Today marks the 20th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, a storm that forever changed New Orleans. To commemorate its passing, I have been talking with other survivors, watching documentaries, and reading books. In one, Michael Eric Dyson vividly compared the natural disaster to the fate of Pompeii. This ancient Roman city became covered in volcanic ash within hours of an eruption, trapping the residents, their homes, and businesses. "The way it was for the poor of Pompeii is the way it was for the poor citizens of New Orleans," he wrote." They were ensconced in a city rich with culture, and yet they couldn’t take full advantage of its incredible delights. They served a ruling class and visiting tourists, but they were kept from the pleasures they helped to provide. And when the city fell to the fury of nature, they were most vulnerable to the environment's brutal backlash," he wrote in the preface.
The city of New Orleans flooded after the levee system failed, spreading muddy water throughout eighty percent of the area. Many of the city's Black, impoverished residents, who lacked the means to evacuate, bore the heaviest burden of this disaster. More than half of the 1,400 people who lost their lives in the tragedy were Black. Conditions forced residents in neighborhoods like the 9th Ward to seek refuge in their attics and on rooftops. Sadly, many could not escape the swiftly rising waters and drowned. What started as a natural disaster — a Category 3 storm — became one of the most severe humanitarian crises in American history, worsened by failures at the local, state, and federal authorities. Some may question what race has to do with all this and why Black people are overly represented among the victims.
As the saying goes, "When White America gets a cold, Black America catches pneumonia." Whatever calamity we collectively face, Black people endure a more extreme condition. Racism acts as a pre-existing condition in this country. That explains why so many Black people were left with no alternative but to climb on top of their roofs, waving or pointing at makeshift signs, pleading for help, by a nation that seemed more prepared to criminalize them than render aid. In the year before the storm, the poverty rate for the black population in the city was 35%, the highest of any major city at the time, according to the 2000 U.S. Census Bureau report. In the Sociological Methods and Research, researchers confirmed, "almost all of the extreme poverty neighborhoods in New Orleans were predominantly black by the time of Hurricane Katrina (Sastry, 2009). As a result of racial redlining and other prejudicial policies, Black residents were the most vulnerable, the group most likely to be left behind.
Over the years, many outsiders have openly speculated about why so many New Orleans residents stayed home despite warnings from local authorities. While some of this is rooted in genuine curiosity, others blame the victims of this storm. Several factors contributed to their decision to stay. For starters, 59% of Black households did not have access to a vehicle. As a result, evacuation was challenging, especially for those living below the poverty line. There was also a gas shortage in the area, as many filled their tanks and fled for higher ground. Many hotels along the Gulf Coast had "no vacancies," making it difficult for New Orleans evacuees to make travel arrangements.
A qualitative research study investigating African American residents' decision not to evacuate before Hurricane Katrina revealed their motivations. Some reported feeling optimistic that they could ride out the storm, as they had in the past, while others felt convinced by religious faith that they would be protected from harm, or at least spared. For context, Hurricane Betsy, a Category 4 storm in 1965, and Hurricane Camille, in 1969, devastated the city of New Orleans, resulting in severe flooding, extensive property damage, and numerous casualties. One of my mother's earliest memories is her father carrying her through the floodwaters. But, since it had been decades since a major storm affected the region, many residents had grown accustomed to low-level storms. And short on funds, many hesitated to pack up their things and leave. Indeed, many had nowhere to go. Some doubted the reports about the possibility of a severe storm on the horizon. Inconsistent instructions from public officials added to the confusion and disarray.
In the storm's aftermath, many people waded through floodwaters, seeking essential resources such as food, water, and clothing. However, the language used to describe survivors exposed the racism of the nation. In one widely circulated photo, a caption describes a Black man as "looting," and a White couple engaged in the same behavior as "finding food." This disparity illustrates how prejudice persisted in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina; the vulnerable state of Black residents inflamed it. Indeed, referring to Black survivors as "refugees" and exaggerating stories of violence and lawlessness in media reports diminished the empathy for those affected. However, the truth was that New Orleans families whose homes flooded or had their roofs blown off lost all the food and other provisions stored in their homes.
If the levee system had held, the decision to stay would not have led to mass casualties, property damage, and public upheaval. However, as fate would have it, a major levee breach occurred in the early morning of August 29, 2005, after the storm made landfall, setting the tragedy into motion. Despite enduring rising floodwaters, limited resources such as food, water, and shelter, Black people and other residents who survived bound together the best they could, offering what little they could to one another. It's worth noting that many citizens came to one another's aid, filling in the gaps left by government officials. It was a clear-cut example of how communities can bind together in times of turmoil. But, as painfully customary in American society, racism was never far off. Like a stalker lurking behind some well-placed shrubs, it's determined to disturb the peace of Black people. Many assume that facing a shared struggle is enough to break through racist or prejudicial attitudes. However, Hurricane Katrina dispels that well-intentioned mythology. Many treated Black people as perpetual outsiders.
