PRISONER EXPRESS

Okay, how much has been written of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina; about the devastated city of New Orleans and the outlying areas of the Gulf Coast? The images seen through the camera lens; stranded families, mostly black, mostly poor, standing atop of their homes, waving their arms to the world--to news helicopters--scratched at my heart. The pictures from the horrific scene at the Superdome and the surrounding streets--where babies of missing mothers lay asleep in the arms of stoic grandmothers and frenetic older siblings--have punctured my soul. And the sporadic clips of desperate people--some starving, some sick--roving the watery streets of New Orleans in search of food, in search of water, in search of hope, in search of whatever has bent my spirit. But also, it has angered and shamed me: the sad, sad ritual of it all. It angers and shames that, I, along with so many others have engaged in the macabre ritual of sitting in front of the TV, listening to the news, or reading the paper--looking at, watching for, wondering about speculating on the extent of damage done to people's lives. For the most part, those among us in the prime position to call upon government and governmental agencies--be they local or federal--to act in times of disaster, do nothing. Some of us, jaded and detached, engage in a ritual of viewing the world's, this country's miseries without taking action (whether that action be in the form of call-ins t talk radio; contacting local representatives or protesting publicly with concerns of relief agencies unresponsiveness). We are angered or shamed into action--rather than launched into action for no other reason that other people are suffering, and we can do more than ogle ritualistically. It is a ritual: the way we ogle (including me). But, as a prisoner, I should know better. And this angers me and shames me: I know I should know better! I know what the end result of cold, ritualistic detachment to massive suffering is (especially when there is an obvious racial component involved). The end result is a sense of hopelessness and isolation for those whose lives have been affected.

We rarely, if ever, think about our rituals. And in particular, we don't think our rituals, when viewed in the context of our response to human tragedies--like the one Katrina left in her wake. Much of what we do, say, experience, and how we react is, yes, ritualistic. The very act of driving a car is a ritual. Rituals are social exercises made up of a series or sequence of activities; symbolic activities: songs, body movements; use of tools or instruments. Rituals spring up from our everyday routines. And they fit into our culture--or a culture--so much so that any member of out culture could recognize them: they are connected closely to culture, they are culturally-defined. Lastly, rituals are related to a certain body of ideas. Simply put, rituals (virtually any and all rituals) are well ordered, repetitive, culturally accepted and deeply embedded practices. Rituals dictate and drive some of our most basic activities. They temper and manipulate our response(s) to grievances, disputes and (as of recent) crises. Rituals are relied upon in guiding and directing our institutions, our agencies. Sadly, rituals have been relied upon in the orchestration of providing relief to survivors, to the displaced. And the media, taking its cue from the Federal Emergency Management Agency, fell quickly into the habit (read ritual) of calling the disproportionately Black evacuees "refugees." (This could undeniably do nothing more than to exacerbate the slowness of bureaucratic response--"de-Americanizing" American by labeling them "refugees." And this undoubtedly, has the irresistible effect of making them foreign and distant and disconnects THEM from US. Distant tragedies are much easier to disassociate ourselves from. What has been invariably termed as wanton negligence, ineptitude, ill-preparedness, or even racism as the cause for the slow response of Federal relief agencies is only the result of out own rituals.) Rituals are learned, they are practiced and, for the most part, they are intangible. That many of us operate under false conviction that the government will act promptly and decisively in every emergency--whether man-made or natural--has also become a ritual. To some greater or lesser extent we all engage in rituals, we suffer for it too such as in times as these.

The water in New Orleans and other places is slowly receding. What further horrors and misery that lay beneath that water have yet to be determined. Rescue and recovery efforts have begun. And we have seen what inaction and action can do. The clean up will be slow; the rebuilding of lives and property will be slower. If we look at ourselves for a moment and what lay beneath out rituals, we may be able to elude the tragedy that would be greater than any disaster--the loss of out hearts, our souls and our spirits.