http://www.mediainfo.com/eandp/news/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1001054110
http://www.bigfib.com/issue50/world2-en.html

+


FWD:

Hi Monica,


I'm OK. I escaped on Wednesday and am in Baton Rouge. Yes, the cell phone towers were all knocked out by the hurricane. The hurricane itself, though, caused only about 20% of the horror. The government is not letting people in to bring supplies. They are not bringing supplies. The hospitals and even the convention center where people are gathering are full of corpses- people who have died of dehydration when there are people with truckloads of water in Baton Rouge, ready and willing to deliver them, but the National Guard won't let them in to New Orleans.


It's so good to hear from you. I'm pasting the story of how I got out below. Please do forward this around and tell everyone what is really going on in New Orleans so they can urge the government to LET PEOPLE IN so they can help their friends and families. That is the only thing we can do right now.


-Claudia


Wednesday:


They have shut off the tap water. They want to stem disease from drinking contaminated water, but at least if they gave us contaminated water, we could boil it. I feel panic welling up- why didn't I fill up more jugs when we had tap water? Since the water has been on a few days, we have grown complacent. We have been taking showers, so the bathtub is empty. I feel so stupid.


Also, we sense that the situation in the streets has deteriorated. Fewer and fewer of our bohemian friends, and people in general, are left. Sinister young men walk down these mostly deserted streets. There is an ominous sense of abandonment.


We decide we must get out, and try to contact everyone we know who owns a car, by telephone and walking. No one with a car is left in the city. We decide at least to relocate to Jimmy's apartment, which is more secure. We then see our new friends/neighbors, Niko, Melissa, and Rarig. They propose bicycling out of the city to Baton Rouge. It seems a ludicrous idea at first, but on second thought, sounds feasible. The distance is 80 miles, and if we bring a very large amount of water, we could leave early in the morning and arrive in Baton Rouge by nightfall. We plan to meet at Molly's at 7am the next morning to depart, a bicycle tribe.


Back at Jimmy's, we tell him of our intentions, and he says he has heard of buses departing from major hotels. Jose and Jimmy set off in search of these chartered buses, and find that the Hotel Monteleone has chartered a fleet of 10 buses with state trooper escort to come in and evacuate their guests to Houston. There are 200 extra seats that they are selling to residents at $45 a seat (at cost). Jose on his way to pick up his forgotten green card and passport passes Niko, Melissa, and Rarig. He tells them about the buses and to get down there. Back at his apartment, Jimmy packs up in 15 minutes, taking mostly gold. They get in line. I'm completely tense. Then, victory! They have gotten tickets. Everyone is happy. I'm relieved, but still tense. I won't be able to relax until we are physically on the bus. The buses are scheduled to arrive at 6:30pm. Teddy, Jimmy's neighbor who decided to stay, will securely bar the front door to their building from the inside at 8pm. At that point, we won't be able to get back in.


Waiting. 6:30pm comes and goes. 7:30pm. 8:30pm. 9:30pm . waiting for the fleet of 10 buses. It's getting dark, and scary. We have police with double barrel shotguns to guard us, and protect against a rush on the buses, but there are only four of them. The French Quarter is ominous at night; terrifying if away from the police escort with their double barrel shotguns. At this point, a cheer goes up, but instead of a fleet of ten chartered buses, a single Jefferson Parish school bus shows up. The driver gets out & talks with the hotel organizer. Jose hovers around nearby, discreetly listening. The buses have been commandeered by the police- the Monteleone paid for them, but they have been stolen by the state. (The state says they need them to evacuate the sick and elderly, but why can't the state get ahold of its own buses??? They should have a fleet of 100 buses taking people out, and should have had that fleet by Monday night, but instead they do nothing until a private party takes action to help itself, and then they steal the buses.) The hotel manager is livid & angrily but quietly decides to try to "negotiate" with the state. He is not letting on to the guests that the buses have been confiscated- no one knows except those like Jose that are discreetly but actively gathering information. Allan Toussaint and his wife coolly gather their bags and get on the school bus.


