the [alternate] patriot


 

Friday, September 02, 2005

Nero fiddles

 
Good morning America how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
--"City of New Orleans" by Steve Goodman

That's one of the many reasons we can't just say New Orleans, we have to sort of hum it. House of the Rising Sun, Battle of New Orleans and others.
The city is a national treasure, and our president is to some extent responsible for laying waste to it, like so many other national treasures.

I just knew what Bush would say about disaster relief for the City of New Orleans, "It's hard work" - that's his mantra, the one line he has learned to say. It's the line he uses to ward off criticism, blame or responsibility. "It will take a lot of time, it's very hard work."

An op ed piece in today's Hartford Courant on the situation in New Orleans by the former NY Times editor with the curiously apt name, Howell Raines, eloguently states why the loss of this city is a disaster of national significance.

Everybody now knows about the inundation of the famous "bowl" formed by New Orleans' levees. What may need a little reviewing is why the city has been for generations a golden bowl of memories, both sacred and profane.

In Colonial times, it was the one American city where Afro-Caribbean and Creole culture enjoyed at least a measure of tolerance under a succession of masters - Spanish, French, English and American. In 1815, it was the site of the United States' most complete victory over the redcoats. Even the handful of Americans who died at the Battle of New Orleans did so in Mardi Gras style, dancing in front of the barricades.

For millions of Americans who grew up in strait-laced towns, the Big Easy has always been the place to dance - the one Southern place where the Bible Belt came unbuckled.

A hundred years ago, the Storyville section was America's best place for the world's oldest profession and the birthplace of America's best contribution to world music, jazz. Like other young people in the preacher-haunted South, I bought my first legal drink in the French Quarter. And in that world of cobbled streets and hidden gardens, some of us glimpsed the glory and costs of pursuing art or individualism.

This was the place where Thomas Williams of St. Louis became "Tennessee" and where that much-ridiculed postal clerk from Oxford, Miss., made himself into William Faulkner, novelist

-Howell Raines, Courant Sept. 2, 2005
I didn't have the details Raines has provided, but his description captures exactly why most of America considers this city a national treasure. I've never even been there, and now may never get to see it, but I carry that city in my heart.

Today's papers are full of criticism of the federal government in general and Pres. Bush in particular. Bush stands alone among political leaders in this country in seeming to have utterly no heart for his people.

Raines writes:
Louisiana's anguished governor, Kathleen Babineaux Blanco, climbed into a helicopter at the first possible moment to survey what may become the worst weather-related disaster in American history. Even Gov. Haley R. Barbour of Mississippi, a tiresome blowhard as chairman of the Republican National Committee, has shown a throat-catching public sorrow and sleepless diligence that put Bush to shame.

This president ... flew away Monday to fund-raisers in the West while the hurricane blew away entire towns in coastal Mississippi


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