I have, time and time again, heard people using this phrase to refer to the chaotic devastation that befell the various neighborhoods and communities within Louisiana. I agree with the connotation, but only to a point. I was in New York when the Twin Towers were dilapidated by terrorists. September 11, 2001 in New York was unbelievable and unexpected (or was it?) My personal opinion after visiting New Orleans is that the magnitude of destruction brought about by Hurricane Katrina cannot be quantified or even verbalized. I can only try to articulate the plethora of emotions swirling around in my head.
Hurricane Katrina brought complete decimation to boundless amounts of neighborhoods, communities, schools, hospitals and families. There is no equating the disastrous event and its aftermath but try to imagine the four quadrants of Washington, D.C. being flooded or devastated by some other terrible offspring of Mother Nature. Imagine Northeast, Southeast and Southwest quadrants completely immersed in about 8 or 9 feet of water because it was built below sea level on deteriorating wetlands. Question. Would the Engineers of the Army Corps. have negligently erected a levee within our nation’s capitol?
Imagine having 8 seconds to rush to your attic in a panicked attempt to saw or axe your way through your roof in order for you to not be drowned in your own home. Imagine the Northwest quadrant surviving the flood because it was built above sea level unlike the previous quadrants. Imagine being born and bred having your family legacy rooted in New Orleans and having to relocate to Texas (of all places) or some other state where you have to make new neighbors, forge new friendships, trust new people, forget about ever going back to your home because it was uprooted and washed away.
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Loss seems to have its own soundtrack. I was struck, on our bus tour of post-Katrina New Orleans, by the agressive silence that seemed to have wrap around the ruin houses, seep into the spaces between the stacked boats and uprooted trees.
The first time I heard this kind of quiet, that I remember, was when I went to see the ruins of Ground Zero in New York with a friend from high school. We were both born and raised in New York City, and when we went to see the site of the Twin Towers just after Thanksgiving, they were still burning. I remember lots of people being around us --- the traffic had revived, but there was still that padding of the silence, as if you could hear the absence of the hundreds of people who had been killed in seconds on that same spot.
In reflecting on our trip to New Orleans, I am again and again confronted by what I do not understand, what I cannot comprehend or empathize with, experiences that are alien from my own. At the same time, reflecting on how these two very different places share such a strange and terrible bond, reminded me that most of us have experienced some loss, and know in some way the soundlessness of it, the silence that allows no comment.
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