A few weeks ago I wrote a post on an excerpt from Guardian concerning Naomi Klein’s “The Shock Doctrine”. Didn’t seem like much was happening very much on this topic, but now it’s picking up steam as Klein is doing her promotion gigs for her book.
Try this out: John Cusack’s interview with Klein.
Curtsey to Suspect Device. and the Zombie.
I’m happy that this book is getting notice down here in Da Swamp.
Here’s another review of Naomi Klein’s “The Shock Doctrine”.
‘Nuff fucking said.
I’m not doing too well today: Betts has been ill and all that flows through my mind are the events of late August 2005. The latter is the Goddess’ way of telling to do more for the folks here, to find new ways to give help and solace. To never allow the World to forget what happened here two years ago, and to bring those who failed an entire region of the planet to Justice.
8/28/05- I’m cleaning up the courtyard. Checking my tomato stakes because it’s going to be rough for my plants. I’m still expecting the turn of the storm, but that’s in full knowledge that we in New Orleans aren’t getting off lightly.
Betts and I talk about boarding the windows, but they have plexiglass over them and what the Hell can come through all of that? She continues to answer the phone and do her business. I have everything prepped as goes for supplies.
Must clean the house. I can’t have it messy before having a bunch of people in panic mode staying with us. I’m trying to be my mother: insane grace under pressure. The feelings of disaster still hit me and I’m wondering if this is my last day in this incarnation. (Am I creating a sanctuary or a tomb?)
Evening- I’m burning my phone line leaving messages for folks I know must get out of their homes. The old ‘puter continues to show me possibilities. I’m getting worried: Momma Morwen gathers part of her flock in one place and the world caves in? This storm is scaring me greatly, or is it the storm? What is fucking with my soul? I wish my mom was with me: I need some backup. I can’t do this alone, but it all boils down to my choice.
Hours later I have no responses. It’s time to lock up the fort.
At 12:45 AM I get the latest storm data… Katrina is a Cat 4. I’m sitting at my desk… seeing in my mind’s eye all of St. Bernard, the Lower Ninth, the Marigny… remembering all of the Past… friends, enemies… just freakin’ life… the world of my crazy tribe. “MY” people are going to get screwed.
I’m in total shock and then I realize I’m packing up files. We cannot face a Cat 5 storm here in New Orleans. The house will survive, but we need power, ‘puters and phones. How else can we pay the bills? Betty’s company changes hands in two days and she is their primary salesperson. We, and by that I mean many people in different regions, are a freaking chain… what happens to one link reverberates along the line.
I walk back to the living room…Â I must chose between love and mind. I know Katrina will turn, but… something spoke and said “Get the fuck out of there”. I told Betts to start packing and I’ll take care of the cats and the house.
We are trying to get two friends to help with cleaning out the rest of the courtyard. They are basket cases and we see them off to Dallas. I don’t need their insanity because I need to think.
Grey Kitty (who we inherited when we bought the house), will not get into the car. Betts is putting her stuff in the Buick. I grab Grey Kitty and my tenant’s cat and place them in the house. Split open a 20# bag of kibble and set out 8 gallons of water. I grab photos of Betts’ grannies, her heirloom of a Maxfield Parrish piece, some of my favorite things and stuff them in the car. I pray to the Lady at my altar and ask my little ones to protect the house.
I have a feeling of Doom coming at me… and there is no fucking reason for it. I KNOW the models… I’m a freakin’ engineer. I grew up here, but something is coming. Something I cannot put a name on.
Gentle readers, whether you believe in the Metaphysical or not, I had a really bad feeling about things, and that was the Lady warning me.
At 4 in the morning we took off for Houston.
Many years ago my mother helped me when I awoke screaming from a nightmare (which was every night for 13 years). I was crying and scared… feeling like I didn’t matter in the scheme of Life. Mom said, “All people are important. None are worthless.” I calmed down with that knowledge that there was a reason for being alive and went back to a blissful sleep. I felt that there was some form of order, reason, to every day.
I can’t sleep now.
It’s been over 40 years since that night. I have learned much through those years by traveling the World, meeting and talking with folks… learning about myself and what makes all of us tick. I have witnessed horrible things and beautiful ones too. I’ve seen the worst and the most touching of things in my time. I know what Death is (having been a party to it), and I understand Life. Often I laid awake and wondered why I’m still alive, and the only comfort was the Goddess, whispering into my ear (much like my mom), that it’s all a part of this insane game we call Living.
Two years ago I was a happy little spirit. Had my best friend with me, had a nice house, had friends… was correcting the harms done to me after birth that totally fucked up most of my 48 years living on this planet, and then a demon came into the picture. She was named Katrina. As normal for a Gulf Coaster, I tracked the Miserable Bitch from day one to almost landfall.
