police
commander came across the street to address our group. He told us he had a
solution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain Expressway and cross the greater
New Orleans Bridge where the police had buses lined up to take us out of the
City. The crowed cheered and began to move. We called everyone back and
explained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation and wrong
information and was he sure that there were buses waiting for us. The commander
turned to the crowd and stated emphatically, "I swear to you that the buses are
there."

We organized ourselves and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with great
excitement and hope. As we marched pasted the convention center, many locals
saw our determined and optimistic group and asked where we were headed. We told
them about the great news. Families immediately grabbed their few belongings and
quickly our numbers doubled and then doubled again. Babies in strollers now
joined us, people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and others people in
wheelchairs. We marched the 2-3 miles to the freeway and up the steep incline to
the Bridge. It now began to pour down rain, but it did not dampen our
enthusiasm.

As we approached the bridge, armed Gretna sheriffs formed a line across the
foot of the bridge. Before we were close enough to speak, they began firing
their weapons over our heads. This sent the crowd fleeing in various
directions. As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward
and managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of our
conversation with the police commander and of the commander's assurances. The
sheriffs informed us there were no buses waiting. The commander had lied to us
to get us to move.

We questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as there
was little traffic on the 6-lane highway. They responded that the West Bank was
not going to become New Orleans and there would be no Superdomes in their City.
These were code words for if you are poor and black, you are not crossing the
Mississippi River and you were not getting out of New Orleans.

Our small group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from the rain
under an overpass. We debated our options and in the end decided to build an
encampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway on the center divide,
between the O'Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We reasoned we would be visible to
everyone, we would have some security being on an elevated freeway and we could
wait and watch for the arrival of the yet to be seen buses.

All day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the same
trip up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be turned away.
Some chased away with gunfire, others simply told no, others to be verbally
berated and humiliated. Thousands of New Orleaners were prevented and
prohibited from self-evacuating the City on foot. Meanwhile, the only two City
shelters sank further into squalor and disrepair. The only way across the
bridge was by vehicle. We saw workers stealing trucks, buses, moving vans,
semi-trucks and any car that could be hotwired. All were packed with people
trying to escape the misery New Orleans had become.

Our little encampment began to blossom. Someone stole a water delivery truck
and brought it up to us. Let's hear it for looting! A mile or so down the
freeway, an army truck lost a couple of pallets of C-rations on a tight turn.
We ferried the food back to our camp in shopping carts. Now secure with the two
necessities, food and water; cooperation, community, and creativity flowered. We
organized a clean up and hung garbage bags from the rebar poles. We made beds
from wood pallets and cardboard. We designated a storm drain as the bathroom
and the kids built an elaborate enclosure for privacy out of plastic, broken
umbrellas, and other scraps. We even organized a food recycling system where
individuals could swap out parts of C-rations (applesauce for babies and
candies for kids!).

This was a process we saw repeatedly in the aftermath of Katrina. When
individuals had to fight to find food or water, it meant looking out for
yourself only. You had to do whatever it took to find water for your kids or
food for your parents. When these basic needs were met, people began to look
out for each other, working together and constructing a community.

If the relief organizations had saturated the City with food and water in
the first 2 or 3 days, the desperation, the frustration and the ugliness would
not have set in.

Flush with the necessities, we offered food and water to passing families
and individuals. Many decided to stay and join us. Our encampment grew to 80 or
90 people.

From a woman with a battery powered radio we learned that the media was
talking about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and news
organizations saw us on their way into the City. Officials were being asked
what they were going to do about all those families living up on the freeway?
The officials responded they were going to take care of us. Some of us got a
sinking feeling. "Taking care of us" had an ominous tone to it.

Unfortunately, our sinking feeling (along with the sinking City) was
correct. Just as dusk set in, a Gretna Sheriff showed up, jumped out of his
patrol vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces, screaming, "Get off the fucking
freeway". A helicopter arrived and used the wind from its blades to blow away
our flimsy structures. As we retreated, the sheriff loaded up his truck with
our food and water.

Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway. All the law
enforcement agencies appeared threatened when we congregated or congealed into
groups of 20 or more. In every congregation of "victims" they saw "mob" or
"riot". We felt safety in numbers. Our "we must stay together" was impossible
because the agencies would force us into small atomized groups.

In the pandemonium of having our camp raided and destroyed, we scattered
once again. Reduced to a small group of 8 people, in the dark, we sought refuge
in an abandoned school bus, under the freeway on Cilo Street. We were hiding
from possible criminal elements but equally and definitely, we were hiding from
the police and sheriffs with their martial law, curfew and shoot-to-kill
policies.

The next days, our group of 8 walked most of the day, made contact with New
Orleans Fire Department and were eventually airlifted out by an urban search
and rescue team. We were dropped off near the airport and managed to catch a
ride with the National Guard. The two young guardsmen apologized for the
limited response of the Louisiana guards. They explained that a large section
of their unit was in Iraq and that meant they were shorthanded and were unable
to complete all the tasks they were assigned.

We arrived at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. The
airport had become another Superdome. We 8 were caught in a press of humanity
as flights were delayed for several hours while George Bush landed briefly at
the airport for a photo op. After being evacuated on a coast guard cargo plane,
we arrived in San Antonio, Texas.

There the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort
continued. We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we were
forced to sit for hours and hours. Some of the buses did not have
air-conditioners. In the dark, hundreds if us were forced to share two filthy
overflowing porta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with any
possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) we were subjected
to two different dog-sniffing searches.

Most of us had not eaten all day because our C-rations had been confiscated
at the airport because the rations set off the metal detectors. Yet, no food
had been provided to the men, women, children, elderly, disabled as they sat
for hours waiting to be "medically screened" to make sure we were not carrying
any communicable diseases.

This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heart-felt
reception given to us by the ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker give
her shoes to someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street offered us money
and toiletries with words of welcome. Throughout, the official relief effort was
callous, inept, and racist.

There was more suffering than need be.

Lives were lost that did not need to be lost.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bradshaw and Slonsky are paramedics from California that were attending the
EMS conference in New Orleans. Larry Bradshaw is the chief shop steward,
Paramedic Chapter, SEIU Local 790; and Lorrie Beth Slonsky is steward,
Paramedic Chapter, SEIU Local 790.