Thursday, August 30, 2007
A volunteer's perspective
This article was written by Matt Sullivan, one of the volunteers who joined One Brick on our July trip to New Orleans. Thank you, Matt for such an incredible and moving piece.
The engines of the Boeing 737 hummed as I sat in 13D, my mind hazy with fatigue from the preceding week as I wondered when we were ever going to take off. We had been sitting at the end of the runway for an interminable period and my patience, normally in generous supply, was beginning to wear thin. I cast my eyes over to the window, trying to make out the details of Los Angeles international airport through the scratched Perspex. Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to focus on any details. I knew my eyes weren’t perfect, but where there should have been grey, utilitarian buildings and the odd taxiing plane, I could only make out indistinct blurs, not entirely dissimilar to clouds…
“Please fasten your seatbelts,” announced the intercom. “We are now beginning our descent to San Francisco.”
Hmm. Maybe I was more tired than I thought…
If I was, it could be excused – I was returning from a week of volunteer work repairing houses in the devastated St Bernard Parish of New Orleans, Louisiana.
The historic city of New Orleans, so prominent in the head lines from the disastrous hurricane season of 2005, is still in a process of recovery. Long after it has been dropped from the media spotlight, and drifted from the minds of most Americans, New Orleans aches from a tragedy it can barely overcome. A cursory glance around the streets shows, behind the façade of parties and jazz, lingering marks from the hurricane and ensuing flood can be seen everywhere. Boarded up houses and lots choked with weeds intersperse the classic French quarter homes. Despite this, there are signs of progress, and the city itself just celebrated its population returning to two thirds of its pre-Katrina levels.
The situation in St Bernard Parish, however, is another story. It received the brunt of the hurricane, the vast majority of the township being drowned under waters up to 20 feet deep. Unfortunately it did not have the celebrity status of the Big Easy to draw in tourist dollars. It was a classic country town, of tight-knit families and strong community spirit, where children would live a block from their parents, and although poor (the average household income, pre-Katrina, was only $35,000) they were proud of not having to rely on the government or outside help to get by. Consequently, St Bernard Parish has suffered a double tragedy: Not only have the residents had their own homes destroyed, but also the homes of family, friends, everyone they know and trust. It’s a hard thing to comprehend, the loss of a home, but to loose every recourse, every safety net and safeguard in one devastating blow, such a thing would drive most to despair.
The people of Bernard Parish have struggled on, and shown amazing spirit, but they need help.
This was the reason for my visit, short as it was. In the absence of adequate government response, volunteer groups from all across the country have, in great numbers, taken it upon themselves to address the plight of their fellow Americans. Within St Bernard Parish, there are many brave and inspiring stories of individuals who have made enormous personal sacrifices to do what they can to help this stricken community. In my time there I had the fortune to meet some of these people, such as Zack Rosenburg, who after a brief visit to the area to aid with the relief effort, realized the magnitude of the undertaking and did the unthinkable: He sold his house, and along with his wife moved down to the Parish and set up St Bernard Project. This group began work in March 2006, and continues to this day, as committed as ever to restoring this once vibrant town through practical undertakings such as the gutting and repair of flood damaged homes. Organizations such as St Bernard Project and Habitat for Humanity are playing a vital role in the restoration effort. They provide a foundation on which to direct the energy of the constant influx of volunteers, a framework to maximize the effectiveness of a hugely divergent collection of religious groups, community groups and motivated individuals that arrive daily. Without their guiding hand, much of the labor of these visiting volunteers, well-meaning though it may be, would be diluted and lost, to the enormous detriment of the St Bernard Parishioners. Their ongoing work deserves much greater recognition than it currently receives.
