Faith in the Face of Disaster: UU Response to Hurricane Katrina

A Personal View of Disaster: "The Diary of Annette Marquis"

UUA-UUSC Gulf Coast Relief Fund Update: At the end of 2006, the relief fund has received $3,622,250, thanks to the matching grant offered by the UU Congregation at Shelter Rock. Thank you for your generosity! To date, $2,366,387 has been spent to directly serve those in need. How to Make a Donation to the UUA-UUSC Gulf Coast Relief Fund Your Donations at Work: List of Grantees and Grants

A daycare center in Gulf Port, Mississippi. Photo by Annette Marquis.

A damaged home in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Photo by Annette Marquis.

Introduction:
On September 12th, Rev. Rosemary Bray-McNatt called and asked if I would consider going to Mississippi on behalf of the UU Trauma Response Ministry  to assist Rev. Jacqueline Luck, the only UU minister serving congregations in Mississippi, with the work she was doing there. I agreed to go and arranged to leave the next day. This diary consists of my reflections, observations, and reactions, as we as UUs respond to Katrina.

In faith and hope,
Annette Marquis, MSW, LISW

[October 10: We cannot forget them]
[October 6: The story that broke my heart]
[September 27: Camping out]
[September 25: My eyes are tired]
[September 22: Reinforcements]
[September 18-19: Highs and Lows]
[September 14: Establishing my credibility]
[September 13: On the road to the disaster zone]

"I am so afraid that we will move on to another story, another tragedy, another priority. There are certainly enough to choose from: the earthquake in Asia, mudslides in Central America, fires in California. But the people who were affected by Katrina cannot move on. They cannot move on until they have a place to live, a job to earn an income, schools to send their children to, stores to buy groceries from."

October 10: We cannot forget them

This is the final entry to my diary and I must admit that I am hesitant to write it. I'm hesitant because I am so afraid that we will move on to another story, another tragedy, another priority. There are certainly enough to choose from: the earthquake in Asia, mudslides in Central America, fires in California. But the people who were affected by Katrina cannot move on. They cannot move on until they have a place to live, a job to earn an income, schools to send their children to, stores to buy groceries from. And this will not happen if we move on to another crisis, if we forget that as we go about our "normal" routines, hundreds of thousands of people are struggling to find new routines, a new way to be in the world, a new way to survive.

I encourage everyone to make keeping up with the news from the Gulf Coast area a part of your daily routine, even a part of your spiritual discipline. One of the best ways I've found to stay informed is to read an online newspaper from Louisiana or Mississippi. You can find a listing of newspapers for each state . If you prefer radio, you can listen to Mississippi Public Broadcasting online . Whichever medium you choose, you get an entirely different perspective of what is really happening than you get in the 60-second sound bites on CNN.

In addition, I hope we will stay connected with www.uua.org and www.uuworld.org for information about the UUA-UUSC Gulf Coast Relief Fund and how your congregations can help.

Write letters to your local papers and to your legislators about the government's role in relief effort, about no-bid contracts, about hiring local workers, and about the need to build quality low-income housing in the devastated areas.

Whatever you do, I implore you on behalf of the people whose faces I saw and still see in my mind, each day: don't let a day go by that you don't think about, pray about, meditate about our brothers and sisters from the South. They will need us for a long time to come.

In faith and thanks for your readership,
Annette Marquis

Atema Eclai, on the Gulf Coast Relief Fund Panel.

The Gulf Coast Relief Fund Panel at the North Shore UU church.

"They came to Hattiesburg out of pure desperation because they heard this was where the Red Cross had set up their offices. They figured if they couldn't get help here, they couldn't get help anywhere. Looking into their eyes was like looking into a deep well where you could only imagine how far the bottom was."

October 6: The story that broke my heart

As I returned to my home in Michigan, I realized that I saved the hardest stories until I had time to process them, to cry about them, to feel some distance from them. The hardest stories were those that touched my heart in some way that I have not let it be touched in recent memory. They dug deep like a rabbit burrowing into the earth to build a strong, safe home to protect her from the harsh Michigan winter. They clung to me, invading my soul and demanding to be let in. These are the stories of trust, of pain, of love, of helplessness, of hope.

