Copyright (c) by Mittie Imani Jordan 2005
Tuesday, September 06, 2005 3:24 AM – DALLAS, TX - Head to toe, toe to head. That's how they're packed in. From dome to dome, arena to arena, convention center to convention center.

Dragged about the country from one mass camp to another. Separated and traumatized as they stand in yet another line. Banded this time, not branded. The pink, yellow, green, blue bands around their wrists label them as "refugees" ..."evacuees"... dehumanized and categorized into yet new classifications.

These are not refugees. These are our people, mostly African, once again displaced in America.

Americans, not refugees, who suffering from nature’s wrath and man’s atrocities. Oh, the stories. Oh, my Lord, the stories.

The mother who watched her 15-year old son swept away by a tidal wave, not yet to be seen again. The 70-year old woman who has no idea where her husband is. The woman having traumatized by flashbacks of a dead baby being tossed into a trash can because the young mother "just couldn't keep sitting there holding it." The children tormented by nightmares of the dead bodies they had to push out of the way as they waded through water to the Superdome. The nightmare of the Superdome, the Convention Center, the rooftops...

Still, there is another side to this tragedy, one that must be told. As much as I am overwhelmed by the grief, sorrow and grimness of this catastrophe, I am equally as overwhelmed by the hundreds of families who have come forward to help serve the hundreds of families we see everyday. We have come from every walk of life: young, old, rich, poor, black, white, conservative, liberal. From every faith practice and denomination, we are laboring all day long to bring some sense of comfort to our brothers and sisters who are weary, worn, and afraid.

All day long, day after day, cars, vans, trucks pull into the parking lot bearing all that we need to serve. Food, clothing, personal care items, baby formula, strollers, diapers and “Depends,” over the counter drugs, linen, furniture, small appliances, toys, books, phone cards, gas cards, money, services, job offers, housing. Most importantly, we come bearing ourselves. Those with skills and those without. All coming to serve wherever we are needed, in whatever way we can.

My name tag reads "Pastor Mittie," and, yes, that inclines folk toward me for comfort and prayer. But just as often you might find me washing tables, taking out trash, or running messages upstairs. There is no respecter of person here. Lawyers are cooks. Doctors are "personal shoppers." Businessmen sweep floors. Artists sort clothes. Engineers team with professional athletes to unload trucks. All with a sense of joy that cannot be explained.

We hurt, and that's what propelled us here from near and far. And yet, there is an undeniable joy and gladness with which each and every one of us serves. Despite the government’s incompetence, "we the people" stepped up to the plate, and we're getting it right.

I arrived in Dallas, TX Saturday morning and hit the ground working as 25,000 people were transported in. I worked first at Reunion Arena where 6,000 displaced New Orleans residents are sheltered by the government, then on to the Community Life Center of my former congregation, St. Luke Community United Methodist Church, where 300 families are being attended each day.

Without bias, I tell you that the church got it right. Mr. White House (P)Resident, this is the time to put some of that $10 billion behind all your "faith based initiative" mouth before Halliburton gobbles it all. Instead of warehousing tens of thousands of lives in the belly of sports arenas, let the congregations take care of them with dignity in smaller groups.

250 families who made it to Dallas and out of Katrina's path before she hit, were staying in a city-owned recreation center across from the church. The city provided the shelter, we provided everything else - including barbers and beauticians cutting and doing hair. Unlike the public shelters, there are no lines at the church. As families come to us, a caregiver greets them, sits with them, and together they determine what the families need. Then a personal shopper does the “shopping” for their basic items while the families enjoy a real meal (not an MRE—Meals-Ready-to-Eat), get haircuts, or shop for clothing off racks instead of off the floor of a concrete underground arena garage.

The church got it right. We even have a team of professional social workers helping them identify government services for which they are entitled. Another team gets them online to register with FEMA.

