Greatest government relief effort ever?

Most reporting on the Federal government’s response to Hurricane Katrina describes it in terms ranging from flatfooted to negligent to even criminal. Jack Kelly takes a detailed look at the facts instead of the perception here. An excerpt:

Jason van Steenwyk is a Florida Army National Guardsman who has been mobilized six times for hurricane relief. He notes that:

“The federal government pretty much met its standard time lines, but the volume of support provided during the 72-96 hour was unprecedented. The federal response here was faster than Hugo, faster than Andrew, faster than Iniki, faster than Francine and Jeanne.”

For instance, it took five days for National Guard troops to arrive in strength on the scene in Homestead, Fla. after Hurricane Andrew hit in 2002. But after Katrina, there was a significant National Guard presence in the afflicted region in three.

Read the entire article for an illuminating report of logistical achievement. HT: Hammerswing.

I saw a ghost in New Orleans

Medical attention was available but couldn’t be delivered. Death by starvation and dehydration was imminent as the days dragged by without relief. Everyone knew what was going on yet no one seemed able to do anything about it. In an unprecedented, emergency session the President and Congress of the U.S. acted decisively to preserve life.

And critics loudly protested this federal intervention as a usurption of state powers and unwarranted intervention into personal rights, the local authorities refused to act on the federal mandate, and Terri Schiavo died.

Now many of the same voices are blaming the federal government for not overriding the authority, responsibilities and policies of the city or state government to protect its citizenry. Certainly some of these citizens who refused to evacuate in advance of Katrina voluntarily accepted the consequences of their decisions just, as some claim, as Terri Schiavo did. Others who were weak, vulnerable or incapacitated had no choice but to be at the mercy of the actions or inactions of others. That, too, should sound familiar.

A bad week for human nature

What a week for the misanthropes, eh? They’ve got to be hoisting a few glasses of grape (bitter as they may be) this holiday weekend and smugly toasting their own validation from recent events. Whether it’s the de-evolution of the rule of law into the law of the jungle in a major cultural center in just 48 hours (how’s that for “punctuated equilibrium”) to fear and rumor stampeding people to their deaths or to gas lines, it’s a great time to be smarter than everyone else. Ah, human nature – you gotta love it!

And as if the main course isn’t satisfying enough, there’s also the floor show — a cavalcade of finger-pointing, ass-covering and political hay-making all high-kicking across the room — all while bodies still bob in the waters of Pontchartrain. Human nature, again!

For that matter, they may still be pulling bodies out of the Tigris. The disaster in Iraq was one of those things that happens around the world, like a famine or an overloaded ferry capsizing, that makes us, in our human nature, say “I’m glad nothing like that can happen here” — until Americans riot over cheap computers or the levee breaks.

When it happens close to home there is nothing so predictable as the cries that that the whole situation was, itself … predictable. Yesterday Jeff Jarvis tapped his baton on an operetta entitled “More than a tragedy – a scandal“, launching commenter choruses of “they should have seen it coming” (they did, but – darn that human nature – didn’t leave), global warming (it was a hot day in Galveston in 1900, too) and “Bush was on vacation” (as was Congress and 90% of the French, for that matter, which is every bit as relevant) and it’s all Bush’s fault (because we can’t get troops and supplies into place overnight in a disaster area the size of Britain that has little functioning infrastructure). Of course, that’s all human nature, too.

Just as it is human nature for certain criminal elements to always try to get away with whatever they can — even in ideal conditions — when they think no one is watching or can do anything about it. How shocking is it, then, to see this sort rise up and run amuck in the absence or abdication of most controls? It does make one wonder, however, if missions to feed and deliver supplies to the weak in New Orleans will resemble our efforts to get food past the warlords and to the hungry in Somalia.

Hurricane Katrina is a large-scale natural disaster exacerbated by the usual dark comedy of human error. The current situation is not a Republican or Democratic Party failing (it would even happen to the Green Party if they ever get their hands on the levers, which they will no doubt use this event to try and do). It is a failing of our human nature that leads us time after time to choose short-term gain or convenience over the long-term benefit even when faced with a demonstrably “when” not “if” scenario. You know, scenarios like a sub-sealevel city in a hurricane zone, or a densely populated major metropolitan area resting on a fault line … or the implosion of the Social Security system.

All in all, it’s enough to make you pull the covers over your head and wait for God to hit “reboot” … except for the better angels of our human nature that draw us together and lead us to pray and to give, to go out of our way to help the suffering. It’s what drives the majority of us to say, “What can I do to help?”

Granted, there will also be the minority who ask, “What can I get out of this?” or who delight in celebrating how much like animals we humans are, or can be. I guess I understand their point … hearing or reading them tends to make me start to feel a little hairy myself.

NOTE: Earlier I mentioned the Comments section to the Jeff Jarvis post. While there was a lot of nuttery going on there, responses by people identified as Eileen and Petro were excellent and bear reading for their insight and ability to focus on the real issues at hand. Along that line, please read this link from that section that provides an insider’s detailed explanation of the logistical hurdles an operation of this kind entails.

Filings: Is your God from around here?

I once overheard part of a conversation where a young college man, fresh from his Comparative Religion class, was explaining to my wife and daughter that, according to his professor, Christianity is a Western religion. My ladies were politely having none of it since they’ve got a good understanding of both Christianity and geography.