It was Friday night at the Hattiesburg shelter. I had been working there for three nights now and was pretty familiar with the people there and with what to expect. My crisis intervention training has taught me to never be surprised, to expect the unexpected, to be ready for anything. I thought I was. And then at about 7 pm I overheard a woman at the front reception desk tell the Red Cross worker that she needed help. She had driven from St. Bernard Parish with several others because they had heard that they could get help from the Red Cross in Hattiesburg. They had lost everything in the storm, were staying with family and friends, and had been unable to get any help in the area they were in. They needed food and clothing for their children. Was there any help available here? The response she received was not what she wanted to hear. She was told she had to register with the Red Cross the next morning and then she'd be given a time to come back for assistance. The woman started crying and said, "Can't anybody help us?"

When it was clear she was not going to get any help there, I asked her to step outside so I could talk with her. Two other women followed her. "Are they with you?" I asked. "Yes, and so are these other people" she said, pointing to a group of others standing outside. "We caravanned here because we have to find some help." I asked them all to pull up chairs so we could talk. Nine people gathered around. Five women and four men of varying ages. "Are you all related?" I asked. "No," was the response. We just found ourselves in the same situation. We all have children and we all are desperate for help," an older man replied.

As they told their stories, I learned that these nine people were all heads of households. They all had children but no place to call home. The only help they had received so far was from a church that brought a few meals into the neighborhood where they were staying. Their welcomes were wearing out with the families that took them in. They came to Hattiesburg out of pure desperation because they heard this was where the Red Cross had set up their offices. They figured if they couldn't get help here, they couldn't get help anywhere. Looking into their eyes was like looking into a deep well where you could only imagine how far the bottom was.

I asked if they had eaten today. "No," was the universal reply. The timing was good because the late dinner was about to be served at the shelter and they were welcome to eat there. I also asked if they would each write down their names, their children's names, their ages, and where they were staying. Each person took the notebook and in turn, wrote down their family information. When they handed the notebook back to me, I took a sharp intake of air as I reviewed the list: Robert, age 10, Robin, 11, Regina, 12, Devonta, 7, BruShawn, 10 months, Johnita, 4 months, two sets of twins: Jessica and Joshua, age 1 and Brittney and Daniela, 6 months, and the list went on. 34 children, 4 adults, plus the 9 adults who were sitting in front of me. 47 people ranging in age from 4 months to an aging grandmother who felt so much desperation that she rode with them 125 miles to try to find help for her family. I knew we had to do something.

While they were devouring their dinners, I called Rev. Jacqueline Luck, the minister I was working with, and asked for her thoughts. She said she would call the member of the Ellisville church, Peggy Owens-Mansfield, who was the Red Cross Director in Laurel (see an article about Peggy on the UU World web site: "Mississippi Red Cross leader inspired by Universalist Clara Barton"), 33 miles up the road, and she what she suggested. Within minutes Jacqueline called back. "If they get to the fairgrounds in Laurel at 7 am tomorrow morning, they can apply for and get a check from the Red Cross. They will need identification and social security numbers of their family members. Do they have that?" Yes, they had brought whatever they could find. Because they would not be able to cash the checks until Monday, Jacqueline said she would drive in to meet them and to give them cash to hold them over. When Jacqueline arrived, we gave each family $40 out of a private $1000 donation Jacqueline had received. Not a lot of money but enough to buy food to get them through the weekend.

We discussed staying the night in the shelter and then leaving early in the morning. But after much discussion, they decided to head up to Laurel and sleep in their cars so they would be in first in line. One woman was especially concerned about leaving her babies overnight with the family they were staying with. She was afraid they would kick them out. But after reaching them by phone, she agreed to the plan to spend the night in Laurel.

Before they left, I invited them all back to the clothing distribution room in the shelter to pick up some things they needed. Each person searched for clothing and supplies to help their families who had nothing. They picked up jeans, diapers, a house coat, t-shirts, a pair of shoes. Enough to get by till something else comes along.

After expressing their gratitude for our help, they were on their way. As the cars pulled out of the shelter's parking lot, Jacqueline and I both questioned whether we had helped enough, whether what we did made a difference, and, we're both sad to say, whether we had been scammed. What I know is that the eyes of these people came back to life as their stomachs were filled. I know that their bodies relaxed, they became more talkative, and they became more trusting as a bit of hope was restored. I can't know more than that. Helping strangers is always a risk but in this case, I can't help but believe the risk was well worth it. What we knew was that 47 people had food in their stomachs that weekend. 47 people had a few clothes on their backs. 47 people had hope that the generosity of others would pull them through this tragedy.