Then what happened? Driven by the bottom line and fear of liability, the City of Dallas issued an edict, ordering those families who managed to escape the terror of the storm and horror of the Superdome, to be transferred. From a manageable, comfortable shelter complete with a playground for their children and a walk across the street to resources provided by people who lovingly care, these families have been transferred to the concentrated Convention Center and Reunion Arena. If they had refused to go, they would have relinquished all rights to whatever help the local, state, and federal governments are providing. The families left, devastated.

But we didn’t give up and neither did they. They know where we are and many found their way back to us, finding comfort at least for the day from the harrowing conditions to which they are now consigned.

Today we welcome more families bearing the bands of those freshly bussed in and deposited. And believe me, when they get to us, they don't want to leave. They stayed all day. They stayed because they are comfortable in chairs and not on cots. They stayed because their children have a place to play. They stayed because it is quiet and safe. They stayed because the energy around them was peaceful and calm. They stayed because they are treated with dignity, and not warehoused like dogs waiting to be slaughtered.

We are also seeing and serving a great number of families who made their way to other family members or friends. Suddenly a brother whose modest household consisted of his wife and two children, now has 24 other immediate and extended family members living with him. They need help, and by God's grace and the people of God's goodness, we are in the position to help them.

I think the greatest blessing I saw today came in the form of a middle-aged white man whom we helped on Sunday. He returned from the Convention Center to work alongside the other volunteers at the church today. When I asked him how he was doing, he said, "My spirit's a bit higher. I lost everything, but my spirit's a bit higher because of the way you people opened up your hearts to us."

I personally have been through a lot over the past four months. Indeed, my spirit has been pretty low. I've suffered many losses on many levels. Even as I write, I know that am suffering yet one more. But it is all so insignificant, that it matters not. Seeing the face of God's unselfish, sacrificing love in so many people these past four days has fortified me. Right now, my spirit is pretty high. Being in the midst of believers has put me back on track. My resolve is strengthened. My direction is clear.

Truth always sets you free.

[To be continued…]

Copyright (c) 2005 by Mittie Imani Jordan. Jordan, a United Methodist minister, owns Deuteronomy 8:3 Cafe, Books, and Music at 1464 East 105th Street in Cleveland, Ohio.

"Race to Our Credit"Copyright (c) by Tim Wise 2005
Consider the common charge of conspiratorial paranoia hurled at any person of color, for example, who dared to point out the racially-disparate voter purging that took place in Florida in 2000, or in various places in 2004. White reality is privileged at every turn, so that if whites say something is a problem, it is, and if whites insist it isn't, then it isn't.

Those of us who are white remain thought of as sober-minded, and never as given to underestimating the extent of racism, making a molehill out of what is, in fact, often a mountain, or playing our own race card, the denial card, which far and away trumps whatever pallid alternative people of color may occasionally find in their own decks.

In other words, privilege is not merely about money and wealth. It is not merely something that attaches when one is born with the proverbial silver spoon in one's mouth. Rather it is the daily psychological advantage of knowing that one's perceptions of the world are the ones that stick, that define the norm for everyone else, and that are taken seriously in the mainstream.

"The Great New Orleans Land Grab"by Ernesto CienfuegosCopyright (c) by "La Voz de Aztlan" 2005
The fact that Vice President Dick Cheney is heavily involved in the FEMA operations from behind the scenes is very troublesome. Cheney and his cronies at Halliburton are in line for the lucrative contracts to "reconstruct New Orleans." Deals are already being made with a Las Vegas business group to construct multi-million dollar casinos in the Big Easy on prime real estate that was owned by Black families. Whites throughout history have been notorious "land grabbers." In the USA they first confiscated land that belonged to American Indians. Most of the Indians ended up in worthless tracts of land called "reservations." The largest "land grab," however, was the theft of Aztlan. This occurred soon after the Mexican-American War. In Alta California, vast "Ranchos" were stolen from the Californios through a variety of scams. A favorite ploy was to impose extremely heavy land taxes on the Mexicans and then foreclose on the properties. The land was then given or sold at very low prices to the Forty Niners who came in large hordes to Alta California during the so called "Gold Rush" of 1849.