It can all seem so… pointless… at a time like this. When faced with so much pain. So much death.

It’s like a veil has been cast back and we can see – clearly for a moment – how things really are – and it fills our hearts with sorrow and dread. That veil will soon be placed back. Things will flow to back to ‘normal’ (what ever that is) for most of us. But before that happens many will take stock.

At times like this, especially a times like this, along with grieving, along with sharing – many feel an overwhelming need to reach out and do something – taking our horror and doing something with it – shape it – mold it – redirect it – try and do some good with it.

The dimensions of that are different counting upon who we are – and what we do. For artists and musicians, some attempt to record it and relate meaning. For pundits and analysts, well it’s in the truth telling. For others, tool builders and engineers, it’s in building solutions to cope with the the aftermath and the future. For many it is in direct volunteering and fund raising. For some it is reaching out to family members, some we’ve pushed away for years. For others, it is simply in telling those we love – we love them. And maybe a few strangers too.

Not all folks are like this – you know the ones – who even now seem oblivious. Maybe you are jeallous of them to a degree. Cognitive dissonance, willful ignorance, whatever you want to call it, these folks are not demonstratably moved and are just going about their business.

One of the questions many of us are talking about is what we are doing online. Billmon at Whisky Bar in “Hitting the Wall” shares he’s planning to take a break for a bit – and it is understandable why:

…last night I came across an account of the search for real bodies — not metaphorical ones — in the stinking ruins of New Orleans. It’s like something out of the charnel houses of World War II

…It is reported that the state of Louisiana has placed an order for 25,000 body bags.

For some reason, it wasn’t until I read that story that the full horror of what happened in New Orleans finally hit home for me. Maybe it’s because I was on the road part of last week, and missed most of the live broadcasts during the days when the city was in complete chaos. Maybe it’s because I don’t watch TV much even when I am home. But until now I’ve thought about the catastrophe more in terms of the loss of a great American city — and less in terms of the individual human lives that were destroyed.

No longer. The image — of a man frantically trying to breath through a pipe stuck in a ventilator grate as the waters rise over his head — is too searingly to hold at an emotional distance. How long did he survive, submerged in total darkness? And how many others died in the same bizarre trap — too weak or terrified to break through the layers of plywood and asphalt that had suddenly become the lids on their underwater coffins?

Thinking about those deaths is like looking at pictures of people jumping, hand in hand, from the windows of the World Trade Center on 9/11 — forced in a moment of howling panic to choose between the flames and the long fall to the pavement below. Such images are unendurable. The mind recoils from them as if we ourselves were caught in the same trap.

And suddenly all the backbiting over who failed first — or most often, or most spectacularly — seems too vile to worry about, much less write about. Even the big, important questions — the future of New Orleans, the threat of global warming, the paralyzing problems of race and poverty in America — have lost their intellectual appeal. Too many people have died, and too much has been destroyed to try to make sense of it now. And as stupid and obnoxious and insane as the powers that be have been this past week, they don’t seem very funny now — not even Dick Cheney.

I need a break, in other words — time to simply grieve for New Orleans and its dead, and for their lost world, now slipping into history. Which means I may not be posting much for the next few days.

*The* must read of the week. You will be inspired by heroism – and horrified at the man-made predicament set upon them:

EMSNetwork: Hurricane Katrina – Our Experiences:

By day 4 our hotels had run out of fuel and water. Sanitation was dangerously abysmal. As the desperation and despair increased, street crime as well as water levels began to rise. The hotels turned us out and locked their doors, telling us that the “officials” told us to report to the convention center to wait for more buses. As we entered the center of the City, we finally encountered the National Guard. The Guards told us we would not be allowed into the Superdome as the City’s primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health hellhole. The guards further told us that the City’s only other shelter, the Convention Center, was also descending into chaos and squalor and that the police were not allowing anyone else in. Quite naturally, we asked, “If we can’t go to the only 2 shelters in the City, what was our alternative?” The guards told us that that was our problem, and no they did not have extra water to give to us. This would be the start of our numerous encounters with callous and hostile “law enforcement”.

We walked to the police command center at Harrah’s on Canal Street and were told the same thing, that we were on our own, and no they did not have water to give us. We now numbered several hundred. We held a mass meeting to decide a course of action. We agreed to camp outside the police command post. We would be plainly visible to the media and would constitute a highly visible embarrassment to the City officials. The police told us that we could not stay. Regardless, we began to settle in and set up camp. In short order, the police commander came across the street to address our group. He told us he had a solution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain Expressway and cross the greater New Orleans Bridge where the police had buses lined up to take us out of the City. The crowed cheered and began to move. We called everyone back and explained to the commander that there had been lots of misinformation and wrong information and was he sure that there were buses waiting for us. The commander turned to the crowd and stated emphatically, “I swear to you that the buses are there.”

