Ophelia vs Katrina: Dealing with Hurricanes in White America vs Black America

First, let me give you an idea of where we live: in a modest home that is set like a diamond in an extraordinary setting. Our house is situated on a canal that ultimately leads out to the ocean; across the canal is a natural, undeveloped wooded area. To protect from floods, our local building codes insist that the home itself be built up on footings to ensure it is 12’ above sea level. After one of the hurricanes, we had a pump installed under the house to eject flood water and speed drying, which helps reduce moisture and mustiness inside the house. The way the home and its foundation are laid out, and the way the landscape is graded, you can’t tell that the house is on “stilts” at all. We have a 23’ cabin cruiser (which we bought used) that sits on a boat lift off the dock that extends from our back yard. When the canal is deep enough and not overly polluted, the area teems and hums with wildlife, making a delightful cacophony of bird songs, insect chirps, unidentifiable screeches, and throaty belches. Normally, it is an idyllic setting; sometimes, it is downright inebriating. You could easily spend hours just taking it all in with a good pair of binoculars. I know -- I’ve done it.

Having lived here for some 18 years, we’ve had more than a little experience with hurricanes. 99% of the time, our lights go out and our local authorities turn off the water (I think because the keeping the water in the water tower keeps the tower from being blown over by the storm). While all hurricanes suck, hurricane F**k -- oops, I mean “Floyd” -- stands out in my mind as having caused us the most damage. In each case, we’ve been lucky: water has never flooded into our living quarters, and we’ve always been able to have the damage repaired. Usually, this means re-shingling affected patches of roof and replacing dozens of bags of washed-away mulch; Floyd, however, flooded our garage and totaled the car and the drywall. One time, we also had to repair the dock, the boat, and the boat lift. Ouch -- expensive. We have insurance with one of the major carriers. It helps, but they’ve nonetheless managed to figure out how not to pay for everything, so they’ve stuck us with some hefty bills along the line. I hate to think what it would have been like had we ever had to deal with major hurricane damage. I can’t imagine what it must be like for those whose homes were destroyed by Hurricane Katrina.

While the nation was still dealing with the fallout from hurricane Katrina (meaning, of course, that George W. Bush was grinning and partying before he got down to the serious business of lining up fat, taxpayer-funded hand-outs to Halliburton and his other corporate cronies), we found ourselves all too soon trying to prepare for hurricane Ophelia. On the e-mail, I joked to my daughter to look for me on the news in case I ended up on the roof of our home trying to flag down a rescue boat. Humor is the only way I can deflect the dread of hurricane season: I guess I feel particularly vulnerable because, even though I taught my daughters how to swim, I can’t swim myself. Kinda ironic that I ended up living at the water’s edge with a power boat in my backyard ….

As usual, we make our usual preparations: drinking water, batteries for the radio, the whole bit. Ophelia hits. The 23-ft cabin cruiser is on the boat lift, so there is no worry this time. The storm surge has peaked -- no more new water flooding into the canal. The water comes mid-way up the mailbox post and up to the first brick step to the front door. Streets normally distinguishable by winding asphalt roads and rolling green lawns are now obliterated by waves of water gently lapping to the whims of the breezes. If I looked out the windows without knowing any better, I’d think I was on a houseboat. Although I feel safer knowing that the storm surge has peaked, the houseboat sensation is always an uneasy cross between serene and almost intolerably unnerving.

The pump under the house isn’t working, leaving between 4 and 6 inches of water down there. Will have to call the plumber to have that attended.

Had the option to evacuate. Chose not to. Instead, moved the hybrid car to higher ground and hoofed back. The neighborhood is being patrolled regularly, as expected. A neighbor slipped as she was retrieving her mail. An emergency vehicle arrived shortly afterwards. Nice, clean, neat, orderly, sterile. No worries. We let of a sigh of relief -- we got off easy this time. After all, even the lights didn’t go out.

What I just described took place in my neighborhood after hurricane Ophelia. This is probably what it was like for some people in New Orleans. But, not all. Why? Could it be the color of our skin? Is skin color what we are measured by? Looks like there is still great discrepancy in this country, folks. Don’t want to alarm anybody. After all, this is the 21st century. Right?

Could John Edwards have been right all along? Are there two Americas? Hey, wake up, people! There ARE two Americas! The one I am fortunate enough to live in; the other no better than a third-world country.