Additional boons to volunteers are the temporary camps that have been set up to provide cheap accommodation and a convenient base for those involved in the restoration. Camps such as the inspiringly named Camp Hope, operated by Habitat for Humanity, situated in an abandoned local school within the Parish itself. This camp is a well run operation and, although concessions have to be made to the intermittent municipal services and post-disaster interior design, they have built up a homely and cheery atmosphere. Amazingly, despite housing almost three hundred volunteers during my stay there, it never felt crowded, and was always a welcome retreat from the day’s labors. The camp keeps itself in order through a list of expected standard of behavior, and getting the temporary residents involved in the tasks needed to keep things running smoothly (I soon found myself an expert in air conditioner maintenance).
The organizations that encourage and assist everyday people to lend their hearts and hands to this worthy endeavor are just as critical as any. I became involved through the volunteer network One Brick, an organization that is expanding in membership rapidly throughout the States. Their motto is “Volunteering Made Easy”, and it has certainly served them well, drawing in a wide spectrum of the population eager to make a contribution to their communities and looking for a way to begin. One Brick began in San Francisco in 2001, and has since grown to have chapters in New York, Chicago and Washington DC, with plans to open another chapter very soon. The network is run almost entirely by volunteers with very little overhead, and it’s encourages its members to get involved in a variety of different projects when it is convenient for them, without demanding long term commitments that many people today feel either unwilling or unable to make. Membership in San Francisco alone exceeds 12,000, and there is a weekly newsletter published listing the events members can sign up for. Sounds easy, doesn’t it?
Signing up and booking a plane ticket is one thing, arriving at our destination and seeing the reality that still exists is something completely different. Even those among us who held disdain for the government and its dealings with the residents of St Bernard Parish were shocked, aghast at the devastation that we passed through in reaching Camp Hope. Block after block of shattered homes, with roofs caved in and walls riddled with holes. Skeletons of shopping complexes stand gauntly over disused car parks, piles of debris crowding doorways and windows. Still more incredible are the numbers of houses that upon initial glace appear sound, but then the eye catches tell-tale signs – a gap in the roof, a tendril creeping from under a door – and you realize that the house is a ruin inside, most likely still buried in the filth of the initial flood like a time-capsule to the recovering world outside. The FEMA trailers that pass for homes are everywhere, either camped outside their occupants’ former homes or found in vast trailer parks. These people have now been living in these temporary structures for almost two years now and, for most of them, there is no end in site. In many neighborhoods, barely one house in ten is restored to its pre-disaster condition, and the work proceeds slowly.
I found one of the most powerful images was to be of a football field adjacent to the camp. The grass was thick and green, but that was not what fixed my attention. Surrounding the field, all of the light poles were leaning to one side, like saplings caught in a stiff breeze. It was not wind that imparted this lean, however, but vast, inconceivable torrents of water, a lean that held witness to the might of the forces unleashed on the community of St Bernard Parish.
I and a number of my fellow One Brickers were assigned to St Bernard Project, and were shipped to the project’s headquarters behind what used to be St Bernard’s commercial district. In a tight office (almost ironic considering the vast tracts of disused buildings that surrounded us, but ample for the needs of the low key operation), the project founder Zack briefed us on the situation, and the work that was being done. Zack, a former public defender, is a man impassioned by the work he had undertaken, and his words reflected it. After our brief tour of the town beforehand few of us harbored any doubts about our decision to travel all the way to Louisiana, and by the time Zack finished talking the only thing we wondered was why we hadn’t come sooner. It does not take an eloquent spokesman to press the case for St Bernard – the devastation is overwhelming, the cause undeniably just. Initially after the flood, efforts by groups such as St Bernard Project had been directed on gutting the ruined houses, clearing them out and taking down all the damaged walls and fittings. With over 2,000 homes completed, the focus had shifted to restoration, returning the homes to livable states and letting the families, displaced for so long, return to begin their lives again. It is in the restoration effort that I found assigned. Hesitant concerns about my limited experience in the construction industry were immediately dismissed. Don’t worry, they said, you will get all the instruction you need on site.
