http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/ en Copyright 2008 Fri, 04 Apr 2008 13:21:44 -0600 http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/ http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss New Orleans is a city that has a massive gap between poor and privileged and yet the two communities live practically on each others' laps – far too close to resist being completely appalled by the heavy contrast that exists among it. Still, what is being done? Throughout the week we have been volunteering in some of the most devastated areas of the city, from the Lower 9th Ward where the levee broke to St. Bernard Parish, to suburban parks and nature centers where we have witnessed the horrific and seemingly endless results of Katrina. On our drive to these work sites, however, little neighborhoods full of huge, gorgeous southern houses loom over the demolished, rotten, boarded-up, and abandoned houses and buildings waiting for someone or something to put the pieces together again. We have labored all week over rebuilding darling Ms. Bessie’s house in the Lower 9th Ward (two blocks from the river where the levees broke), and though it seems immediately rewarding through her endless gratitude for every nail we hammer into her home, I just look around the neighborhood, down the street, and next door, to see that there is still so much work to be done. The devastation is truly overwhelming, and it’s going to take a lot more than 60 college students to help this city recover, accompanied by a generous timetable. In spite of this incredible amount of damage and homelessness that New Orleans and the surrounding areas have experienced, visiting Bourbon Street and the French Quarter last night brought a new light to the city for me. Eighty degrees, a slight breeze, all of my new and remarkable friends by my side, I wandered through the narrow streets of the renowned French Quarter, filled with live music, bars, gumbo shops, restaurants, and this little patio courtyard where we all enjoyed some Cajun food, bignets, and a fantastic jazz trio, complete with the delicate French wrought iron tables and chairs and dancing couples spread about. This is New Orleans. This is how these relentless, motivated, strong-willed people survive. This is how they make it. The culture is so strong, so genuine, so deep – why would anybody want to leave? This is New Orleans; the city that will never leave my heart. -- Callie Humphrey http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/04/this_is_new_orleans.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/04/this_is_new_orleans.php Fri, 04 Apr 2008 13:21:44 -0600 All week long I worked at a camp with second graders who have lived through more in their seven years of life than most expereience in a lifetime. One little girl told me she has no toys. Another was scared to tears of getting wet in a water balloon fight since she had so few changes of clothes. I never heard any of their stories, where they lived, if they evacuated or stayed, any of that. I could never ask them to relive the pain they experienced. Adults are desperate to share theirs stories and just talk about it; kids only want to play. Janelle Foszcz http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/04/kids_only_want_to_play.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/04/kids_only_want_to_play.php Fri, 04 Apr 2008 09:17:30 -0600 When thinking about my time in New Orleans my mind is flooded with countless questions and comments. With emotions running high and sleep being of a low priority one can understand how a volunteer may fight battle after battle in their heads, a result of trying to process too much information at once. It seems a natural reaction when one is subjected to the first-hand experience of one of the most painful and embarrassing moments in United States history. The national media didn't talk to the locals for hours, asking hard questions, giving them the respect that they deserve by letting them tell their personal stories of pain and heartbreak. We did. This country's democracy didn't lend one damn hand to the residents of the 9th Ward or brighten the day of the neglected, yet extraordinary children that we met and who have learned to process death and destruction at such an early age. After finding family members dead inside their houses, waiting months for settlement money that just didn't come, and watching their property being seized before their eyes, it would seem that New Orleans would have a grim outlook on life and their fellow human beings. This is the most amazing part because it is not like this at all. These people have become the unknown role models for the common citizen, leaders for the struggling classes. How do these people get up every morning physically and mentally drained with nothing to their names and a brand-new obstacle to face? The answer is in one beautiful word: hope. Hope that the residents' actions will one day be rewarded. Hope that our country will open up its eyes to our clouded thinking and finally see the big picture. Hope that people will soon have their own bed to sleep in. Hope that more volunteers will do what the government refuses to do. Hope that repeated exposure to toxic chemicals, mold, and formaldehyde from FEMA trailers won't result in sickness or death for these people. Hope that the local businesses will return someday and flourish. Hope that a form of stability will be established. Hope that nobody ever has to go through this again. -- Neale Baldyga http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/04/one_beautiful_word.