American Indians Continue to Rebuild After Katrina

[Okwes]

American Indians Continue to Rebuild After Katrina

News Report, Amanda Robert,
New America Media, Jan 08, 2006
news.pacificnews.org/news/view_article.html?
article_id=92f3c295cb5faf19b5f45ed9bf36b9ce

POINT-AUX-CHENES, La. — When the Isle de Jean Charles Indians did not
receive any immediate aid from the federal government after
Hurricanes Katrina and Rita swept their island, experience had
already taught them what they needed to do. They took matters into
their own hands and initiated their own cleanup process. They removed
ruined mattresses, refrigerators and stoves and started to rebuild
their lives once again.

Mary Dardar, a disabled Biloxi-Chitimacha woman who lives alone on
the island, has been through all of this before. The wooden bridge
across the bayou to her home is still rippled from Hurricane Lili's
passing in 2002, and a cluster of deserted houses surrounds her small
home.

"There are camps around but whoever was living there relocated after
Lili because it was too damaged to be livable," said Dardar. "It's my
home, it's going to take a lot more than that to run me off."

Hurricanes Katrina and Rita dumped 40 inches of water into Dardar's
house, caving in her bathroom ceiling and destroying personal items,
clothes and appliances. She said that she lost everything from the
ceiling down and will make the repairs on her own.

"I have to strip my whole house up — walls, insulation," said
Dardar. "It's a slow process and not something you can do overnight.
It takes time, especially when you are living in it."

Fifty-four-year old Andrew Chaisson Jr. has also lived on the island
all of his life. A blue tarp covers where his roof was before and the
wooden skeleton is all that remains on the left side where tan siding
used to be. But that's not the worst of the damage.

"In my house, I had almost 44 inches of water. That's almost four
feet," said Chaisson. "We had to spray for mold and all that, but I
can't work on it every day. I work on oyster fishing, sometimes all
day and night."

Like Dardar and some of the other island Indians, Chaisson is
continuing to live in his moldy home. After the hurricanes, five
houses on the island needed to be completely torn down and rebuilt.
Most of the others have been seriously damaged and require
renovations.

"A lot of us are tired of living in the condition that we live in,"
said Dardar. "It makes you sick."

Three months after Hurricane Rita struck, FEMA trailers had still not
been delivered to the island. A FEMA representative in Baton Rouge
said that according to her records, four trailers had been delivered
to Point-aux-Chenes, but as of early December, Chief Albert Naquin of
the Isle de Jean Charles band of the Biloxi-Chitimacha Indians said
that none had shown up. Instead, non-profit organizations have
stepped in to aid the Indians. Mennonite Disaster Services is one
organization that is helping the Indians rebuild their community.

Right after Hurricane Katrina, Mennonites Fred and Sue Kathler opened
up a volunteer project location, working out of Live Oak Baptist
Church in Point-aux-Chenes. They have gutted homes, repaired roofs
and removed the lower part of the interior walls of flooded homes.

"We take out the bottom, let it dry, clean the insulation and let
that dry," said Fred Kathler, as he demonstrated with recently
cleaned panels in the church. "We then spray for mold, let it dry,
then put the panel back."

Since October, the Kathlers have overseen 66 volunteers and have
started 24 clean-up projects in the area.

"We have groups from all over," said Sue Kathler. "The generosity of
people and their time is marvelous because we are never at a lack for
volunteers."

The Mennonites' goal is to give Island residents safe, dry and
healthy places to live temporarily. Other plans in the works would
bring volunteers for up to three years to help the Indians solve the
long-term problems caused by human and nature's destruction of their
environment.

According to Naquin, the Isle de Jean Charles did not historically
flood. After years of oilfield digging, pipeline canals and
hurricanes, the marshes that protect the island gradually became
weaker and have now all virtually disappeared.

