I got deployed through my job at the Red Cross for a 2 week work assignment in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. The flooding in this area was the worst disaster in this country since Hurricane Sandy in 2012, and was more widespread -in terms of geographical areas impacted--than Hurricane Katrina in 2005.
I arrived in week 2 of the national disaster response. The water had mostly receded. Although the remains of the flash flood were everywhere-- cars upside-down in ravines, piled on top of fallen trees; bridges with debris piled high on them; street after street lined with mounds of people's discarded histories (family portraits, cribs, TV sets) ruined by the water. As one young man told me, gesturing over to a growing assortment of things on his family's lawn, "That's my life. That's the life my parents built for me when they moved us away from Oakland. Everything in that tiny room was my world. But, now I know that it's possible to start over, so here we go again." There were several times I was sent into communities to do needs assessments and met people like this young man, but for some reason he stuck out to me. He had this resilience in his spirit that was palpable and reminded me of the young men I'd met in The Jungle last year.
Mainly while in Louisiana I worked as a Government Liaison and in Community Partnerships. I worked with the Emergency Operation Centers, and help establish relationships that could bridge shelter clients with stated or observed needs.
The two main questions I got asked when I got home were:
What was it like?
That depends on where you are. If you're working in the community it's like this:
Imagine the worst thing that's ever happened to you in your life. Then imagine that on the same day that has happened to your neighbor, and their neighbor, and the people you grew up with, and your postman, your grocer, your kid's teachers, your church congregation. That's the emotional fragility you're surrounded by every day. Then imagine that following that worst day of your life you have a lot of strangers from places you may have only seen on a map coming to try to help you piece your life back together. It's confusing. It's hard. It's frustrating. You? You're the outsider that's trying to be both supportive and empowering while making sure you're recognizing the capacities and wherewithal, knowledge, and culture that existed there before you and will continue to be there after you leave.
If you're working in headquarters it's a little different: You're trying to organize the field while not being in it. You're helping piece together everything behind the scenes to support the workers on the frontline who are interacting with survivors every day. They're telling you what they're seeing and what is needed and you're trying to work with your internal resources, as well as government, businesses, and NGOs to help make it happen.
Did you have fun?
This is always the hardest question to answer. Anybody who has ever worked to alleviate the suffering of people in a humanitarian capacity can tell you that this is a really tough paradoxical quandary. "Fun" is a hard term to justify in these cases; it's not entirely the most fitting word, while also not being devoid of accuracy. Is it Empowering? Yes. Fulfilling? Yes. Is it motivating? Passion fueled? Emotionally evocative? Intense? Yes, yes, yes, absolutely.
The thing is, these disastrous and emergency circumstances are what drive the people who work in this field. It gives us purpose as much as it helps those around us. Many of us are more comfortable in those early days of chaos because it's what we are best at managing. So, in this manner, because it's what we're driven to do, yes-- it is fun. It's enlivening. Yet we feel horrible saying so because it seems unethical or selfish to also derive pleasure and fulfillment from the work given the reason(s) we're there.
You know what, though? It's also stressful as hell. It can be very emotionally draining. The hours you work are so long that you quickly lose track of what day it is and before you've finished blinking a week has passed by. A disaster or disastrous living circumstance quickly brings out the best and worst of humanity, and you'll get to deal with both. In fact, you might exhibit those traits yourself. You get paid in peanuts and poor immune systems. And you're never not tired.
But everyone else is right there alongside you, in the same exact haphazardly built boat, so there is also real camaraderie and brief history built that nobody but your colleagues and survivors will ever truly understand. You build a family for two weeks, a month, three months, a year--however long you're attached to the job.
So, is it "fun"?
Sometimes.
No comments:
Post a Comment