I Don't Send Me Flowers Anymore.

Geez, what happened to my blog? Guess it's about time to do a little soapboxing.

The conversation.

No, not the FFC film starring Gene Hackman. The Katrina Conversation.

Yesterday I wondered what would happen to the Katrina Conversation. Here's where it's going today:

• Sidney Blumenthal points a finger at the Bush Administration in the German press (Spiegel online) and at Salon.com for cutting funding to New Orleans flood control funding and encouraging development of wetlands. According to Blumenthal, in 2001, FEMA warned that a hurricane striking New Orleans was one of the three most likely disasters facing the US (one of the other top three was a major terrorist attack on NYC, and this was early 2001). Wonder what the other was? Looks like FEMA's two for three.
  
  
• David Brooks wonders about the "human storm" following the hurricane in an editorial at the NY Times. He points out some disturbing similarities between the great Mississippi flood of New Orleans in 1927 and the aftermath of Katrina-- namely, the racial and class disparity regarding who has been left behind:
  

  take a close look at the people you see wandering, devastated, around New Orleans: they are predominantly black and poor. The political disturbances are still to come.

  
  
• The general editorial at the NY Times seems to call for sacrifice on the part of all Americans -- something that perhaps sounds odd to our pampered ears. After 9/11, we were encouraged to go forth and spend money to stimulate the economy, rather than tighten our belts and sacrifice for our fellow humans (as Americans were advised to do when America joined the fray in WWII). Victory garden? No. Victory trip to the mall! The same editorial then asks some very pointed and hard questions for keeping the Conversation going, questions that must be asked, that should have been asked prior to this disaster, and that demand answers in the coming weeks and months, namely:
  

  While our attention must now be on the Gulf Coast's most immediate needs, the nation will soon ask why New Orleans's levees remained so inadequate. Publications from the local newspaper to National Geographic have fulminated about the bad state of flood protection in this beloved city, which is below sea level. Why were developers permitted to destroy wetlands and barrier islands that could have held back the hurricane's surge? Why was Congress, before it wandered off to vacation, engaged in slashing the budget for correcting some of the gaping holes in the area's flood protection?

  
  
• The Rev. Isaac Clark, speaking amidst the chaos from the New Orleans Convention Center, wonders where the aid is: "We are out here like pure animals. We don't have help." R Neal at Facing South wonders the same thing, and gives contact information for Congresspeople. Neal (SKB) references a MSNBC correspondent reporting from NOLA:
  

  The reporter said that she had been there four days. She said she has heard about all the provisions that the federal government had rushed to the scene, but says that she and her crew have not seen any of it. Nothing. People are dying there. They are begging for help.

  
  
  

The wisdom of dialogue.

I'm taking an environmental sociology course this semester, and it seems that it will be quite interesting. I'm set to learn a lot from the instructor and the subject matter as well as from my classmates, who so far seem to be an incredibly well-informed, well-traveled, and reasonable bunch of folks.

Today's class was something of a free-for-all, and discussion was wide-ranging, but there was one thing in particular that I found quite thought-provoking. One of my classmates mentioned that environmental problems (in America) aren't as dramatically apparent today as they once were-- we don't have a burning river like Cuyahoga in 1969 to point to as a horrifying empirical demonstration of the direct harm that we can do when we make poor choices regarding business practices, etc.-- and that perhaps this lack of drama leads to disinterest in environmental responsibility. But it strikes me that right now, at this very moment, we have the equivalent of a burning river (or several burning rivers, or worse) down South in Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida.

Despite the statements already issued by right wing religious nutjobs regarding the "ultimate message" behind the hurricane (it was an Act of a vengeful God intended to call our attention to the sinfulness of our ways), it would seem that this particular hurricane is NOT an isolated event, but rather is part of a long-term pattern of change with regard to our climate. In other words, the frequency and increased severity of hurricanes over the past decade may be not only correlative with a warming planet, but there may be a causal relation as well. If this is so, then we are, in a very broad sense, partially responsible for the extent of the destruction and the suffering currently being felt in the Deep South. We have (in a sense) brought this disaster upon ourselves and our neighbors through decades (centuries, even) of poor choices with regard to our environment. And inevitably, and alarmingly, there is more to come.

It is, of course, disturbing (to say the least) that this particular conversation is starting so late in the game and only AFTER the major disaster and devastation has already occurred. Why do we loathe preventive medicine so? But don't worry, the conversation will hardly get started before it's forgotten.

There will be enough naysayers to table this line of thought quite quickly-- we've experienced Category 5 hurricanes before, this isn't unprecedented, remember Camille, etc. Eyes will be effectively drawn away from the observed trends in climate change across time, and we'll focus on this as an isolated event, even though it's not. And then we'll focus on the triumph of the human spirit in the face of disaster. The responsibility for climate change conversation is too abstract to hold our interest for long-- if we can't find a scapegoat for our troubles, or if we have to diffuse responsibility across peoples and generations, or if the only solution is to radically examine and quite possibly alter our current lifestyles, forget about it.

OK then, what about the levee system? Before Katrina struck, I remember reading something about the irony of the levee and drainage system of New Orleans-- sure, it protects the city from regular flooding of rivers, including the Mississippi, but it also interferes with the natural process of sedimentation that feeds the system of bayous and swamps that help coastal and floodplain areas recover from severe flooding. Without the levees, there is flooding; with the levees, there is less frequent flooding, but the land is less able to recover from severe flooding, as is the case currently. Further, after someone figured out how to drain the swampy areas of NOLA into the canals and levees, the city expanded into lower areas that are even more vulnerable to and unable to recover quickly from severe flooding. It's no surprise that the areas of the city that are experiencing less flooding (French Quarter, etc) are the older areas of New Orleans, built before the modern levee/canal/drainage technologies were implemented. So here again, we have an opportunity to reevaluate choices we have made with regard to environmental and urban planning-- and a less abstract case of cause and effect to reference.