As the Gulf Coast Relief Fund has topped $2 million, I am awed by the generosity of UUs around the country. I am also struck with how difficult it is to know how to be helpful, how to spend money wisely, how to make a difference. I am encouraged by the joint effort of the UUA and the UUSC and know that their partnership will make a difference in a region that so desperately needs our message of valuing the inherent worth and dignity of every person.

In faith,
Annette Marquis

[October 10: We cannot forget them]

Destruction in Louisiana.

"I had heard that a UU from New Orleans was living in one of the FEMA trailers at Little Black Creek and I was pleased to find her at home on my first visit to the park. Louise lost her apartment in New Orleans and had been staying at the shelter in Hattiesburg. Our paths had not crossed there but she was thrilled to finally make a connection with another UU."

September 27: Camping out

Many people on the Gulf Coast who have a home to go home to feel guilty because so many others are living with family and friends, living in cars, in shelters, in motels, in tents, living any where they can. 2,000 of the 431,000 who have applied for FEMA housing assistance in Mississippi alone have been given travel trailers to live in. Some of these trailers are placed on their existing properties. Those who have no property to go back to, or whose property is still inaccessible (as is the case with most of New Orleans' residents) are given the option to move to campgrounds scattered around the area. The park I visited, Little Black Creek Water Park, is located off a back country road, eight miles from the highway and nearest town.

When, after a couple of wrong turns and a couple of back-tracks, I finally reached the park, I found a beautifully forested campground bordering a large lake and a catfish pond. On a typical summer weekend, people come here to fish, take a walk in the woods, socialize by a campfire, and cook dinner over an open flame. Now three-quarters of the 100 or so RV sites are occupied by FEMA travel trailers. Most of the residents are not used to camping. These are city people, people used to walking to the store, taking the bus to their job, and going to sleep with street lights shining in their windows and emergency sirens screaming through the night. In their new reality, the only nightlights are the stars, the fireflies, and the porch lights of other trailers. The only night sounds are the croaking of the frogs and the singing of katydids. Although some residents are delighted with their new temporary homes, others are feeling isolated and afraid – afraid of being alone and afraid of being forgotten.

Re-forming UU Community

I had heard that a UU from New Orleans was living in one of the FEMA trailers at Little Black Creek and I was pleased to find her at home on my first visit to the park. Louise lost her apartment in New Orleans and had been staying at the shelter in Hattiesburg. Our paths had not crossed there but she was thrilled to finally make a connection with another UU. Although she reported that she was doing fairly well under the circumstances, she was distressed because after she cashed her Red Cross check (about $400), someone broke into her trailer and stole it. At my encouragement, she applied for help from the UUA/UUSC Gulf Coast Relief Fund and assuming she is approved, should receive a check in the mail soon. But the money is only a part of it; it can be replaced. Replacing her sense of security in her new neighborhood is much harder to do.

However, even that is becoming bit easier as Louise has reached out to others and in doing so has found a second displaced UU, another single woman from New Orleans. And what's even more amazing, their trailers are right across the street from each other. So a small UU community is forming in Little Black Creek. They plan to attend Our Home UU Congregation in Ellisville to reestablish connections with other UUs. Finding each other in a sea of religious fundamentalism has done much to help them find serenity in their temporary homes.

How unusual is it that I found two UUs in one of the many FEMA trailer parks set up around the region? How many others are scattered around the country with no connection to their faith communities? We know that many of our UU brothers and sisters have not yet been located. They have not reached out to a UU congregation in the communities where they find themselves. They have not registered on their district or congregations website. If you hear from any UUs from the Southwest or Mid-South Districts who have not been in touch with their congregations or their district offices, please help to connect them to Unitarian Universalism wherever they are. Invite them to attend church in their new communities. Tell them about the UUA-UUSC Gulf Coast Relief Fund. Let them know that their faith community is here to support them, wherever they are and whatever their circumstances. Our faith has been, and is now, about saving lives. And this is our work – all of us – as the struggle for recovery from this enormous tragedy goes on.

In faith,
Annette Marquis

[October 6: The story that broke my heart]

The Rev. Martha Munson speaks to the Gulf Coast UU Fellowship . Photo by Annette Marquis.

Flood-ruined hymnbook in First UU Church of New Orleans. Photo by Richard L. Chase

"I must admit, my eyes have grown tired – tired of seeing people in despair and recognizing that there is only so much that outsiders can do. We can give emotional support, we can offer money, we can even provide physical resources, but in the end, it is up to the residents to rebuild their communities, to re-establish routines... and to recreate places to rest their eyes. This region is a long way from rebuilding and an even longer way from routine."