Little did I know that She would shatter my life in so many ways. (Both good and bad…)
At this moment in time it’s late August, 2005. I’m tracking a hurricane, looking at where it will go. I’m prepping the house to hold several friends who need a safe harbor. Tomorrow I will clean the entire place. I’m trying to catch up on all my work for the Transsexual community. I’m beginning to get afraid that I’m going to call this storm wrongly, and Betty (who trusts my instincts) could be put into danger. A part of my persona has been activated… every breeze and sound catches my attention. I watch the birds and squirrels. Nothing seems to be out of place. I dig deep in the soil of my vegetable garden, and nothing seems wrong… there’s just a storm coming.
I’m in my little office on the East side of the house. Betts is across the room working yet another computer deal. The Siamese is sleeping in the little chair that I keep for customers. I’m working on doing a third album of music… trying to figure out how to do all the video from two months previous in Houston for Gay Pride. My good old IBM has a constant link for storm tracking. I’m thinking of Betty’s upcoming vacation, the legal stuffs that we need to do and her upcoming B’Day. I keep scanning the computer models concerning the storm.
I am thinking that I should rebuild the waterfall and ponds in the courtyard. (wait ’til the storm passes) I need to fix the window that Cindy cracked weeks before. Maybe we should buy shutters so that we don’t get hit by storm-driven debris. (No fucking time for that now) We have all we need. There’s water and food and I can cover almost anyone’s needs. I do more laundry. Clean the bathrooms and call folks in order to have them come here for the storm. (Yeppers, I have lots of beer and whiskey)
Should I send Betts and the cat away? I don’t run from things. Did Betsy, Camille, Loma Prieta…. tons of typhoons, a blizzard in the Teton Wilderness, Cape Rollers, was in St. Helen’s caldera days before the eruption… I have seen almost every kind of shit one can find… survived them too, something’s way freakin’ wrong. I’m sensing something. Am I finally coming down with AIDS Dementia?
Little did I know that a disaster was going to occur and it would be from the hands of men and a freakin’ money grubbing culture. That I would wind up seeing such fucking horror, racial hatred and outright non-caringness (and some wonderful acts of selflessness and love). That I would have to fight battles that I never saw the reason for happening. Things that would show me what it means to be Human.
The insanity of the Natural Disaster to the Gulf Coast and the man-made one in New Orleans two years ago must never be forgotten. Heroes and heroines must be praised, and the damned demons that screwed so many must be brought to justice. Never fucking again should this kind of shit happen!
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Over the next few days I’m going to be writing about those few days two years ago. What it means to me, how it’s changed my life and of those I cherish. How much those events challenged and strengthened my belief about all things and how I came to discard an entire world-view of Reality.
Once again Palast digs the freakin’ dirt on the assholes who fucked New Orleans when the levees failed under conditions that were way below spec. Read it and weep America… one day soon this kind of dog and pony show may just visit your locale.
Here’s a snippet:
“That leaves the big, big question: WHY? Why on earth would the White House not tell the city to get the remaining folks out of there?
The answer: cost. Political and financial cost. A hurricane is an act of God – but a catastrophic failure of the levees is a act of Bush. That is, under law dating back to 1935, a breech of the federal levee system makes the damage – and the deaths – a federal responsibility. That means, as van Heeden points out, that “these people must be compensated.â€
The federal government, by law, must build and maintain the Mississippi levees to withstand known dangers – or pay the price when they fail.”
Curtsey to Ana Maria for this.
Care2 has a petition running for the Prezzie candidates concerning New Orleans and the Gulf Coast.
If you are reading my Blog, I expect you to sign it.
Well, two weeks of not having to hammer the Moronic Inferno of “don’t spend MY tax money on New Orleans” has helped since Betts and I have been way too busy getting the final details on getting the house and cottages running. I would like to state that my mind, my four-letter vocabulary and my soul has NOT rested during this period however.
From the bustling hot-spot of mental giants (?) called Fremont, NE comes this little gem from the Sports Section of the Fremont Tribune. (No, one can’t leave comments there, but go figure… how many up that way could make an intelligent response (or want to) for this kind of tripe?
As it is past 5 AM and as the witchy Night Owl my existence has bequeathed , I must repair to my bed in order to escape the deadly rays of the Sun. I’ll “get on my diatribe” later in the day.
Check out this view of the area, and though they may be 1,023 feet above sea-level, the dump is still on the flood-plain, and therefore the river is right at their feet. Flat-landers = “Flat-liners”.) You know I’m going to whack them very hard… the Corps and the Bureau of Reclamation had much to do with river control up that way so it may be informative for the folks of the Mid-Lands to have an understanding about what they may have to face in time.
