Reflections on New Orleans - By Jeff Peak

It could have been a lesson right out of a class on satire.
Gross exaggerations of characteristics in order to illustrate a point.
A new lens with which to view societal problems.
The only problem was that over Spring Break
the story was real.
Once upon a time there was a city called New Orleans…
a true story of unfortunate events.
Our paths crossed, and now neither of us will be the same.

Satire.  Life.  Lessons.
This time the situation was real.
The characters were real.
Mrs. Wade.  Mr. Jones, Vera, Donald.
If the story had been written by Pope,
it would have masterfully satirized the country’s
racial tensions and denial of poverty by using a fairy tale
set in the little town of New Orleans.
If only the story had been written by Pope.

Katrina wove a different tale.
New Orleans nearly died a year and a half ago
after suffering from an abusive hurricane and then
nearly overdosing on water.
The rehabilitation process has been a slow one.
White people have the money to rehab.
To rebuild their broken homes,
and pick up the pieces of their broken lives.
That’s nice for them.

No really, it’s nice.  Someone has to start rebuilding
and it sure as hell isn’t going to be people from the lower classes.
They don’t even have enough money to get back to the city
let alone gut their house and start over.

Think that New Orleans is just a bunch of bayou
stuck beneath sea level next to a river.
Think again.

New Orleans is filled with mountains.
Mountains that people face when trying to rebuild their lives.
Government, society, poverty, race.
Just like Everest.

And these people won’t ever rest.
Not until their lives are restored.
They say that Katrina added 10 years to everyone’s life.
Some people don’t have 10 years.
Didn’t have 10 years.
The hurricane didn’t kill them when it hit,
but the hurricane killed them.

How does it feel to rely on the generosity of volunteers to rebuild a city?
To humble oneself to ask for help in one moment, many moments of need.
I wouldn’t be able to do it.
Many people can’t.
It’s far easier just close that chapter of life and start a fresh page elsewhere.

Life.  Lessons.  Stories.
For me it was like Vesuvius had erupted again.
Causing devastation, and preserving it beneath
layers of ash.  Only there was no ash.
The city was preserved beneath a layer of poverty.
The archeologists: the volunteers piling out
of the long white vans only to discover that
A house that looks normal from the outside is dying on the inside.
The inside of these houses are perfectly preserved.
and why?
Because there is no money.
Because rebuilding is slow.

A watered down version of a once vibrant culture.

An election is coming up.
In just a short period of time television will be filled with political ads.
Millions upon millions of dollars spent, and for what?
To ruin the reputation, the life of another human being.
Katrina ruined lives for free.

Wouldn’t it be great if those millions of dollars
were spent in a more constructive way.
Not constructing a reputation, or a political machine.
But to rebuild a home.  Mr. Jones’ home.  Mrs. Wade’s home.