September 25: My eyes are tired

A member of the Gulf Coast UU Fellowship told a story at this Sunday's service of being out with her grandson one day last week. "Grandma," he said, "can we go home now? My eyes are tired." Like so many others, he was tired of seeing debris and devastation, tired of downed trees, blocked roads, and damaged buildings, and what another member described as "seeing people's lives thrown out on the curb." In Sunday's service, (visiting minister) the Rev. Martha Munson asked people to share what they were missing in life after Katrina. Their answers clearly show the emotional impact of Katrina on their lives:

• "I miss a sense of community. All the different communities I belong to are disrupted. I long for communities to come back together."
• "A sense of balance."
• "Traffic that flows, business that are open, so many things I can't control but that I am a part of."
• "Routine."
• "A way to keep my compassion sharp. I have compassion fatigue."
• "A place to rest my eyes."

I must admit, my eyes, too, have grown tired – tired of seeing people in despair and recognizing that there is only so much that outsiders can do. We can give emotional support, we can offer money, we can even provide physical resources, but in the end, it is up to the residents to rebuild their communities, to restore balance, to regain control, to reestablish routines, to renew their compassion, and to recreate places to rest their eyes. What those of us on the outside have to recognize, however, is that this region is a long way from rebuilding and an even longer way from routine.

It's a full month after Katrina and only an estimated 20% of the debris created by the storm in Mississippi has been removed. Reconstruction can't begin until much more is torn down and hauled away. And because residents of the region were displaced throughout the country, many have not yet even seen what is left of their homes and communities. Unless you own property, you are not allowed through the military checkpoints set up along the railroad tracks that run from one side of the state to another ¼ mile north of the beach. Rolls of barbed wire stretched along the tracks create an unwelcome barrier to the once tourist-friendly Gulf Coast. Very little is as it was before the storm and it will be a very long time before life becomes routine again.

The Gulf Coast UU congregation is working hard to hold on to their plans to build their own building and someday, to hire a full-time minister. They are holding out hope that this tragedy will afford them an opportunity to spread liberal religious values and offer an alternative to the religious fundamentalism that permeates the Gulf Coast region. I share that hope, for the need to find a place to be in community and rest our eyes calls out to us all.

In faith,
Annette Marquis

[September 27: Camping out]

Members of the Gulf Coast UU Fellowship  at the site for their new home.

All photos by Annette Marquis.

"Members of the (UU) Gulf Coast congregation describe turning down streets to check on a friend and finding nothing but rubble or going to a store and finding it gone. Their entire reality has shifted."

September 22: Reinforcements

Rev. Martha Munson arrived Tuesday evening to begin to offer some pastoral care to the Gulf Coast congregation. Approximately one quarter of this fellowship lost their homes to Katrina and another quarter have family members who lost their homes. Although all but one of the members have been contacted and all are OK, some have left the area and it is uncertain if and when they will return. Efforts are continuing to find the one member the congregation has not been able to reach. Add this to the normal stressors of life, illness, marital problems, financial worries, etc., and you have one fragile congregation. One member aptly describes them as "hanging on by their fingernails."

While much of the media attention has focused on New Orleans, communities on the Mississippi Gulf Coast such as Bay St. Louis, Waveland, and Pass Christian were equally impacted. In fact, many of these communities were wiped off of the map entirely. Entire neighborhoods have been reduced to sticks and foundations. Members of this congregation describe turning down streets to check on a friend and finding nothing but rubble or going to a store and finding it gone. Their entire reality has shifted. One member described feeling like she was far away from home because nothing she sees is familiar to her anymore.

Martha and I hope to offer them some support over the next couple of weeks. And although it will be a long time before life returns to any semblance of normal, we hope to be able to offer them a listening ear and a helping hand.

Shelter news

People are now leaving the shelter every day. Most are going to FEMA trailer parks, some have moved in with families, and some are returning to their homes in the hopes of finding something there. Fears of what Hurricane Rita will bring are keeping some people from moving anywhere. They don't want to have to be evacuated again. At this point, the shelter is scheduled to close by Tuesday but the Red Cross is uncertain about naming an exact closing date until they know what resources have to mobilized to handle Rita. They are stretched so thin that it is increasingly difficult to respond to all the needs.