A short time later we had arrived at our first home, and within moments I was sanding my first drywall. It was not, I soon discovered, to be my last. The owner of the drywall and attached house was a captivating local named Marc, who had quickly won over the volunteers with his quick wit and warm Southern hospitality. Indeed, he was so grateful and pleasant that I was feeling apologetic I had only my meager skill set to offer in return. Fortunately, with a bit of application and the expert tutelage of Marc and Dave, I rapidly gained a discerning eye and went about my work with the ease of an old hand. The day disappeared before we knew it and, caked in a fine dust and speckled with mud, we headed back to Camp Hope. Our muscles aching in new and unfamiliar ways, there was only time to shower and change before the relentless One Brick juggernaut headed out to the streets of New Orleans for dinner and a glimpse of the fabled French Quarter. This, I would discover, was to become a theme. The evening ended with drinks and jazz, as all good evenings should, though while heading back to bed a detour was proposed to see where the levees had broken in 2005, to such devastating effect. It was a surreal experience; as we approached the breach point we drove along roads bordered by fields of grass, not yet realizing these fields were once the suburban streets of the Lower 9th Ward.
The rest of the week passed quickly, the days filled with grueling yet satisfying labor, the nights an endless succession of new experiences. We learned vital facts such as alligators’ preference for PB&J (on white bread thank you very much, none of that whole wheat nonsense), and bonded with the local residents (though we may not be welcome back to a certain local judge’s house after that pool wrestling tournament…). By the time Saturday had arrived, most of the One Bricker’s had departed or were shortly about to (my own flight was at the ungodly hour of 7am, something I had cause to lament while dancing to eighties classics at a club in the French Quarter at 4am). Our week was over, but the hangovers would continue.
To say such an experience was unforgettable is cliché, but I struggle for better words to describe it. What made it all the more incredible was the range of personalities that responded to the One Brick call, something I find a tremendous strength of the organization and bodes for an impressive future. While the government continues to ignore the crisis in St Bernard Parish, there will remain a great deal of work to do. I could not think of a better way to spend your time.
The engines of the Boeing 737 hummed as I sat in 13D, my mind hazy with fatigue from the preceding week as I wondered when we were ever going to take off. We had been sitting at the end of the runway for an interminable period and my patience, normally in generous supply, was beginning to wear thin. I cast my eyes over to the window, trying to make out the details of Los Angeles international airport through the scratched Perspex. Try as I might, I couldn’t seem to focus on any details. I knew my eyes weren’t perfect, but where there should have been grey, utilitarian buildings and the odd taxiing plane, I could only make out indistinct blurs, not entirely dissimilar to clouds…
“Please fasten your seatbelts,” announced the intercom. “We are now beginning our descent to San Francisco.”
Hmm. Maybe I was more tired than I thought…
If I was, it could be excused – I was returning from a week of volunteer work repairing houses in the devastated St Bernard Parish of New Orleans, Louisiana.
The historic city of New Orleans, so prominent in the head lines from the disastrous hurricane season of 2005, is still in a process of recovery. Long after it has been dropped from the media spotlight, and drifted from the minds of most Americans, New Orleans aches from a tragedy it can barely overcome. A cursory glance around the streets shows, behind the façade of parties and jazz, lingering marks from the hurricane and ensuing flood can be seen everywhere. Boarded up houses and lots choked with weeds intersperse the classic French quarter homes. Despite this, there are signs of progress, and the city itself just celebrated its population returning to two thirds of its pre-Katrina levels.
The situation in St Bernard Parish, however, is another story. It received the brunt of the hurricane, the vast majority of the township being drowned under waters up to 20 feet deep. Unfortunately it did not have the celebrity status of the Big Easy to draw in tourist dollars. It was a classic country town, of tight-knit families and strong community spirit, where children would live a block from their parents, and although poor (the average household income, pre-Katrina, was only $35,000) they were proud of not having to rely on the government or outside help to get by. Consequently, St Bernard Parish has suffered a double tragedy: Not only have the residents had their own homes destroyed, but also the homes of family, friends, everyone they know and trust. It’s a hard thing to comprehend, the loss of a home, but to loose every recourse, every safety net and safeguard in one devastating blow, such a thing would drive most to despair.