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/04/one_beautiful_word.php Thu, 03 Apr 2008 10:09:19 -0600 In a dysfunctional place that often calls itself "the city that care forgot," I was honored to travel with the Columbia College documentary crew to chronicle how 58 students and faculty helped rebuild the chaos in the Lower 9th Ward, New Orleans East, and St. Bernard Parish. The crew consisted of my former students: Zack Rockwood, Nora Clark, and Mark Perkins as well as Jesse McAlpin, who was not a former student, but whose uncle Mike McAlpin and I worked on a couple PBS documentaries. Our job was simple: record the narratives of citizens grappling with the chaos while our students helped rebuild their hurricane-damaged homes. The story centered on the power of volunteerism here on the front-line of a traumatized community. There are some who think either all is well in New Orleans or that the Crescent City, which is shaped like a bowl and might very well fill up once again with the next hurricane, shouldn't be bothered with. Preachers, like Rev. Charles DuPlessis of Mt. Nebo Bible Baptist Church, discussed the "moral imperative" that residents here are "Americans, not refugees, and should be treated as such since natural disasters can and do occur in every part of this country." Historians like Baba Luther Gray pointing out this was America's first multi-cultural city long before New York City. "It's the place where jazz was conceived and where American dance was born," Gray said. We shot photos of the hallowed ground called Congo Square (now Armstrong Park) where African slaves were trotted out two centuries ago at the spiritual place of the Houmas Indians and made to dance in order to be more effectively marketed as healthy workers. Across the street is the Storyville section of the French Quarter where jazz was officially born, named after the jasmine scent often used in bordellos where America's only original art form was played. Nora, a professional tap dancer, performed at this sacred site. That same night, she danced with spoken word artist, Asia, at Sweet Lorraine's in what HBO Def Poet Shakespear called "a New Orleans first combining poetry and tap." We captured all of those images and more. For me, it was especially meaningful to revisit with my teen son, Amman, our relative's home at 1704 Deslonde, and discover it was now the headquarters of Common Ground, a Black-led recovery non-profit. Meanwhile, down the street, residents, like Bessie Montgomery of 1405 Deslonde, assessed us this way: "Columbia College Chicago made a difference." -- Stan West http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/04/cruisin_with_the_doc_crew.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/04/cruisin_with_the_doc_crew.php Wed, 02 Apr 2008 13:06:17 -0600 As I sit and reflect on the past week, I am trying to replay all of the words, actions, and emotions that being in New Orleans with such an amazing group of people manifested. I just got off the phone with my mom, calling to see how the week went and if we made it home safely, and all she could say is that I sounded different. Although I tried to answer all of her questions about the trip to my best ability at the time, I still got the “Nicole, you’re sounding evasive” comment, and she proceeded to ask if I was sick, or in love. And although my body may be sick and my heart full of love, I guess this just goes to show how hard it is to just translate back into real life and to articulate into simple phrases how your week of unexplainable experiences affected you right away. Upon arriving in New Orleans for the second spring break in a row, I thought to myself “Why am I here and what exactly has changed since the last time I was here?” The answer to that question was gradually answered over the course of the week, but what I knew upon entering the journey is that something inside of me had been changed from last years trip, and that I was here again because I was driven by that experience to want to use my time away from school and work to better the life of another in some way, even if only one person was touched by my being there to help … it was somehow worth it. Throughout the week, I worked on two different construction sites of homes that were destroyed, two different wildlife preserves that had been affected by the storm, and an elementary school full of children who lives were affected and are still being affected by the Hurricane Katrina. In all of these activities, I realized the one thing that had not changed since the last time I had been down here was the undying gratefulness and appreciation that the citizens of New Orleans express to the volunteers who are here to help them. I had an innumerable amount of thank yous and hugs, and had lunch bought and made for me and the other volunteers. These people extend so much love and gratitude that it is hard not to form an emotional bond toward them and the work you are doing for them. It’s not hard to see how much these people have been through either, just look into their eyes when they speak about the experience of the storm that they lived. Their eyes have seen things that human beings should never have to see ... and it shows. They have seen their precious homes, their belongings, their memories, and all of their history destroyed in deep pools of toxic floodwater. They have seen dead bodies of family members, friends, neighbors, and pets floating in the ruins of their own town. They have seen the injustice of our own government first hand and are still living the consequences of it today. Peering into the eyes of these people and seeing all of this, while all I can hear is them pouring out their gratitude to us is honestly mind-boggling. I can’t understand how they still have so much love, and thanks, and hope to give. Maybe once I wrap my mind around this idea I can start being less evasive, and more expressive about my week. Until then I am speechless and humbled by the experience of these people, and their actions, and their stories. Each year I return from New Orleans, I return with a new perspective of the world and a better appreciation for preciousness of life itself. -Nicole Salvo http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/evasive_answers.