When Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast last year, I was in Maryland. I sat in front of the television and became physically ill while watching the gigantic storm rage inland like a great beast from the ancient past. Katrina’s effects were felt all the way to the Great Lakes, and nearly two thousand people died during the storm and its aftermath.
I live in Southeastern Mississippi. The phones were all out of course, and I had no way to know if my home was still standing or if my friends were still alive. All I could do was pray. And pray. And pray some more.
In the weeks and months following the storm, the rebuilding process began in earnest. Countless tons of debris was removed. Emergency workers provided food and shelter. My town became a sea of the now-iconic blue plastic tarps. Time passed, and life slowly returned to normal. I arrived at home a few days after the storm and did what I could to help.
There are still a few homes with those blue tarps on the roofs. Farther south, down about mile post 51 on I-59, one can see acres of pastureland covered with those tiny little “FEMA Trailers.” They sit unused. Unneeded, for now. And yet every time I pass by that field I am reminded of the fact that I could end up living in one of them later this year.
In New Orleans, homes look like busy anthills with roofers crawling all over them making repairs before the next round of storms. The noise barrier along I-10 on the east side of town was still in a shambles the last time I was there. Piles of uncollected debris can still be seen throughout the city. Mayor Nagin has promised that the city will be better-prepared should another storm strike the Big Easy. I was blessed last year. My home needed only the slightest repair, which I completed in under a half-hour once I was finally able to reach my home.
And here we are again, facing yet another hurricane season. Government agencies and Congress are still busily pointing fingers at each other, trying to slither out from under any responsibility for the debacle that was Katrina. Amidst all the bickering, preparations are being made by those of insufficient rank and station to engage in finger pointing.
Are we better-prepared this year than last? That depends upon who you listen to. Some predict that emergency response will be far more timely and effective this year. Others claim we don’t have the funds necessary to deal with another disaster like Katrina. I could bore you with quotes and statistics, but that’d be superfluous. You’ve probably seen them already.
The big question is, are you ready? If you live anywhere near a coastline, then chances are you’ll feel the sting of yet another hurricane. Preparedness doesn’t start with FEMA or any other government money vacuum. It starts with everyday people like us. Do you have your plywood and nails? Extra water? Flashlights? Batteries? Non-perishable food? Gun and ammo? Gasoline? First aid supplies? The better you prepare yourself, the less likely you are to end up stranded on a bridge like those poor souls in Louisiana last year.
My advice: If you know it’s coming, get out of town. Braving the storm at home makes not one whit of difference, except that you might get killed if you stay. The mess will still be waiting on you when you get back home, and you just might save an emergency worker’s life by not needing to be rescued. Homes can be replaced. People can’t.
Alan Burkhart is a freelance political writer, cross-country trucker, and proud citizen of the reddest of the Red States - Mississippi. You can reach him via e-mail at: alan@alanburkhart.com or by visiting his website: www.alanburkhart.com.