We organized ourselves and the 200 of us set off for the bridge with great excitement and hope. As we marched pasted the convention center, many locals saw our determined and optimistic group and asked where we were headed. We told them about the great news. Families immediately grabbed their few belongings and quickly our numbers doubled and then doubled again. Babies in strollers now joined us, people using crutches, elderly clasping walkers and others people in wheelchairs. We marched the 2-3 miles to the freeway and up the steep incline to the Bridge. It now began to pour down rain, but it did not dampen our enthusiasm.

As we approached the bridge, armed Gretna sheriffs formed a line across the foot of the bridge. Before we were close enough to speak, they began firing their weapons over our heads. This sent the crowd fleeing in various directions. As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward and managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of our conversation with the police commander and of the commander’s assurances. The sheriffs informed us there were no buses waiting. The commander had lied to us to get us to move.

We questioned why we couldn’t cross the bridge anyway, especially as there was little traffic on the 6-lane highway. They responded that the West Bank was not going to become New Orleans and there would be no Superdomes in their City. These were code words for if you are poor and black, you are not crossing the Mississippi River and you were not getting out of New Orleans.

How revealing is it that as the broadcast media is showing signs of waking up – the Federal government moves to shut down access? Read the following:

MSNBC: Brian Williams – (via Jeneane Sessum):

…a police officer from out of town raised the muzzle of her weapon and aimed it at members of the media… obvious members of the media… armed only with notepads. Her actions (apparently because she thought reporters were encroaching on the scene) were over the top and she was told. There are automatic weapons and shotguns everywhere you look. It’s a stance that perhaps would have been appropriate during the open lawlessness that has long since ended on most of these streets. Someone else points out on television as I post this: the fact that the National Guard now bars entry (by journalists) to the very places where people last week were barred from LEAVING (The Convention Center and Superdome) is a kind of perverse and perfectly backward postscript to this awful chapter in American history.

Jacob Applelbaum: Radio station has been blocked:

At 16:29 (CST) today, RW Royal Jr. Incident Commander of the JIC (Joint Information Committee) has denied Austin Airwaves the ability to run the emergency low power FM radio station inside of the dome. This is contrary to the FCC licenses that have been issued to Austin Airwaves. However RW Royal Jr is a member of the JIC. He has decided to deny the request. When they asked why they were being turned down, they were told that the Astrodome could not provide them with electricity. When the Austin Airwaves team offered to run on battery backup, they were still denied.

Los Angeles Times: FEMA Wants No Photos of Dead:

The U.S. agency leading Hurricane Katrina rescue efforts said Tuesday that it does not want the news media to photograph the dead as they are recovered.

The Federal Emergency Management Agency, heavily criticized for its slow response to the devastation caused by the hurricane, rejected journalists’ requests to accompany rescue boats searching for storm victims.

The U.S. agency leading Hurricane Katrina rescue efforts said Tuesday that it does not want the news media to photograph the dead as they are recovered.

The Federal Emergency Management Agency, heavily criticized for its slow response to the devastation caused by the hurricane, rejected journalists’ requests to accompany rescue boats searching for storm victims.

Dallas Morning News: Bush’s Social Security plan may hinge on the House:

Congressional Republicans, persisting in hopes of enacting some form of private Social Security option despite opposition from the public and the Democrats, are considering the same kind of maneuver that enabled them to pass a controversial Medicare drug bill two years ago.

…Rep. Bill Thomas, R-Calif., chairman of the Ways and Means Committee… said without giving details that his panel would introduce a retirement security bill in September.

Because the Senate had passed a similar bill, Republicans could take the measure to a Senate-House conference. By excluding most Democrats from any role, they crafted the kind of bill they wanted in the first place.

That would appear to be their hope for private Social Security accounts – pass a bill in the House authorizing private accounts, accept any Social Security vehicle in the Senate that gets the issue to conference and write a final version letting the White House proclaim success.

via Suburban Guerrilla.

I can’t describe how I felt reading the following. It was overwhelming.

John Scalzi shared in “Being Poor” a list describing what it is like. An instant community sprung up of folks who could relate, and shared points of their own, including myself. Here are a few (make sure to read his post and comments):

Being poor is having to keep buying $800 cars because they’re what you can afford, and then having the cars break down on you, because there’s not an $800 car in America that’s worth a damn.

Being poor is hoping the toothache goes away.

Being poor is knowing your kid goes to friends’ houses but never has friends over to yours.

Being poor is going to the restroom before you get in the school lunch line so your friends will be ahead of you and won’t hear you say “I get free lunch” when you get to the cashier.

Being poor is a heater in only one room of the house.

Being poor is feeling the glued soles tear off your supermarket shoes when you run around the playground.

Being poor is thinking $8 an hour is a really good deal.

Being poor is relying on people who don’t give a damn about you.

Being poor is an overnight shift under florescent lights.

Being poor is finding the letter your mom wrote to your dad, begging him for the child support.

Being poor is making lunch for your kid when a cockroach skitters over the bread, and you looking over to see if your kid saw.

Being poor is believing a GED actually makes a goddamned difference.