The two FEMA trailer parks close to Hattiesburg are both rural settings quite a distance from any large cities. I hope to visit the parks this weekend to assess for myself if what I'm hearing about the lack of food and support is true. People who were not on food stamps before the storm are eligible for short-term emergency food stamps but many don't know that. Getting the word out about available resources and how to access them continues to be a major problem.

I'll write more about the trailer parks later because I think UU congregations might be able to help with long-term support for these displaced families. The folks in the trailer parks have up to 18 months before they will be forced to move again – so anything we do would require a long-term commitment. Donating money is a short-term aid but not a long-term solution. I encourage you all to begin thinking about how your congregations might help these families with the tools they need to break out the cycle of poverty. As I learn more about the needs, I'll pass it on.

In faith,
Annette Marquis

[September 25: My eyes are tired]

A Mississippi home near Gulfport, destroyed by Hurricane Katrina.

Leaders of Our Home UU Church stand outside with Eunice Benton, (far right) District Executive, Mid-South District.

All photos by Annette Marquis.

"Everyone has a story and many of these people need someone who will listen to their story. As time passes for the people in the Red Cross Shelter in Hattiesburg, telling their stories seems like the only thing they have control of. "

September 18-19: Highs and Lows

Three weeks ago tonight the wind started blowing and the first storm surges began to roll ashore on the Gulf Coast. Some of the people had already evacuated, some started driving that night, still others would leave the next day, and others would leave only when their very lives depended on it. One man from Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, told the story of how he evacuated with his family to a second house they owned that was further inland. They had ridden out Hurricane Camille there and didn't have any trouble. This time, however, would prove to be different. The water rose and rose until he and his family had to swim to the attic of this two-storey house. They had to stay there for two days until the water receded and they were able to climb down. When they came down, they found their refrigerator on top of the kitchen counter and everything in the house destroyed. The home he lived in had been completely submerged; pieces of his shrimp boat were stuck in a tree thirty feet in the air.

This story is typical of the thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of stories that, along with the silt and the mud, now permeate the Gulf Coast region. Everyone has a story and many of these people need someone who will listen to their story. As time passes for the people in the Red Cross Shelter in Hattiesburg, telling their stories seems like the only thing they have control of. There is no question that help has been pouring into the region—help from the federal government, from state government, from the Red Cross, from local charities, from churches, from businesses, from individuals, and from loosely organized groups. However, a system to access this help is sorely lacking. Every day the radio, television, and newspapers are filled with phone numbers and addresses where a specific kind of help is available. If you need a tarp for your roof, go to one of these four locations; if you need cash assistance, go to one of these Red Cross locations to register; if you need food, go to this location tomorrow; if you need emergency food stamps, call this number; if you need a prescription refilled, go to one of these pharmacies; if you need clothing, visit this church; if you need … if you need… if you need…, and the list goes on and on and on. Even the most experienced human services worker would have trouble navigating through the maze of available assistance. It's a disaster in and of itself.

The good news is that property owners who have cars are starting to get trailers from FEMA. The first trailer park that was set up for people at the Hattiesburg shelter is at a county park about 20 miles away. Although they are only one bedroom trailers, the people I've talked to are quite happy with them and with the location. A few people have turned them down because they are city people who are afraid of living so far out in the country. They are hopeful another park will be set up closer to town.

For the most part, however, the people who are left at the shelter now are the people without cars, people with disabilities, and people who didn't own property to begin with. These are the poorest of the poor, the sickest, the feeblest, the most mentally unstable, the least desirable. The shelter is scheduled to close by no later than Friday, September 23. Where these people will go is yet to be seen but I suspect some will be transferred to yet another shelter until someone figures it out.

Success stories

When 76-year old Gilda arrived at the shelter she quickly won everyone's heart. Rather than evacuate New Orleans with various members of her family who were heading in different directions out of the city, she chose to drive a 60-year old, mentally-challenged friend of hers to Mississippi where this woman's relatives lived. Just outside of Hattiesburg, her car broke down. The car had to be left and Gilda and her friend were given a ride to the shelter to sit out the storm. For the next three weeks, Gilda searched for her daughter, her niece, anyone who could take her in. She posted her information on the Internet, she was interviewed by the newspaper, she spoke with the radio and the TV news. Her health deteriorated and she spent time in the hospital before returning to the shelter to wait for some information about her family.

