Covering the flood
Hurricane Katrina and the New Orleans/Gulf coast flooding disaster has been going on while I'm up to my eyes preparing for classes. But I've tried to drag myself away from preps from time to time and keep an eye on what's going on. And while the mainstream media are still focusing on the scale-of-tragedy angle--not surprising for the moment--there is some more critical and in-depth reporting starting to emerge fromm braver elements of the media (see, e.g., a Washington Post column on the planned downgrading or dismantling of FEMA and an Editor & Publisher piece, drawing on New Orleans Times-Picayune coverage, that focuses on the Army Corps of Engineers' charge that it's been starved of federal funds for flood defense.) I hope that before too much longer, and once things settle down, the press will do its job and we'll see more of this sort of critical reporting.
In the meantime, the online journals Slate and Salon are, as ever, providing interesting and engaging coverage of the tragedy and the issues behind the tragedy. One piece in particular I'm glad I found was by Slate's Jack Shafer. Titled "Lost in the Flood," it tackles the awkward issue of race and class that has largely been ignored by the US MSM--in particular, the stark point that most of the people we're seeing in dire straits in New Orleans are poor and black. This has bothered me because this point is achingly clear, at least in terms of the people we're seeing on TV, but no-one really draws attention to it. So even as the media focus relentlessly on the tragedy and of the people who are suffering--people who had very little and now have nothing--they rarely elaborate on the key contextual factor that most of the people trapped in New Orleans didn't get out because they had no personal transport or they were living "paycheck to paycheck" and couldn't afford to up and leave. Shafer draws an interesting conclusion, even drawing on a well-known disater movie from the late 1990s:
- When disaster strikes, Americans—especially journalists—like to pretend that no matter who gets hit, no matter what race, color, creed, or socioeconomic level they hail from, we're all in it together. This spirit informs the 1997 disaster flick Volcano, in which a "can't we all just get along" moment arrives at the film's end: Volcanic ash covers every face in the big crowd scene, and everybody realizes that we're all members of one united race.
But we aren't one united race, we aren't one united class, and Katrina didn't hit all folks equally. By failing to acknowledge upfront that black New Orleanians—and perhaps black Mississippians—suffered more from Katrina than whites, the TV talkers may escape potential accusations that they're racist. But by ignoring race and class, they boot the journalistic opportunity to bring attention to the disenfranchisement of a whole definable segment of the population. What I wouldn't pay to hear a Fox anchor ask, "Say, Bob, why are these African-Americans so poor to begin with?"