Jose speaks to the bus driver. For $50 cash each, he will take us to Baton Rouge. I have $61, Jose has $14, Kip (Jimmy's neighbor, a transplant patient who needs regular dialysis and is already overdue) has $20, and Jimmy has $50. I ask desperately and ridiculously if they take credit cards or checks. Of course they don't, and in fact they say that no one in the state is taking credit cards, because of all the possibility of theft. Jose turns to me and says "baby, if you want to take this bus. good luck to you" and I turn back "I won't leave without you." It's as simple as that. Then, I beg. I plead with the bus driver to take us- that our friend needs dialysis and that this is all the cash we have. I explain that we've already given $45 for the Monteleone ticket. He agrees to take what we have and we scramble on board. I love the feel of sitting on the hard metal floor of the stripped out bus. But I'm not relaxed yet. This bus, too, could be confiscated. (The police have tried twice to confiscate his bus, but he managed to escape.) I hold my knees close, and pray that we make it to Baton Rouge. The bus creeps along, silently taking back-streets out of New Orleans, over the Crescent City Connection (slight release of tension- we're officially out of the city) and out, through back roads, looping towards Donaldsville then over the Sunshine Bridge and then finally onto the I-10 just before Baton Rouge. At the city, I can hardly believe the familiar yet strange sight of lighted signs and streetlights. It has been pitch black in New Orleans since Sunday night. You can see the stars in the sky.


We are dropped off at the airport. I ask the bus driver for his address, so I can send him the difference. He declines (of course; this is obviously a pirated bus), and I thank him profusely. He will return to New Orleans throughout the night to rescue people wanting to escape.


Finally believing that we have really escaped, I can sigh in exhausted relief. The airport, full of refugees sleeping on the floor, is a wonderful place. We plug in our cell phones, and call Andre & Laura. They are there in minutes with their car to pick us up. Their house is luxurious, and Andre even cooks up some eggs and toast, with sliced tomatoes, for us. It is like heaven to be here, truly heavenly.


As the stories come spilling out of us, my happiness is marred only by a terrible sense of sadness for the others left behind, in the terror of a city steadily evacuated by bohemians and working class people and taken over by criminals and soldiers. The worst are the people still on their roofs, sitting there without food or water for days on end, or drowning. Also, the animals. Our neighbors, in a move of supremely cruel irresponsibility, left their dog in their apartment, locked in there. They told us nothing when they evacuated, did not give us a key, and we had no way of getting in. We heard the dog desperately scratching against the wall on Tuesday night, but were afraid to go outside to do anything about it. Wednesday, we heard no more sound from him. I feel incredibly guilty for not breaking a barred window to at least give him a chance to get out, in case he was still alive. I only hope that perhaps they left a long term supply of food and water, and that he is alive and only quiet, and will survive until they get back. I wish that I could go back, in an official vehicle loaded with water and supplies, to just drop off supplies and pick up people, taking them back and forth to Baton Rouge. But they are letting no one in to help. People outside the city want desperately to come in and rescue their friends and family members, and I'm sure many are willing to drive in supplies. If the government were competent to take care of the situation, then they could indeed take over. But they are NOT. (It is just one example that they can't get their shit together to get their own buses, just confiscating the buses of those who are more competent than they.) They NEED to LET PEOPLE BACK IN so they can help the residents trapped in the city.


Postscript: The day after writing this, Jose talked with an NPR reporter who told him what happened after we left. It is too horrific to believe, but this is what the reporter said. After unsuccessfully negotiating with the State, the Hotel Monteleone told the 500 people waiting that the buses would in fact never come. Then, they closed their doors! They left the people outside, on the streets in the dead of night in the dead-black lawless French Quarter! Some of the people cowered in Jackson Square in terror, while others tried to walk across the Crescent City Connection. They were, according to this source, then shot at by the police! They were not allowed to leave. Jose and I just broke down into wracking sobs, so tremendously helpless are we to help these others. I'm hoping this is untrue, I'm praying that this is not true and that those other waiting people eventually got out OK. How could it be true? Andre Codrescu, who we are staying with, assures me that it is true, and not a rumor, but I am still praying that there has been some mistake. How could it be true? How could it?