But of course, as my classmates pointed out to me when I was waxing on about how I am interested to see how the conversation r.e. NOLA, MS, and AL plays out (and whether such disaster will call our attention to environmental problems and better solutions), OF COURSE they will simply come up with better, stronger levee/canal/drainage technology. More levees! We'll rebuild it! We will make it better, stronger!

And so this futile struggle of humans versus nature will continue unabated and unexamined, because there is something that we value deeply about rebuilding in the face of disaster, rather than taking our lumps and moving on elsewhere -- say, to higher ground. To do other than rebuild would be to let the terrorists, um, mother nature win. To do other than rebuild would mean that we were wrong, or weak, or inferior. We would be giving up our privileged place as God's chosen people, or as the highest forms of life, etc. We would be admitting that we are a part of, not apart from, nature and its processes. We must rebuild, and in so doing, ensure our complete annihilation at some point in the future. Absurdity, futility.

We absolutely refuse to accept that there might be some places we simply aren't meant to live. I'm reminded of the ancient wisdom that encouraged people to not build their houses on the sand, and I wonder what happened to that wisdom? Has technology replaced common sense? If we can build it, should we? Must we?

I continue to wonder what will happen to these potential conversations-- the conversations about the choices we make and our responsibility for their outcomes (and NO, I am most certainly not referring to divine punishment for providing women with a full range of gynecological care). The incident at Cuyhoga started a conversation that led to a focus on cleaning up the nation's rivers, and ultimately to the Clean Water Act. What will the Katrina conversation(s) lead to? More of the same?

The price is definitely NOT right.

Just another example of the intersection of class (and inevitably race & gender) issues with environmental issues:

A recent study by researchers at the University of California-Davis reported that U.S. shoppers who consistently choose healthy foods spend nearly 20 percent more on groceries. The study also said the higher price of these healthier choices can consume 35 to 40 percent of a low-income family's grocery budget. That's bad news for public health. It's also bad news for the organic-food market, since organics usually carry the highest price tag of all the healthy stuff out there.

The above quote comes from today's Grist article, "Cost in Translation," about the high costs of eating organic food. What's alarming to me is that organic is merely a subset of "healthy foods"-- and the study reports that shoppers who choose healthy foods (not just organic) spend a great deal more on groceries than other folks.

What does this mean for people with tight incomes and demanding schedules? As a grad student, I find myself picking up fast food much more frequently than I did as a corporate "professional." It's cheaper and, well, faster -- and I don't have to spend time wedged into my 3x3 "kitchen" for time consuming prep and clean-up (ever tried to make a "well-balanced meal" in a coat closet?). As a result, I feel less healthy and I've put on a few pounds more than I would like.

What does this mean? People who can't (or can barely) afford insurance or healthcare are also those who are unable to afford some of the best "preventive medicine" available -- healthy food. Or they're unable to find it because their local groceries don't stock it, or stock spoiled or spoiling produce and other perishable goods. It's a vicious cycle that keeps people poor, fat, and sick.

You can read a brief of the UC Davis study in pdf format here: http://aic.ucdavis.edu/pub/briefs/IB%2029.pdf

Here's an excerpt:

An alarming increase in such chronic diseases as obesity, diabetes, cardiovascular disease, hypertension and stroke, and some types of cancer has occurred over the past decade (Kant 2004). Improving diet quality by eating more whole grains and fruit and vegetables, and by eating less fat and refined sugar could help lower the incidence or severity of these diseases.

Avoiding and managing chronic disease, not surprisingly, is (and has been for quite some time) a class issue. It used to be that people couldn't afford food-- now they can't afford the right foods.

Can't afford the foods that help you avoid chronic disease? Can't afford to spend leisure time exercising (translation: don't have leisure time because you're working two jobs to pay your rent)? Can't afford healthcare, medicine and treatment for the chronic disease you developed because you were too cash- and time-strapped to avoid it? Too freaking bad. It's probably your fault anyway. Maybe you're a sinner, or stupid, or lazy.

It seems that people assume that overweight and obese people deserve to be unhealthy because they have made poor choices regarding their health. I've even heard people remark that overweight, poor people must not be that poor, as they clearly have been able to afford the food that has made them overweight. What, are poor people supposed to starve themselves to be authentic? In times past (and still in some cultures), obesity was a mark of prosperity -- gout was the rich man's disease. Not so these days, when a stick-thin figure is a sign of wealth and the ability to afford a personal trainer and dietician. It's McDonald's that has the dollar value menu, not Spago or the new raw food restaurants cropping up in urban areas across the nation. Even more alarming is the fact that I could spend $1 for a double cheeseburger, or $1 for one (1) non-organic red bell pepper at the grocery. That just doesn't make sense.

Of course, if you add up the hidden costs of consuming that $1 double cheeseburger (healthcare, environmental damage, labor costs, etcetera), it costs much more than the bell pepper-- but that's not what I'm thinking about two weeks into the month when most of my paycheck has been parceled out to my creditors and I still have to feed myself (and if I'm lucky, my children and my pets and my spouse). It's about that time that one's tolerance for well-meaning theory goes out the window, and one wishes that the hippies would shove their "joys of organic gardening" and saving the environment and the animals crap up their collective ass. Now there's a dilemma for you ethicists. So solve it, already.

Ecological Literacy at UT

Associate Professor Mark DeKay and Lecturer Ted Shelton of the University of Tennessee College of Architecture and Design have been chosen by The American Institute of Architects as one of three grant-winning teams for ecological literacy in architecture education. Read More