One day last week, when she returned to the shelter after a doctor's visit, she found that her friend had left the shelter without her. Now utterly alone, she tried hard not to despair but despair was clearly setting in. She was angry, hurt, and terrified of never finding her family. But even then, she had a good word for anyone who would listen; she helped the woman in the cot next to hers find clothes that would fit her; and she hugged anyone who needed a hug.

Then, just two days ago, she received a call at the shelter. Her niece found her listed on the Internet and immediately called her. Yesterday, her niece came to get her and took her home with her. I can't think about Gilda without tears coming to my eyes. What an amazing spirit she is. God clearly lives in her soul.

Although not quite as dramatic as Gilda's story, Mary's story touched me in a different way. With no home of her own, Mary worked as a live-in care giver to an elderly woman. The house where she was living was destroyed and the person she was caring for moved in with relatives. Like countless others, suddenly Mary had no place to live, no job, and no hope of getting a FEMA trailer. She thought she could get another live-in job but with no phone where potential employers could call her, the prospects didn't look good. She was becoming more and more depressed by the day. After we talked on Friday, I was pretty convinced she would be one of the long-term victims of Katrina with little chance of recovery. Then on Saturday, a woman stopped by the shelter. Mary happened to overhear her tell the Red Cross worker at the registration desk that she lives alone in a four bedroom house just down the road from the shelter and wondered if anyone there wanted to come live with her. Mary jumped at the chance and now has a nice place to live, a new friend, and renewed hope. She hugged me when she left and thanked me for the time I had spent with her. She walked out the door of the shelter with a smile on her face.

Gulf Coast UUs

On Sunday (Sept. 19) we went down to meet with the UU congregation in Gulfport. Rev. Martha Munson (minister, UU Congregation of East Aurora, NY) is going to be joining me here tomorrow and we'll be spending time with the Gulfport UU community over the next week. All are alive but many have lost their homes -- their pain is palpable. I'll have much more to share about their needs soon. Keep them in your prayers.

In faith and hope,
Annette Marquis

[September 22: Reinforcements]

Children inside a Jackson, Mississippi, shelter.

All photos by Annette Marquis.

“Pray that these people are treated humanely, fairly, and respectfully; pay whatever you can and more to the UUA-UUSC Gulf Coast Relief Fund and to the American Red Cross; and plan for the long haul. The people who live here will need help for months and years to come.”

September 14: Establishing my credibility

Although Jacqueline was able to walk in to the Jackson shelter, flash her ministerial credentials, and be given a Red Cross name tag, access to the Hattiesburg shelter proved to be more difficult. The supervisor refused to let either of us in unless we registered first with the Red Cross chapter office in town. Clearly, they were trying to control what was an exceptionally challenging environment to control. It would not be safe to let just anyone in that said they wanted to help. However, they did strongly encourage Jacqueline to come back to conduct a 4:00 non-denominational worship service. Apparently, a Baptist minister was trying to have people "receive Jesus " and that was not acceptable in a Red Cross facility. Although Jacqueline scrambled around to prepare a service in less than a couple hours notice, when she returned to the shelter, something had happened and they decided not to hold a service that day.

While Jacqueline was preparing her service and ministering to a congregant, I went off in search of Red Cross credentials. It only took talking with five people, filling out two different application forms, going from the local chapter office to the national office, which was set up in the 1st Baptist church, and then printing my social work license from the State of Michigan web site to be given an official Red Cross Disaster volunteer vest and name badge. Considering it took up to three weeks after September 11 for at least one of our ministers to do the same in New York City, it shows how desperate the Red Cross is for volunteers in this far-reaching crisis.

On to the shelter

Becoming an official mental health volunteer meant taking an honest-to-goodness shift at the shelter. So last night, I started working the 4-midnight at the Hattiesburg shelter. Within an hour, I was totally overwhelmed by the enormity of these people's situations. I have worked with homeless people in Goodwill shelters, domestic violence shelters, half-way houses, even in prisons. I have dealt with people in all kinds of crisis situations, from suicidal people to people who have lost a child, and I can say that without question, nothing has affected me more profoundly than my first hour in this shelter.

