One of my friends here is Turkish, and though she's familiar with the US (having done an exchange there in high school), she's not fluent in all of its nuances, political and cultural. She hadn't before heard, for example, the labels "red state" and "blue state," so I explained to her where the references came from (and how the electoral college worked) and the political cultures they are thought to represent.
She also, like I think many people here, did not grasp the enormity and scope of what has been happening in the Gulf Coast. Even I'm struggling with it, although my struggle is twinged with a shadow of guilt, from feeling like I've run away to this new, exciting place while my country I left behind is in trouble. It was barely a week ago when I spent the weekend in Atlantic City, where on Sunday as I popped in and out of the motel I saw all the news reports queuing up for the storm watch on Monday. On Monday, while it hit, I was driving back up north, packing, and then heading out to the airport. Sitting in the airport that evening, waiting to fly out, the news showed the first glimpses of the aftermath. But I don't think it was until the next day that everyone realized the full enormity of the consequences. And by then I was in Europe, and completely disconnected – geographically and technologically – from everything in the US.
But even without seeing any news, I knew it was going to be bad. I worried in particular about Bay St. Louis, the tiny town on the Gulf shores of Mississippi I'd visited on my trip two years ago. That was such a great trip, one of my Huey Lewis and the News-inspired adventures, rewarding to me in every way possible, not the least of which was the opportunity to meet one of my best friends. And on that trip I not only got to see New Orleans for the first time, but I also took a walk through this Mississippi town. They were having a big street festival that day, with tons of classic cars and hot rods sitting out on display on all the curbs, parades, and children selling lemonade on the sidewalks. I walked through this all, Americana everywhere, all the way to the shore, where I stood on the beach as the Gulf gently lapped at the shores.
But all of that now must surely be gone. And so the region, and the nation, reels. Evacuating New Orleans? An entire city? When I explain to people the enormity of what has happened, I try to make them realize what it means to have everybody leave a city. When they stop and think about it, they start to get it. But I think it's hard, because the scale is unprecedented. I think it's also hard because there's a lot of frustration at America. Our behavior in the world is so brash, perceived to be so arrogant, that I think there are people who are glad to finally see America's bravado tempered.
As a person from a blue state, sharing a blue state sensibility, I tend to agree with the criticisms others in the world lob at the US. I think they are often well-deserved. But I can't bring myself to allow the red and blue political dichotomy cloud my reaction to this disaster. Sure, it's red states that were affected. Red states that politically and culturally I have so little in common with. But they are in my country, and they are not strangers. At least not since 2003, when my plane landed in Gulfport, and these mysterious, strange places on the map turned into places that I knew.
Posted 9/4/05.