The people of Bernard Parish have struggled on, and shown amazing spirit, but they need help.
This was the reason for my visit, short as it was. In the absence of adequate government response, volunteer groups from all across the country have, in great numbers, taken it upon themselves to address the plight of their fellow Americans. Within St Bernard Parish, there are many brave and inspiring stories of individuals who have made enormous personal sacrifices to do what they can to help this stricken community. In my time there I had the fortune to meet some of these people, such as Zack Rosenburg, who after a brief visit to the area to aid with the relief effort, realized the magnitude of the undertaking and did the unthinkable: He sold his house, and along with his wife moved down to the Parish and set up St Bernard Project. This group began work in March 2006, and continues to this day, as committed as ever to restoring this once vibrant town through practical undertakings such as the gutting and repair of flood damaged homes. Organizations such as St Bernard Project and Habitat for Humanity are playing a vital role in the restoration effort. They provide a foundation on which to direct the energy of the constant influx of volunteers, a framework to maximize the effectiveness of a hugely divergent collection of religious groups, community groups and motivated individuals that arrive daily. Without their guiding hand, much of the labor of these visiting volunteers, well-meaning though it may be, would be diluted and lost, to the enormous detriment of the St Bernard Parishioners. Their ongoing work deserves much greater recognition than it currently receives.
Additional boons to volunteers are the temporary camps that have been set up to provide cheap accommodation and a convenient base for those involved in the restoration. Camps such as the inspiringly named Camp Hope, operated by Habitat for Humanity, situated in an abandoned local school within the Parish itself. This camp is a well run operation and, although concessions have to be made to the intermittent municipal services and post-disaster interior design, they have built up a homely and cheery atmosphere. Amazingly, despite housing almost three hundred volunteers during my stay there, it never felt crowded, and was always a welcome retreat from the day’s labors. The camp keeps itself in order through a list of expected standard of behavior, and getting the temporary residents involved in the tasks needed to keep things running smoothly (I soon found myself an expert in air conditioner maintenance).
The organizations that encourage and assist everyday people to lend their hearts and hands to this worthy endeavor are just as critical as any. I became involved through the volunteer network One Brick, an organization that is expanding in membership rapidly throughout the States. Their motto is “Volunteering Made Easy”, and it has certainly served them well, drawing in a wide spectrum of the population eager to make a contribution to their communities and looking for a way to begin. One Brick began in San Francisco in 2001, and has since grown to have chapters in New York, Chicago and Washington DC, with plans to open another chapter very soon. The network is run almost entirely by volunteers with very little overhead, and it’s encourages its members to get involved in a variety of different projects when it is convenient for them, without demanding long term commitments that many people today feel either unwilling or unable to make. Membership in San Francisco alone exceeds 12,000, and there is a weekly newsletter published listing the events members can sign up for. Sounds easy, doesn’t it?
Signing up and booking a plane ticket is one thing, arriving at our destination and seeing the reality that still exists is something completely different. Even those among us who held disdain for the government and its dealings with the residents of St Bernard Parish were shocked, aghast at the devastation that we passed through in reaching Camp Hope. Block after block of shattered homes, with roofs caved in and walls riddled with holes. Skeletons of shopping complexes stand gauntly over disused car parks, piles of debris crowding doorways and windows. Still more incredible are the numbers of houses that upon initial glace appear sound, but then the eye catches tell-tale signs – a gap in the roof, a tendril creeping from under a door – and you realize that the house is a ruin inside, most likely still buried in the filth of the initial flood like a time-capsule to the recovering world outside. The FEMA trailers that pass for homes are everywhere, either camped outside their occupants’ former homes or found in vast trailer parks. These people have now been living in these temporary structures for almost two years now and, for most of them, there is no end in site. In many neighborhoods, barely one house in ten is restored to its pre-disaster condition, and the work proceeds slowly.