In my neighborhood of Algiers, for instance, a group of White residents created a barrier to keep out people who look like me and my family members. Despite living in a predominantly Black city, Ronald J. Bourgeois, Jr., a 55-year-old White man, along with other "white male residents of the Algiers Point neighborhood, agreed that they would use force to keep out African Americans from their neighborhood." He warned a neighbor, "Anything coming up the street darker than a brown paper bag is getting shot," after firing at three African American men who crossed their barricade, trying to "reach the ferry landing, which state and federal agencies were using as an evacuation point." In 2018, Bourgeois pleaded guilty to this hate crime for shooting Black residents attempting to evacuate the city. One Black man, Donnell Herrington, sustained the worst injuries, with shotgun pellets piercing through "his throat, his torso, and arms," injuries that shredded his jugular vein. While medical professionals at West Jefferson Hospital managed to save his life, police did not initially file a report or request further information about his injuries. Officers did not file charges against Herrington until 2010, years after the injustice occurred.
Racial injustices were rampant in the aftermath. For instance, on September 4, New Orleans police officers shot and killed 17-year-old James Brissette and 40-year-old Ronald Madison, unarmed Black citizens crossing the Danziger Bridge, and seriously injured four others. Madison, a mentally disabled man, died after an officer shot him in the back of the head. They were attempting to reach another part of the city, in the hope of getting resources. A Department of Justice report on the incident noted five New Orleans police officers were sentenced on civil rights violations and obstruction of justice for their role in the shooting. Although officers within the department initially helped cover up these actions, witnesses came forward, including Kasimir Gatson, who provided a description that illustrated the brutal scene of that day. Officers lined up "like at a firing range," they observed. While the language used by journalists often suggested that Black Katrina survivors were the ones breaking the law and endangering others, White vigilantes and police officers added a layer of danger.
In reflecting upon this tragedy, one thing is crystal clear — Black residents, due to generations of racially discriminatory policies, were predisposed to endure greater hardship. Their decision on whether to evacuate was contingent upon their ability to leave, access to funding and transportation, and their trust in public officials' assessment of potential danger. Levees designed to protect communities from severe flooding proved insufficient to withstand a direct hit from a major storm. And pumping stations designed in the 19th century to remove water from the city in the event of severe flooding did not work quickly enough to rise to the challenge at hand.
In short, it was more than a natural disaster that led to the loss of human life and between $81 — $125 in property damage; it was also an intergenerational effect of racialized neglect and poverty that was to blame. It's not a coincidence that Black people endured so many difficulties following Hurricane Katrina. A community's resilience in the face of tragedy is painstakingly tied to its prior condition. So, while wealthy residents could easily evacuate, pay to stay for extended periods in extended-stay hotels, return, and rebuild, the recovery process moved at a snail's pace for many poor and Black residents. Indeed, one-third of Black residents never came home. Many of us have to drive to see relatives and friends who once lived just a few streets away. Estimates suggest that at least two million people were displaced following Katrina from Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana.
When shopping for a potential home to buy in New Orleans, I came across a few properties that have been vacant since Hurricane Katrina. To see one house in the 8th Ward, we met a White real estate agent who expressed fears about New Orleans East and led us into the one-story home. When we walked past the threshold of the property, you could see the water line above our heads. It was a chilling reminder that, while many claim the city has fully recovered from the tragedy, there are still pockets of the city that remain deserted. As someone who currently lives three blocks away from a school damaged during the storm, which never reopened, I know this all too well. New Orleans will never be the same after such a catastrophe. Indeed, no city would be. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. Indeed, more can be done to support low-income communities.
For those old enough to remember the storm, time is divided between "before" and "after" Katrina. The lives lost, the people who moved away and never returned, the buildings destroyed, the photos and heirlooms lost, took away from the city something we could never get back. Indeed, many of our families are scattered along the Gulf Coast, like stars in a constellation in the night sky. As a result, many of our holiday travels now mirror the Katrina evacuation route from twenty years ago. The impoverished state of many Black residents deprived many of the opportunity to evacuate, the support to return home, and rebuild. One in three Black residents did not return after Hurricane Katrina devastated the area. Racial disparities in the region have widened for those who stayed or returned.
A report last year found that White households hold approximately 13 times more wealth than Black households in the metro area, greater than the national average. So, while many will claim, for the sake of posterity, that the region has recovered, this is not true when we consider the economic impact on Black New Orleans residents. There is enough blame to go around. The racist policies that for generations condemned so many to poverty, the local officials, like Mayor Ray Nagin, who took too long to make the mandatory evacuation call, and the state officials, like Governor Kathleen Blanco, told state troops to "shoot to kill," emphasizing stopping so-called crime, rather than protecting residents. Federal authorities, such as President George Bush, who flew over the Superdome without speaking to the survivors, or his FEMA director, Michael Brown, not knowing there were thousands more residents without food and water at the Convention Center, and all the errors in judgment made along the way.
Reflecting on Hurricane Katrina, I hope that many people realize that for some of us, the recovery is an ongoing journey, one that may never truly be completed. And while twenty years may seem like a long time, it feels like just yesterday we were all intently watching the city's favorite meteorologist at the time, Bob Breck, on WVUE-DT, hoping the storm wouldn't head in our direction, hoping to be spared from the tragedies of such a life-altering storm. The experience of Hurricane Katrina forever changed our city. But it also exposed the racism of a nation that was slow to aid some of its citizens, because many were poor and Black.
This post originally appeared on Medium and is edited and republished with author's permission. Read more of Allison Gaines' work on Medium.