Being poor is people angry at you just for walking around in the mall.

Being poor is not taking the job because you can’t find someone you trust to watch your kids.

Being poor is the police busting into the apartment right next to yours.

Being poor is people thinking they know something about you by the way you talk.

Being poor is six dollars short on the utility bill and no way to close the gap.

Being poor is knowing you work as hard as anyone, anywhere.

Being poor is people surprised to discover you’re not actually stupid.

Being poor is people surprised to discover you’re not actually lazy.

Being poor is a six-hour wait in an emergency room with a sick child asleep on your lap.

Being poor is knowing you’re being judged.

Being poor is a $200 paycheck advance from a company that takes $250 when the paycheck comes in.

Being poor is four years of night classes for an Associates of Art degree.

Being poor is people who have never been poor wondering why you choose to be so.

Being poor is knowing how hard it is to stop being poor.

Being poor is seeing how few options you have.

Being poor is running in place.

Being poor is people wondering why you didn’t leave.

Here goes a few I contributed to the conversation:

Being poor is pausing to answer when someone asks, “what do you parents do for a living?”

Being poor is pausing to answer when someone asks, “where is your father?”

Being poor is waiting on Christmas morning for the Salvation Army Santa Claus to visit.

Being poor is believing that a happy, healthy family is a TV fantasy.

Being poor is thinking “I’m going to die before I’m 30 anyway”.

Being poor is finally getting a decent job, and it turns out it is in the burbs, which requires you to get a car, that you can’t pay for.

Being poor is finally getting a credit card, and it’s at 21% interest.

Being poor is finally getting a decent job, which requires dropping state insurance, which means your children will go uninsured.

Being poor means working a job 40 hours for 10 weeks and 36 hours for 2 – so that the employer can dodge paying full time benefits.

Being poor is having your nose broken, not having health insurance, and living with the cosmetic change the rest of your life.

I believe that big problems can quickly overwhelm if not broken down into smaller, achievable tasks. Sometimes they look so big as to be intractable – unchangeable. I tend to believe that if each of us do what we can – using the expertise, experience and skills we have – within our own spheres of influence – to effect small change here – small change there – well we can make a difference in a very big way.

Read Dave Rogers’s questioning and powerful piece: Change.

I can’t help it – in the face of all this – I remain an optimist. A believer that things can change. And that those changes happen with very small, and sometimes seemingly unrelated, steps.

Keep your chin up.

Richelle held a hell of a barbecue for me at my place for my 33rd birthday this Saturday (my birthday was Sunday). I am a blessed man. My growing family was there (welcome Cindy!). Friends I have made online, friends from work, and life long friends – who have known me from high school – were in attendence. Not everyone was there – but old relationships go thru their stages ya know. But for those that were – well we had a good time.

It started 3PM in the afternoon and went on till 3AM in the morning. Although, by that time, I was paying the price for getting very, very drunk. Probably as bad as my bachelor party. The meaning of this week, I think, in the back of my mind.

Katrina, like 9/11 before it, leaves you faced with the fact that time is very, very precious. Just a little needs to pass – and everything can change. How we spend it means everything.

After 9/11 I walked away from weblogging. I walked away from Philly Future. I devoted myself to spending more time with my family, more time with my friends. Bringing Philly Future back online, and seeing it grow as successfully as it has – well it brings everything around full circle. How am I spending my time? Is it being spent wisely?

The following links are of folks in my sphere of work that are doing things to help in the wake of Katrina:

Jeff Jarvis: Recovery 2.0

Doc Searls: Power to the People

Dave Winer: “It’s 2005, we have mastered the technology, now let’s deploy it”

Mike Watkins: Suggestion: Don’t write one line of code, not one XML spec, until you’ve worked a week in a Red Cross call center on family reunification tasks.

Boing Boing: Tech pros ask: how can we help with Katrina recovery?, Katrina aid idea: create cybercafe/free voip phone center at Astrodome?, Katrina tech aid ideas, continued

What is “the Mantra”? A set of words sprouted by those in government to deny or direct away responsibility. As Susie Madrak points out, it’s spreading:

I was watching MSNBC last night and Sen. David Vitter (R-LA) is now repeating the BushCo mantra: Faith-based groups, neighbors helping neighbors, government being “too big and too slow” to really help people, etc.

I made a terrible bet with some folks last week – that the Bush Administration will use similar language – while blaming local incompetence – and making grand photo ops – to get an approval ratings spike or bump by ten points. It sounds crazy, but I don’t think so. We shall see.

And hey – if you think that’s cynical – check out what Barbara Bush said in Texas when faced with so many displaced human beings in the Astrodome: “so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this–this (she chuckles slightly) is working very well for them.” (via Atrios)

Cold, callus, and calculating. Think that quote will get much play in today’s news? Doubt it. Way too revealing. The Bush family has always been masterful at playing the media like a fiddle. Then again there are signs that broadcast media is waking up. Let’s hope so.