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/evasive_answers.php Mon, 31 Mar 2008 11:22:48 -0600 My favorite experience on our service trip thus far happened on Tuesday. A local man volunteered to take our group for a historic tour of New Orleans. He has lived here all of his life so he was very knowledgeable about the area. John lost a lot in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and during the day he helps neighbors rebuild their houses and at night he volunteers at Camp Hope. He told us about seven of his friends who committed suicide after Katrina – one, in his words, from a “broken heart”. John took us to a local cemetery where graves had been broken open by the flood, the bodies no longer in their coffins, and the site completely unrestored. These are the things that you will not see or hear about going downtown to Bourbon Street. We have been driving to sites in neighborhoods that have the number of people, who were found inside, spray-painted on the front door. We’ve seen houses that have not even been checked yet. We’ve seen whole kitchens in front lawns and schools completely destroyed by water and fire damage. One day, one our chaperones turned to us and asked, “Does this look like the most powerful country in the world to you?” Certainly, it doesn’t. Carly Beltramo http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/the_richest_most_powerful_coun.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/the_richest_most_powerful_coun.php Sat, 29 Mar 2008 11:06:11 -0600 For months I listened as members of ReachOut speak of the life-changing experiences they had on their two previous trips to help rebuild New Orleans. Even though I had been given these months of warning, I was in no way prepared for what I am facing here in the city. Driving through the streets, everything appears as a ghost town. Businesses are boarded up, windows are broken, signs are arched over, and there are few other vehicles or people around. I was able to work in the lower 9th Ward painting a home for my first day and was left speechless by everything I saw. There was a large home that still had not been gutted after these nearly three years! Walking into their kitchen I was taken aback. There were glasses upside down on a towel next to the sink, a jar of peanut butter opened with a butter knife inside and an iron left still on an ironing board. Aside from these familiar sights, the remainder of the kitchen and house was filled with clutter and debris. The floodwaters in this particular home were fifteen feet high and the water damage was quite evident. I was appalled to see the state of this home after so much time has gone by. Unfortunately I found that most homes looked this way as I continued to tour the neighborhood. Each day here I have learned so much. I have talked to many locals and became very involved in their personal stories. I’ve been able to grow so much as a person and appreciate the little things in my own life so much more. Shanna Vincent http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/remnants_of_a_community_that_o.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/remnants_of_a_community_that_o.php Sat, 29 Mar 2008 05:07:09 -0600 A poem. . . . as first rays of sun hit land. Turning onto the main street. Green, yellow, and purple houses on the left. Mississippi River on the right. Beauty experienced for the first time, though it was always there. A dream realized. I saw driveways and stairs with no houses. Swallowed by the marsh and bayou they may never be seen again but their shadow will always remain. I saw houses that were in pristine condition but next door, a family's home was frozen in mid collapse. I saw a neighborhood strangled by commercialism but culturally fighting back. I saw a car, buried beneath a house that was relocated 20 yards from where it stood for so many decades. The address sign “1728” remained in place with the front steps. Clothes were still hanging in what used to be the walk-in closet. I saw a pool behind an abandoned home. Water collected from the storm came alive. Surrounded by concrete, an ecosystem emerged. Mountains of algae, swarms of tadpoles, and a sign in the bottom that read, "For quarter life loans dial 510 etc. etc. etc." I saw nature find a way. I saw a system that failed but I saw failure jump start the system. I saw gentrification in reverse. Major businesses were ejected by force and neighborhood stores now have a fighting chance. I saw balance. I saw every corner of the city while transporting eager volunteers. Good to bad, wrecked or new, one block to the next, I love the spirit of this city now more than ever before. I saw what I thought was a clown starved for attention but really he was a man that gave a kindergartener the attention he needed to change his life forever. I saw a student, far from home, determined to play guitar at a small coffee shop. He imported much more than supplies, hope, and a strong set of arms - he gave them a good night. The owner said we paid their rent for the month. I saw a local man talk about people he grew up with that took their lives after the devastation. Telling their story keeps them alive. He didn't shed a tear. He just told their story. I saw a graveyard graveyard. I saw people who love their town and have found a way not to give up. The love for this city, their home, can never be quantified. The spirit of this place can never be tarnished. I saw a group of people from all walks of life, put their lives on hold, to make at least one persons day. The days they made can never be measured. Only they know what each moment meant to them. Words, photos, and text can only scratch the surface. You have to be there. I saw hope. Nothing will ever be the same, but nothing will ever be the same. by Dimitri William Moore Inspired by Reach Out ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/i_saw_the_french_quarter.