August 24 – 26 is our second Rising Tide Conference for New Orleans. Details here. (Yes, we are still putting it all together… no cans or jars in our kitchen… we cook from scratch to give you the best.)
Here’s our theme for this year:
New Orleans and SE Louisiana were shattered by the hands of man and the needs of a Nation. That’s what happened on 8/29. (the shorthand is for those who can only remember tiny bits of data)
Once again, I’m going to give you my standard truth speech about the situation down here in the wetlands. I’m tired of doing this, but until we have our reparations and can rebuild, I guess this little Trans witch will keep doing her song and dance running.
First off, we, and our lands were sold and bought by powers, and we didn’t get a say in that. (Sorta like when the slave ship came to harbor and the folks were sold off to the highest bidder.) We had our own place back then… we were our own. Unfortunately, we didn’t have much say in the matter as the buyer and seller had tons of money and guns and we had fishing nets.
We just continued to live our lives and be ourselves. This is our world… screw anything else, this is where we lived, worked and died. (my ancestors are buried here, as will I when the time comes)
In the early 20th Century gas and oil was discovered in our part of the world, and the rapists came into the picture. Our wetlands, our protection and the source of much of the food for this country was carved up by 20,000 miles of canals so that the companies (read- shareholders) could cheap out their operations. The Nation grew upon those actions and profited greatly.
What did my people get from this? A few jobs and destruction of OUR lands.
The river was leveed in order to provide the country with the goods it needed in order to grow and thrive, and all we got for all that effort was a few extra jobs and no consideration for the Sword of Damocles that was hanging over our heads. (Oh yes… putting the Mississippi into levees stopped the natural process of land-building that the river had been performing for millions of years, all the way from Cairo, IL to our current delta.) Now our wetlands are dying because the river cannot replenish them.
What did the future of a bunch of French, Creole and Black lives mean when it came to the fortunes of the NATION? Shit! most of us didn’t even qualify as being white! (I’m one of them)Â Only white people mattered until the mid-Sixties, and therefore we were not to be considered in the transaction.
So our part of this supposed nation of the Free, even though bought and sold by fuckers that never were a part of this culture, became nothing but fodder for the greed and need of the U.S. and it’s hubris. Our ancestors and our land created the prosperity of 2/3s of the country. Our people created great literature, cuisine and music that the Nation could never have conceived. We became the repository of the Old Worlds here in North America, an anachronism and a treasure.
Without our area America would never have come out of the Great Depression, never could have been the liberator in WW II, and never could have placed Humans on the Moon. This Nation would never have achieved the status it has today without using US. WE ARE the major power for this country, and even today, we are the basis of much of what the U.S. is and can be.
We gave willingly as dutiful citizens, but then there came a storm in August, 2005. Our protections against such storms, promised by the same Nation that was destroying our lands, freakin’ damned FAILED, AND MANY OF US DIED OR BECAME HOMELESS. Our world, our little part of it, almost died. Many voices called for our death, but we would not hear them. We are rebuilding OUR land.
Our place almost died. Can you understand that statement? Look around what you perceive as your community being totally gone. Can you stomach that? That your friends, neighbors, shops and eateries are wiped from the face of the Earth? To know that the faces you have known for years are no longer next door or around the corner? To realize that the children (who you hated because of their pranks and noise), are no longer in the place their parents lived in? That they aren’t there to remind you of the continuity of culture? That you are no longer a part of the Dance of Life?
Can you imagine that in the place where you live?
Can you?
I mean really, can you understand all of the folks missing? That you are no longer a part of the thread of Life and history. That you don’t fucking count for shit? ANSWER ME!
If you can respond with a yes to the above question, then you understand where we, the 200,000 who returned to fix this city are coming from. If your answer is no, or who cares, may thou reside in the greatest depths of Hades.
In all of the 200+ years you in the U.S. have “owned” us, we have never begged. We took care of things and kept going. We provided what was needed. (Many of my ancestors lie on the bottom of the oceans because they answered America’s call.)
We here in SE Louisiana have more than given our pound of flesh for this Nation, and it’s time to get a little bit of it back in order to rebuild our homeland. We have more than earned it. Otherwise… you have no idea of the Hell you will have to live in if we are gone from the scene or if we decide to leave your little confederation of states.
Think about it.
I’m Morwen Madrigal, and I must live to be 80 in order to pay the debt of repairing my home that was damaged for the Nation. I gave almost 10 years to this country in service, and am again saddled for another 30 years.
What have you given to America?
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