These people have not just lost their homes, many of them have lost the entire infrastructure of their lives: their schools, their neighbors, their grocery stores, their doctors' offices, their drug stores, the telephone numbers, everything that made them part of a community. It is as if they have been beamed up to another planet and are now living in an alien world where nothing is familiar and nothing will ever be as it was before. Take Georgia and her mother, Mary, from Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. Mary was on oxygen and they knew she wouldn't survive if they lost electricity. So hours before the storm was slated to hit, they packed up their car and drove to the newly opening shelter in Hattiesburg. When the reports of the storm's aftermath began to filter in, they learned that Bay St. Louis, a Gulf Coast community that survived mostly on fishing and gaming, had been flattened—in essence, totally annihilated. Not only do they have no house to return to or no neighbors to take them in while they rebuild, they have no way to communicate with Mary's doctors, no way to order her prescriptions from the pharmacy, and most importantly, no way to contact other family members who literally have scattered to the wind. They are alone, scared, and destitute.

And then there is Joe and Maria, a middle aged couple from the Gulf Coast area of Mississippi. They lived in a beautiful cabin in the woods and being quite a ways from the ocean and not at risk of flooding, they figured they could ride out the storm. They had ridden out at least one hurricane every other year of their twenty-years in the area. This one looked a little stronger but they, like so many others, couldn't appreciate the enormity of Katrina.

At the height of the Katrina 's fury, a tree fell on the house, crashed through the roof, and pinned Joe 's right leg. Unable to free him and with no means of communication available, Maria drove through the storm to a neighbor's house a mile away to seek their help. However, they had already evacuated and Marie felt she had no choice but to return to Joe and pray for a miracle. When she returned, she saw that the tree had continued its' fall, completely crushing the house under its weight. She cried in panic and despair, knowing she had lost Joe to the storm's rage. What she didn't yet know was that Joe figured the tree was only taking a respite and that he would soon be crushed if he didn't free himself. He pulled his leg out from under the tree by sheer force of will. Bleeding profusely, he crawled out of the way of the falling tree and was lying just beside the crushed house when Maria returned. He called out to her and, with great relief, she went to him and was able to help him into the truck. They quickly wrapped his leg to try to stem the bleeding and then headed out and away from the center of the storm. Eventually arriving in Hattiesburg, they got Joe to the hospital where he received the care he needed. When I met them and heard their story two weeks after the storm, they were happy to be together, happy to be alive, and happy that they had been reunited with four of their six dogs – the dogs had been found and brought to the animal rescue out behind the Hattiesburg shelter.

Most likely, Joe and Maria will fare much better in the long run than Georgia and Mary. But it will still be months before they can return to their house and probably even longer before Joe doesn't walk with a limp.

And then there are the children

Many of the children at the shelter struggled to survive before Katrina hit and will struggle to survive long after the memory of Katrina fades. They live in extreme poverty, attend failing schools, look forward to low-paying jobs, and have children of their own at much too young an age. They clamor for attention by any adult who will give it to them. Case in point, I spent and hour and a half with a group of about 15 children and a digital camera. Up to this time, nothing any of the volunteers had done had held their attention for more than 10 minutes. But they couldn't get enough of having their pictures taken and seeing their photos appear instantly on the screen afterwards. Several of them wanted their pictures taken individually and fought off other kids to get that special, individualized attention. They even rehearsed skits so I could record them on video and play them over and over and over again. Within no time, I had kids crawling all over me, hugging me, saying they loved me, and making me promise I would come back with the camera tomorrow. Their desperate need to be loved and comforted was clearly palpable—it will live with me for a very long time to come.

Safety in computing

After I finally tore myself away from the children, I retreated to the Microsoft mobile trailers out back where people can come to get aid from Microsoft employees in completing FEMA applications, looking for lost loved ones (and yes, there are still many of the those), searching for jobs, sending e-mail, and all other things computing. I got a chance to talk with the staff and was impressed with their caring and concern for the people they were helping. As I was only two and half hours into my 8-hour shift, this short respite gave me a chance to catch my breath and be ready to head back into the shelter with a clearer head and a stronger heart.

What you can do

I have many more stories to tell, observations to make, and emotions to express but it's time to get ready to head back in for my second shift. I know many of you who read this will be asking what you can do. My answer is pray, pay, and plan . Pray that these people are treated humanely, fairly, and respectfully; pay whatever you can and more to the UUA-UUSC Gulf Coast Relief Fund and to the American Red Cross; and plan for the long haul. The people who live here will need help for months and years to come. We have to start planning now to help build houses, restore our churches, provide emotional, spiritual, and financial support, and rebuild entire communities. Our presence is needed and there has never been a better time to grow Unitarian Universalism in this region.

I'll share more as time, energy, and emotions permit.