"Every hurricane takes a toll," said Naquin. "So now Rita brought a
foot of water more than Lili, three years ago. Hurricanes in
the `50s, `60s never flooded. We never even flooded until Hurricane
Juan in 1985, but Juan put water everywhere."

Looking out over the bayou, Naquin said that land used to separate
the water into many different lakes, but now all of the land is gone.

"You can't tell the difference between the lakes and the bayou,
there's nothing there," he said.

Building rock walls on the barrier islands or levees on the sides of
the island could alleviate the flooding. Others of the five tribes in
the area have tried these solutions.

Chief Randy Verdun of the Bayou Lafource band of Biloxi-Chitimacha
Indians said, "Bayou Lafourche was not flooded, fortunately, because
we have a levee system and it helped. Grand Caillou/Dulac also has a
levee system, but it failed."

In the attempt to save his shrinking island, Naquin has a different
idea in mind. He is hoping to team up with the Mennonites to raise
all of the Isle de Jean Charles homes up on pilings, 13 feet above
sea level.

"They will raise houses, scrap houses and build houses," said
Naquin. "The Mennonites have money, but they want us to match their
money. They want $75,000 from each tribe to match their funds."

On Nov. 26, the tribes in the area met with members of the Mennonite
Disaster Services to discuss these future plans. Naquin said all of
the different tribes will join together to form a non-profit
organization so that they can begin to raise money for this endeavor.

"We want to form this organization where Indian tribes can deposit
money so we can start doing things," said Naquin. "There is money
available, we just need to put it all in one place where it can help
everyone."

Naquin's tribe only had $500 to put toward the $75,000 that is
needed. He hopes that the rest of the money will be raised through
the new organization.

Of these plans involving the Mennonite Disaster Services, Sue Kathler
said, "All of this is still in the conversation stage, nothing has
been developed yet."

If the Isle de Jean Charles Indians cannot come up with the money or
if they cannot develop a way to stop their island from flooding, they
may have to move from the homeland that their people have lived on
for over 200 years. They were already once given the chance to move
as a community, but did not accept the offer.

"At first I was against the move, because it reminded us of a modern
day Trail of Tears," said Naquin. "And then I realized what was
happening over here. It would probably be better that we could keep
our community as a whole if we relocate."

[Okwes]

Rescuing the Bayou Bands
Kelpie Wilson Interviews Dr. Robin Rose
t r u t h o u t | Interview
www.truthout.org/docs_2005/111605A.shtml
Wednesday 16 November 2005

In the aftermath of Katrina and Rita, Dr. Robin Rose traveled to Raceland, Louisiana, to assist a forgotten people - the United Houma Nation - a band of Native American people from the bayous. Dr. Rose has a small family practice in Ashland, Oregon, where she practices her integrative and personal approach to medicine. She traveled to the Gulf Coast under the auspices of Plenty International, a relief agency started by The Farm, an intentional community situated on 1,500 acres in rural Tennessee.

Kelpie Wilson: As a doctor in Oregon, how did you come to hear about the plight of the Houma nation and the other small bands of indigenous people who were affected by Katrina? And what was it that made you decide to travel so far to help them?

Dr. Robin Rose: I began getting reports about the grass roots groups gathering outside of New Orleans right after Hurricane Katrina. A number of groups were drawn to do this work almost immediately after the storm hit, well before the more formal agencies began to show up.

The call within me became stronger and stronger, and as I gathered the stories, I heard that some Plenty volunteers had gone down the bayou to assist the United Houma Nation after the first storm.

I began looking online at their web site and then searched out other sources of information. Something spoke to me ... especially when I heard that Chief Brenda Dardar Robichaux had expressed her concern for the tribe remaining intact. With forced evacuations, people were brought to shelters, some quite a distance from their homes. Many older people in the tribe were not allowed to go to school until 1965 and are still unable to read, so contact was difficult. This touched something tribal within me and resonated with the concept of Diaspora and what that means to a people.

