Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Why aren't you seeing Hurricane Rita victims on TV pleaing for help?

Michael Graham writes about the lack of Hurricane Rita victims blaming Pres. George Bush, looking for handouts and wondering where FEMA is. As he writes, "They were poor. They lived in homes that, to some Americans, would appear no more than shacks. They've suffered discrimination at the hands of their fellow Americans. And when the hurricane came, it seemed to veer out of its way, just to hit them."

Graham accurately describes the southwest Louisiana hurricane victims as being "made of sterner stuff then you'll find in the Ninth Ward."

'The only people who can get here are the sturdiest of sorts, a small armada of Cajuns with pretty French names and sunburned skin and don't-mess-with-me bravado. The bayous were full of them Saturday, gliding high and quick in airboats, and so was the Vermilion River, where they were spinning steering wheels on fast Boston Whalers and kicking up wakes in flat-bottomed, aluminum boats. They did not wait for the president or FEMA or anyone else to tell them that there were people out there — out there and desperate, on rooftops... "

In the article, he refers to a Washington Post description of the situation and the Cajun response:

"But Cajun-named Mee New might just as well have been crying for Intracoastal City. This city way down at the end of the Vermilion River is where the United States' health supplements come from, where men with rough hands and chipped fingernails snare the oily fish that are ground up to extract omega-3 fatty acids. But it's not really a city anymore, this place at the mushy underside of Louisiana, where land meets open water. It's a lake. The water is up over the stop signs, and six-foot fences have disappeared under floodwaters moving so fast and choppily that they look like ocean currents. The only people who can get here are the sturdiest of sorts, a small armada of Cajuns with pretty French names and sunburned skin and don't-mess-with-me bravado. The bayous were full of them Saturday, gliding high and quick in airboats, and so was the Vermilion River, where they were spinning steering wheels on fast Boston Whalers and kicking up wakes in flat-bottomed, aluminum boats. They did not wait for the president or FEMA or anyone else to tell them that there were people out there -- out there and desperate, on rooftops -- or that there were dogs paddling hard or that someone had to save Mee New."

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