The Sound of a Clown Who Cried in the Alley.

Politics is important. The downward cycles of morality, of truth, of integrity, of true patriotism, and of true freedom spiralled fatally out of control this week and descended on the hurricane-ravaged Gulf Coast. Lack of preparedness, negligent planning, insufficient troop strength, communication breakdowns, inability to keep order -- this same dirty laundry we've all heard listed ad nauseum since March of 2003 has finally erupted violently out of our hamper here at home.

What is perhaps most interesting to me intellectually about this disaster is the quickness with which Americans--anonymous individuals, celebrities, journalists, politicians--have begun to criticize our government's response to this disaster. I remember writing, in September of 2001, the following byline for a column I titled "Another Side of a Devastating Coin":

by J_____ B_________ ’04 who has only now begun to be able to go beyond pure feeling and to intellectualize about this tragedy.
I wrote that on 9.19.01. And it wasn't a criticism of the government. It was a column mourning the global community I feared would lose several significant ties in the months to follow. The spirits of patriotism and unity overwhelmed criticism in the weeks immediately following 9/11. But in the wake of Katrina, Americans were beginning to place blame while the winds could still be felt. And no doubt something more could have been done. No doubt too much money was diverted away from the Army Corps of Engineers to support wars and tax cuts. No doubt there was a now-starkly-apparent underlying racism (and classism) that allowed those too poor to evacuate to be forgotten or ignored. No doubt our government failed us this last week.

And eventually we will have to address these monumental government failures. That time is now for some among us. Campaigns to effect changes in the bigger picture are ultimately perhaps even more important than monetary, in-kind, or volunteer contributions to the relief efforts.

But for most of us, the immediate picture won't get much bigger than New Orleans, Biloxi, Gulfport, and now Houston and other cities that have accepted evacuees. And so, for now, we must do what we can.

In 1971 Peter Singer--now Ira W. DeCamp Professor of Bioethics at the University Center for Human Values of Princeton University--wrote an essay, entitled "Famine, Affluence, and Morality" (widely available on the web), in which he set forth the following argument:

"[I]f it is in our power to prevent something very bad from happening, without thereby sacrificing anything morally significant, we ought, morally, to do it. An application of this principle would be as follows: if I am walking past a shallow pond and see a child drowning in it, I ought to wade in and pull the child out. This will mean getting my clothes muddy, but this is insignificant, while the death of the child would presumably be a very bad thing."

It's time we all got our clothes muddy.

If you've read a newspaper, watched cable news, or checked google news in the last six days, you've heard the stories. Young girls raped in the Superdome. Corpses floating down Canal Street. An elderly woman in a wheelchair, draped with a sheet, in the sun, dead. A child screaming until he vomited as he was forced to leave behind his cherished dog. Two New Orleans police officers taking their own lives.

You've seen the airlift rescues and the helicopters dropping bottled water into flooded streets for those now homeless to collect. You've seen local officials breaking down during press conferences. And federal officials, as stoic as possible, providing what information they have.

You've also seen cities and states, schools and universities, individuals and corporations and foreign nations opening their doors and wallets. You've heard people placing blame and people pleading for assistance. You've heard the estimated death toll gradually rise into the thousands.

All manner of people and organizations have offered aid. In a matter of hours a few days ago, I received three emails: one from the iTunes Music Store requesting donations to the Red Cross; one from the Dave Matthews Band about a benefit concert in Colorado; and one from the people at MoveOn.org about the grassroots temporary housing program they're facilitating.

It's time we all got our clothes muddy.

One in five evacuees left their homes without shoes on their feet. People now housed in the Houston Astrodome are wearing pajamas and hospital gowns because they have no clean clothes. Children who have been promised placement in Texas schools will quickly deplete the supplies of those districts. Diabetics are without insulin; asthmatics are without inhalers. Employees are without jobs. Students are without teachers. Parishes are without priests. Children are without parents. And they are all without their homes.

These people need everything.

It's time we all got our clothes muddy.


And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin',
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',
Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin',
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
-Bob Dylan