So I "knew" it was there that I wanted to go, although with the immensity of the disaster, there were many other places for a physician to land and help out. When I arrived in Mobile at the volunteers' houses, it became clear to me that I would go to work with the indigenous people of the bayou.

Dr. Robin Rose taking a tribal member's blood pressure next to the United Houma Nation distribution center in Raceland, Louisiana.
(Photo: Brandon Lerda)
K.W.: When you first arrived, there was still standing water everywhere. How were people sheltering themselves, and what were their most immediate needs?

R.R.: By the time I arrived, Hurricane Rita had just happened. The damage from Katrina was definitely intense for the Indian people, though it was more significant closer to New Orleans, where there are tribal members living.

But it was Rita that truly devastated many of the bayou communities. With surge waves overtaking the levees, there was a powerful, rapid wall of water that caused the bayous to flow backwards. People told me that at first they didn't believe that it was truly happening, and by the middle of the night, the water was coming up above their cars, and they were fleeing as fast as they could.

Many families live further up the bayou, away from the lower-lying areas, and people went to friends and relatives' houses. Some people have homes on ten foot stilts, and they welcomed family friends and neighbors to safety. Some people stayed in their homes, despite the flooding. I saw some large families crammed into camper shells outside their moldy flooded houses.

Sidney Verdin sitting on his porch down the bayou in Pointe du Chien. The house is on ten-foot stilts, and this photo was taken after the water had receded 18 inches.
(Photo: Charles Verdin)
By the time the flooding stopped, people went around in outboards at tree-top level, looking for those who had not left or would not leave their homes (some were proud they did not leave). One of my favorite pictures is a man sitting on his porch - the water comes up to the bottom of the porch. At the time of this photo the water level had receded 18 inches.

Slowly, as the water receded, people returned to look at what happened. There were still large amounts of water everywhere and deep, sticky mud.

Some folks were off in shelters. Others were just up the road. What they found when they came back down the bayou was the destruction of all of their things. There isn't much you can do when water fills your home except drill a hole in the floor and swab out the stinking silty mud and water. Some people said they found snakes floating around in their houses. Someone told me to watch out for alligators. They had to begin the incredibly challenging and tedious job of removing all of their belongings and piling them outside - this included everything, appliances, furniture, clothes, books, pictures ... Some people have insurance. But one man told me it wasn't worth it. "They take forever to even come around and when they do," he told me, "they don't give you nothing." And FEMA turns down many requests for help in the bayou, while many illiterate people were unable to cope with the requests for completing paperwork. Tribal leaders were helping their constituent tribal members fill out the forms - a daunting process.

Barb Truitt from Mendocino and Charlie ("Pegleg") from Veterans for Peace, inside the Raceland "store" with a tribal member.
(Photo: Brandon Lerda)
The United Houma Nation created a distribution center and began cataloging people's needs on many levels. The other tribes were collecting similar information, struggling to find resources to repair damaged houses and mobile homes (mostly simple and some old and in poor repair already).

K.W.: How were you able to help them?

R.R.: I arrived on the heels of Dr. Robert McDonald, a Native American physician who had obtained 5000 tetanus and 4000 flu shots. Upon his departure, I resumed the tetanus and flu injection project he started. At the same time, I had been given many, many medication samples and supplies. Plenty provided me with a mini van, which I kept filled as this mobile clinic.

I was able to venture out into the bayou communities, accompanied by a tribal member, to explore people's needs. The tetanus shots were certainly part of it, especially seeing people wading around in mud and mucky waters. People were quite willing and appreciative, and remembered when last they had tetanus shots based on which hurricane it was. "I had mine after Andrew." Another after Lilli.

Robin Rose gives a tetanus shot to a young man in the village of Dulac.
(Photo: Brandon Lerda)
I had a lot of medical supplies. It seemed that many people did have their medications, but some did not. I evaluated their current blood pressure status, replaced medications, offered supplies for diabetic care, wrote prescriptions.