In faith,
Annette Marquis

[September 18-19: Highs and Lows]

“These people have not just lost their homes, many of them have lost the entire infrastructure of their lives: their schools, their neighbors, their grocery stores, their doctors' offices, their drug stores, the telephone numbers, everything that made them part of a community.”

September 13: On the road to the disaster zone

Although, at first glance, it seemed like a normal day in America 's airports, it didn't take long to see signs that something was afoot. It started with the tall man with the furrowed brow who boarded the plane in Detroit. Donning a red hat, vest, and shirt that clearly identified him as a Red Cross volunteer, he marched hurriedly and with determination down the aisle, as if his very demeanor would get him to the disaster zone more quickly.

And then there were the two strangers exchanging their Katrina stories in the Memphis airport. One, a man in his 40s, was just returning from Iraq for a 21-day leave. His leave had been extended by five days so he could help his family who had evacuated from Biloxi and were now in Florida. The other stranger was an impeccably-dressed, professional woman in her 30s who ran a spa business in the Gulf area. She had come to Memphis for a conference before Katrina hit and was now also connecting with her family in Florida. Their conversation continued on a personal level, until the man lowered his voice and said, "You know, where I come from in Mississippi, it's all white and we didn't have the problems that they had with all those blacks in New Orleans." He went on to say that even though no one wants to say it's a black-white thing, he could see nothing else that would explain it. The woman concurred with him and in a quieter, more personal voice, started making her own comments about the connection between blacks and looting. At that moment, a five-year old girl of African decent came running up to where the woman was sitting. The professional woman smiled at her and said, "well aren't you cute," and then looked up at the child's African American mother, who had followed closely behind to reign her in, and told her what a beautiful child she had. The conversation between the two strangers quickly moved on to other things but their shared "secret" hung heavy in the air.

And finally, there was the flight from Memphis to Hattiesburg. A total of five people boarded the plane and my seat in 2A was switched to 16A to provide "better weight-balance" for the plane (I tried not to take it personally). The two women sitting near me, also providing ballast for the rear of the plane, were on their own rescue missions. One woman was going down to gather up her boyfriend, her mother, and her sister and take them back with her to her home in New York. The other woman, from Maryland, was responding to a plea for volunteers to help with rescued animals. She loved animals, and although she didn't know anything about the organization that was doing this, she decided to go. Apparently a shelter had been set up for rescued animals at the multi-purpose center in Hattiesburg and she was planning to go there and see how she could help. Little did I know then that this center was also the Red Cross family shelter where I would spend considerable time over the next few days.

Meanwhile, in Mississippi

Rev. Jacqueline Luck, the UU minister in Jackson and Ellisville, MS, spent the two weeks immediately after the hurricane hit visiting the people at Red Cross shelter in Jackson. On September 14 th, Red Cross officials announced to the remaining 200 or so residents that the shelter would close the next day. Everyone had to find a placement within the next 24-hours. Jacqueline arranged for three people, an old man and a couple from Honduras, to move into the old house where religious education is held at the Jackson church.

Although the three people where thrilled to be out of the shelter and into a more private space, it didn't take long for the old house, unused to full-time residents, to recoil. The toilets backed up and one of the showers didn't work. The estimate from the plumber came in at $2500. Because of the desperate need of the people seeking sanctuary there, the church gulped hard and approved the work. Some of the cost will probably be reimbursed from contributions to the UUSC Gulf Coast Relief fund and the church will pick up the rest.

Then, just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, the Honduran couple were car-jacked at gun-point in front of the church. Not only did they lose their car but they lost their driver's licenses, his work permit, and all of their other identity papers. Imagine being one of the thousands of American citizens who evacuated without all of their personal records. How would you prove your identity to get a new license, a new Social Security card, a passport? Now imagine, the terror of being in this situation if you were here on a work visa from a Central American country after just losing your home, your car, and practically everything else that held meaning in your life?

Unbelievably, they are handling this new development fairly well as the church is rallying around them. Already they have an offer of a donated car as soon they can get copies of their drivers' licenses. Because so many people are in this situation, the Mississippi Department of Motor Vehicles is allowing Louisiana residents to apply for copies of their licenses locally that they will then order from Louisiana. Although individuals have to wait for them to arrive by mail at the local DMV office, as long as the photos match, they will be able to get them with no other ID required. Of course, there is no telling how long this will take, at least a process has been defined.

In faith,
Annette Marquis

[September 14: Establishing my credibility]

Faith in the Face of Disaster: UU Response to Hurricane Katrina

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