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/i_saw_the_french_quarter.php Fri, 28 Mar 2008 11:41:23 -0600 Today I was able to work with a dedicated group clearing out Joe W. Brown Memorial Park – a nature preserve – of a bush that has sprouted and interfered with the reproduction of other growing species. We were informed by one of the workers that this harmful plant was not found in the preserve until after Katrina. The devastation is incalculable, and though the power of nature makes me fearful, today’s job helped me to appreciate the beauty around me. Terence Reynolds http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/humbled_before_nature.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/humbled_before_nature.php Thu, 27 Mar 2008 16:51:49 -0600 There is an old and creepy building in front of our camp that is rumored to have been used as a morgue in the aftermath of the Katrina. Last night I took a snapshot of this building, trying to capture the beautiful eeriness that it holds over our camp. Oddly enough, the picture turned out to be speckled with hundreds of mysterious circular light shapes. White, green, red—a galaxy of tiny globes. I took many other pictures of the building, and this small phenomenon recurred in all of them. The natives maintain that the building is haunted. Today we found what resembles a face in one of the circular light shapes. Alex Small http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/a_haunted_house.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/a_haunted_house.php Thu, 27 Mar 2008 15:51:05 -0600 Gizzard, sausage, baby crab, shrimp, and all the spice New Orleans has to offer. These are the ingredients of Norma White's gumbo. We spent the day painting the gutters and trim under the roof of Ms. White’s house, and were graciously rewarded with this regional treat. Driving around the Lower 9th Ward, where Ms. White lives, empty lots are marked with cinder blocks and shattered glass, remnants of the houses that once existed here. In front of most construction sites are FEMA trailers; and lining the streets are piles of garbage. I have felt numb to it all. We emptied Ms. White's birdbath today and filled it with clean water for the first time since Katrina, dumping out a toxic-smelling combination of mud, sewage, oil, and water. What will this scene be like a year from now? Annie Slezickey http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/will_paint_for_gumbo.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/will_paint_for_gumbo.php Thu, 27 Mar 2008 10:49:59 -0600 Camp Hope is nicer than I expected. Installed in a school that has been inactive since Katrina, it's organized but a bit stuffy. I imagine if I had ever gone away to overnight camp that it would be like this. Each gender segregated room has a rug next to the entrance, proudly displaying mud covered work boots , a foreshadow of what some of the ReachOut volunteers' coming days might be like. We arrived at Camp Hope shortly after 6 p.m., we were then quickly handed volunteer tags, and sent off to dinner. My Easter dinner included baked macaroni, ham, and vegetables-- pretty good for free food if you ask me. After dinner, we watched some documentaries about the devastation and then headed to the orientation room for a briefing of our jobs for the first day's work. It looks like I'll be working with the kids (or little adults as I sometimes refer to them). I'm excited to see what they'll be like since they've been through so much at such a young age. I admire the way kids genuinely take each day as it comes, simplifying everything adults tend to complicate. In this respect, I admire their resilience in the wake of such a traumatic situation. Before coming to New Orleans (or Nola as they call it), I saw documentaries, did some research, and talked to older ReachOut members about their time spent here. Yet no matter how much research I did, there's nothing like first-hand experience. Tatiana Granados ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/restoration.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/restoration.php Tue, 25 Mar 2008 12:06:41 -0600 The warm south feels like an entirely different world when compared to the undying blizzard that I call home. Green grass, patches of purple flowers, and blue skies are a welcome sight to my sore Chicago eyes. The sight of spring and the sun's warmth heightens my anticipation of rolling into New Orleans after two days on the road. We travel alongside Lake Pontchatrain - difficult to spell as it is to pronounce, but beautiful nonetheless. The city of New Orleans peeks over the horizon, and I lean forward in my chair, full of energy. I whimsically anticipate improvement: a city changed and renewed since my last time here in spring of 2006. How can there be anything but some touch up work since two years ago? We weave in and out of the streets and neighborhoods of this once-thriving city, and all at once the sights and sounds of my previous trip return. Vacant restaurants, shattered stores, and gutted houses. Rubble, trash, watermarks. The constant buzz of saws, whistling wind, echoes of hammers hitting nails. New Orleans remains a devastated city. Despite my wishful thinking, there is still an overwhelming amount of work left to be done. Since my first ReachOut meeting, the group has reiterated that New Orleans still needs help, so that's why I came back. Our upcoming week of relief work will be a small drop in the ocean, but every drop is vital to the life of New Orleans. This city now thrives on hope, making it all the more wonderful in spite of its ruin. Caleb Hepler]]> http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/revisiting_new_orleans.