I found one of the most powerful images was to be of a football field adjacent to the camp. The grass was thick and green, but that was not what fixed my attention. Surrounding the field, all of the light poles were leaning to one side, like saplings caught in a stiff breeze. It was not wind that imparted this lean, however, but vast, inconceivable torrents of water, a lean that held witness to the might of the forces unleashed on the community of St Bernard Parish.
I and a number of my fellow One Brickers were assigned to St Bernard Project, and were shipped to the project’s headquarters behind what used to be St Bernard’s commercial district. In a tight office (almost ironic considering the vast tracts of disused buildings that surrounded us, but ample for the needs of the low key operation), the project founder Zack briefed us on the situation, and the work that was being done. Zack, a former public defender, is a man impassioned by the work he had undertaken, and his words reflected it. After our brief tour of the town beforehand few of us harbored any doubts about our decision to travel all the way to Louisiana, and by the time Zack finished talking the only thing we wondered was why we hadn’t come sooner. It does not take an eloquent spokesman to press the case for St Bernard – the devastation is overwhelming, the cause undeniably just. Initially after the flood, efforts by groups such as St Bernard Project had been directed on gutting the ruined houses, clearing them out and taking down all the damaged walls and fittings. With over 2,000 homes completed, the focus had shifted to restoration, returning the homes to livable states and letting the families, displaced for so long, return to begin their lives again. It is in the restoration effort that I found assigned. Hesitant concerns about my limited experience in the construction industry were immediately dismissed. Don’t worry, they said, you will get all the instruction you need on site.
A short time later we had arrived at our first home, and within moments I was sanding my first drywall. It was not, I soon discovered, to be my last. The owner of the drywall and attached house was a captivating local named Marc, who had quickly won over the volunteers with his quick wit and warm Southern hospitality. Indeed, he was so grateful and pleasant that I was feeling apologetic I had only my meager skill set to offer in return. Fortunately, with a bit of application and the expert tutelage of Marc and Dave, I rapidly gained a discerning eye and went about my work with the ease of an old hand. The day disappeared before we knew it and, caked in a fine dust and speckled with mud, we headed back to Camp Hope. Our muscles aching in new and unfamiliar ways, there was only time to shower and change before the relentless One Brick juggernaut headed out to the streets of New Orleans for dinner and a glimpse of the fabled French Quarter. This, I would discover, was to become a theme. The evening ended with drinks and jazz, as all good evenings should, though while heading back to bed a detour was proposed to see where the levees had broken in 2005, to such devastating effect. It was a surreal experience; as we approached the breach point we drove along roads bordered by fields of grass, not yet realizing these fields were once the suburban streets of the Lower 9th Ward.
The rest of the week passed quickly, the days filled with grueling yet satisfying labor, the nights an endless succession of new experiences. We learned vital facts such as alligators’ preference for PB&J (on white bread thank you very much, none of that whole wheat nonsense), and bonded with the local residents (though we may not be welcome back to a certain local judge’s house after that pool wrestling tournament…). By the time Saturday had arrived, most of the One Bricker’s had departed or were shortly about to (my own flight was at the ungodly hour of 7am, something I had cause to lament while dancing to eighties classics at a club in the French Quarter at 4am). Our week was over, but the hangovers would continue.
To say such an experience was unforgettable is cliché, but I struggle for better words to describe it. What made it all the more incredible was the range of personalities that responded to the One Brick call, something I find a tremendous strength of the organization and bodes for an impressive future. While the government continues to ignore the crisis in St Bernard Parish, there will remain a great deal of work to do. I could not think of a better way to spend your time.
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