A few people were quite ill, and I suggested they get a ride to town to be evaluated at the hospital. I heard of some deaths, particularly more fragile older people who were unable to tolerate the rigors of deprivation.

K.W.: In your view, what makes the indigenous bayou people different from other communities impacted by the hurricanes?

R.R.: One thing is their optimism. "We're doing okay" was a common response. They have been through this before, one of my tribal escorts kept telling me. Their connection to the earth and to one another was a shining light. I have heard from other volunteers how profoundly devastated people were in other communities.

And while these Indian people shook their heads, rolled their eyes, and shrugged, their spirits remained steadfast. They laughed and hugged. Some people cried ... but it was only momentary. Their spirit was infectious.

K.W.: What needs to be done to protect their traditional way of life, not only from the impact of this season's storms but from the increasingly severe storms predicted as a result of global warming? Is there a parallel between what these people are going through and what is happening to the indigenous people of the Arctic who are seeing their villages slide into the sea as the arctic ice melts?

R.R.: It is time that the tribes be recognized by the federal government and given reservation lands. There are burial grounds that should be returned to these people. This would honor and respect their respect for the bayou and its earth spirit.

There are efforts to find members and help them return home. Some people are done - they want to leave and not go through another storm and more destruction. Others speak of the land as their soul. Assistance is needed to elevate all of the homes onto stilts so they can avoid flood waters getting into their homes the next time.

Global warming, industry, and loss of land mass are crucial issues. Big issues. Difficult, complex political and economic issues. Their way of life depends on clean waters and healthy fish. They are shrimpers. As the waters become polluted and the cancer rate rises it is easy to wonder what will become of these communities.

As erosion occurs, people in communities like Isle du Jean Charles are beginning to face the reality of having to move. They are two feet above sea level now, and their land mass is shrinking. Engineers are making plans to remedy the levees in the area - to the exclusion, apparently, of the Indian communities.

There are communities down the bayou with chemical dumps in them - chemicals that are known carcinogens. One town has what is called "the pit." I was told that LSU physicians have addressed these environmental health issues, but apparently the courts have not supported the communities' need to maintain a healthy ecology for tribal wellbeing and survival.

The cancer rate is frighteningly high there. As one woman in her 40s told me "You know you will get cancer, you just don't know when." She said all of her father's seven siblings had died of various types of cancer. No coincidence. Other families have similar stories.

K.W.: As you prepare for your return trip later this month, what are the most pressing needs now?

R.R.: The acute immediacy has passed. I will be interested to see if the spirits of people are still high. There will likely be some mental health issues. I join others who are returning in my concern for mold abatement.

The mold in these houses will cause problems for people's health for years to come - allergies, sensitization, and immune system dysfunction, exacerbating the risks of chemical exposures. These are issues that must be explored.

The immediate needs still include bedding, appliances, furniture, and clothing. Structural repairs are still needed. This is hardly trivial. Funding is needed. The larger agencies are not there for these people. Donations to grass roots groups working one-on-one with the tribal leaders will make the big impact, until endowments come along. I wanted $150,000 to start with to raise homes onto stilts. The schools need to be repaired. The elders need a mobile clinic to do outreach. I will search out needs on this trip and try to document them. It isn't going to end soon.

K.W.: Robin, what can people do to help you with your efforts?

R.R.: This is a call for help. Donations to Plenty International (specify Dr. Robin) will allow my work to continue - outreach and remediation in the immediate future. It is easy to donate by going to the web site: www.plenty.org.

K.W.: Thank you. And we hope to publish another report from you soon.

Kelpie Wilson is the t r u t h o u t environment editor. She is also a mechanical engineer and does technical writing for the solar power industry. She has been a leader in the campaign to protect ancient forests in the Pacific Northwest and was the executive director of the Siskiyou Regional Education Project. Her first novel, Primal Tears, has been published by North Atlantic Books.

© : t r u t h o u t 2005