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/revisiting_new_orleans.php Tue, 25 Mar 2008 07:05:25 -0600 We arrived today in New Orleans. I rode in the minivan and was able to observe some of Katrina's damage. As we drove past the 9th ward, houses were gutted, abandoned; businesses boarded up and left out of operation; and entire neighborhoods resembled a ghost town. Two and a half years have passed since Katrina and many areas have been left untouched. Corporate empires have left some of their franchises because so many residents have been displaced and reopening would not produce profit. I'm amazed how much damage there was and is, how much work and recovery still needs to be done and how much little attention the whole situation receives. I do not watch much television, but every so often I check out the local news and I don't think I've heard more than two comments on the 'progress' of handling the situation. I started to think about all the non-sense reality shows, celebrity obsessions, and sports fanaticism that is ubiquitous among American culture. I started thinking about the constant presentation about Clinton versus Obama and their rhetorical speeches to grab the nation. People know things need to change in the country. But to elect another president will not solve the many problems in the country. To live in a democracy means to be active in many realms. Democracy isn't only about voting. Voting provides an extremely minute effect. Real change happens in devotion of your time and a change of your lifestyle. What about the city of New Orleans and the lost and altered lives of the residents? Why don't more people know that stuff is still messed up? Why aren't there public announcements everyday about the need for volunteers? I think about the concept of memory and forgetting---what the general public absorbs and how people go about their daily lives. Cultural amnesia appears to increase as attention spans minimize and concerns gain a fluidity to move focuses from one pleasure to another. We live in a redundant smoke and mirrors reality, which promotes poverty, racism, and oppression, stalls efforts to live as a collective and hides truth. Fed the dominant ideology that promises progress and advancement for human beings, we are blinded by the increased discrimination, poverty, and unjust in the world. Human beings are social beings. We need each other. We don't need more 'stuff', more entertainment or more pleasures. Response on a local and national level was delayed severely for New Orleans. The politics of Hurricane Katrina break my heart, cause frustration, and anger me. After our orientation tonight, a local resident named Joyce, an elderly white haired rosy-cheeked woman, started to tell me about her home being engulfed with eleven feet of water. Ten months after the storm three feet of water remained. She told me about a man named Peter who volunteered later that year to clean up the debris and gut her house. A year later Peter came back and remembered her house and story. Her joy and appreciation for Peter is in endearing to a new volunteer. Phil Bratta http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/a_new_volunteer_is_inspired.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/a_new_volunteer_is_inspired.php Mon, 24 Mar 2008 22:56:20 -0600 I signed up for this trip last week, and now, here I am, sitting on the second floor of an inactive school building that's been transformed into Camp Hope, the temporary residence of hundreds of volunteer workers from around the country. Okay, so I started fundraising at football games for ReachOut's “Alternative Spring Break” back in September, but it feels more like it's been a week since I first met everyone. Yesterday, I woke up at an hellishly early hour and began my Spring Break by marching through a minor ice storm to get to the bus. Apparently Chicago hasn't realized that it's mid-March already. Day One—Chicago to Memphis—passed by in what seemed like minutes. This is partly because I spent much of the ride completely passed out, but also because I genuinely had a good time. I was never bored; the people who were sitting in my little corner of the bus were (and still are) enormously entertaining. They may not feel the same about me, but I already consider them to be my friends. This morning was Easter Sunday, and my fellow ReachOuters and I celebrated this particular holiday by going to IHOP. While we were there, we met a lady who had spent a few months doing volunteer work here in New Orleans. She was more than happy to tell her story, and in this volunteer's humble opinion, that's when this whole thing became real to me. That's when I realized that I am on my way to a real city that got hit by a real hurricane and is in real need of help. We got to our first rest stop where the weather was warm enough to go outside in T-shirts. After the winter we just had in Chicago, I have never been more excited by the simplicity of warm weather. And you could tell that everyone else felt the same way; we all had these big goofy grins on our faces. It was nice. Not much else to report on. We arrived at Camp Hope on time, we unpacked, we ate, we had orientation, we got our assignments for the week, and now it's time for bed. Let the week begin. Aaron Guzzo http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/memoirs_of_a_guzzo_days_one_an.php http://cms.colum.edu/reach_out/2008/03/memoirs_of_a_guzzo_days_one_an.php Mon, 24 Mar 2008 14:59:25 -0600