I suppose that the professor could consider that the Middle Eastern religions – Christianity, Judiaism and Islam – are “western” in the sense that they are not from as far east as Buddhism, Hinduism and Confucianism, or that Christianity and Judiaism have had more influence in the West. Nevertheless, whether you consult Genesis or Rand-McNally, Christianity is an Eastern religion.

This is even more clear philosophically when you consider the religions of Greece and Rome, the root cultures of Western civilization. The Greeks and Romans shared the same cast of multiple gods only with different names. It should also be noted that this pantheon (look it up, homeschoolers) consisted of beings who were lustful, quick-tempered, deceitful, vain, petty and untrustworthy. Sounds like the cast for the next reality program, Survivor: Mount Olympus. In short, these were gods made in the image of humans. If you go further West into old Europe and Britain you find even more polytheistic paganism.

The Judeo-Christian and Islamic revelation of one God, perfect and all-powerful who requires not just worship but the pursuit of moral excellence (and provides the framework for doing so) is a radically different – and un-Western – spiritual proposition. In fact, it might be an interesting exercise for you and your children to imagine and discuss the effects on individual behavior and society of trying to serve arbitrary, unpredictable gods who were little more than immortal and more self-indulgent versions of yourself.

Another point to ponder is that polytheism hasn’t gone away. Today our worldly culture goes through incredible contortions to deny or ignore the first commandment. Science and law strive to claim there is no God while philosophy and the entertainment industry promote that there really are all kinds of gods and they all should be recognized the same in the name of diversity. Meanwhile law, science, philosophy, entertainment, politics and others all have their enthusiastic disciples eager to evangelize our children.

Sometimes it’s through head on confrontation, other times by a slow and steady erosion of relativity and rationalization aimed at sowing and watering doubt. Often it is the intellectual seduction of a respected teacher or professor saying, “Oh, surely you’re too smart to still hold those outmoded beliefs. Now let me show you how we turn gold into lead.”

At some point our children will face all of these and more. Their ultimate defense is not in simply knowing the Bible, but in knowing God. Others will try to turn God and Christ into mere concepts, and arguments about concepts are rarely productive and often dangerous. A young person who has sought a relationship with Christ, experienced a revelation from God, applied these to his or her life and achieved a noticeable result is young person who has a strong foundation to counter any argument or doubt.

Our children may feel strongly about something, but strong feelings are easy to come by, and are on every side of an argument. A personal testimony is virtually indisputible. If your child can say “God said this, I believed it, acted on it, and this happened in my life,” there is little anyone can say to refute it (especially if you have the x-rays to prove it!) Being able to recite scripture isn’t a bad thing; being able to apply scripture, however, will change the world.

Wild Kingdom

I like living indoors. That, and eating regularly, are two big reasons why I continue to work. Therefore I can understand on a certain level the desire of wild animals to move into my house. What I can’t understand is the recent appeal. Last Sunday it was a gopher. Last night it was a bat.

Our bedroom is on the second floor and we have a large awning over the window. In the dark I’m sure the space under the awning seems very cavelike. It’s also an old house and the top of the screen in the window doesn’t always stay in its track. Rather than find a replacement for the screen, I use the Red Green approach of strategically applied duck tape. About 1:00 a.m. my wife and I heard a tell-tale skritch at the screen, followed moments later by the screen popping and the sound of leathery wings in the room. I turned the nightstand lamp on to reveal a rather large specimen of a brown bat with a wingspan a little bigger than my hand, circling the room with lots of sudden changes in altitude.

Suddenly in the middle of our own Wild Kingdom episode, my wife claims the role of Marlin Perkins: “I’ll stay in the bed with the sheet pulled up to my eyes while John wrestles the beast into submission and counts its teeth.”

The first order of business is for me to commando-crawl over to the window to raise the screen in the hopes the bat will go out the same way it came in. Yeah, I know the bat doesn’t want to run into me anymore than I want to run into it, but it’s hard to maintain good posture when a crazed creature is zooming around at the level of your adam’s apple. Next, get on over to the small closet door and close it and the door to the master bath, and then into the walk-in closet to turn the light on. Past experience has shown us that if you give a bat a dark place filled with lots of clothes to hide in, that’s where it will go. This time it is too easy, as after about a minute of doing laps around the room the bat finally got itself lined up properly with the open window and was long gone.

We get about one bat episode a summer and I suppose I should try a more effective approach with the window screen, but I have to admit that this is kind of fun and a good source of material. The first time we had a bat in the house it came in through my youngest daughter’s window. She started crying about a bug in her room, which sent my wife in that direction, rather grumpily, wondering why a bug was such a big deal – until she opened the door and turned on the light. Stalemate. My wife wasn’t going in, my daughter wasn’t coming out, and the bat kept circling. I went in, scooped my daughter and my wife slammed the door as I came out and we left the situation for daylight.

The next day I went in with my leather work gloves, a broom and a dustpan and finally determined the bat must be hiding in the closet. I opened the windows and tried to make enough noise and commotion to flush the critter out, but it was hanging tough out of sight. My wife came in and started to go through the closet one hanger at a time, pulling out the clothing and shaking it while I stood ready to pounce on whatever moved. About a third of the way through the closet she shook a dress and the bat dropped out … and slid down my wife’s bare leg (she was wearing shorts) to the floor. I really wish I could have admired her bat dance in greater detail but I stayed focused on my mission and clapped the broom down on top of the creature. Once the secondary tremors had faded my wife grabbed an empty trash can and put it over the bat as I removed the broom; it was soon returned to the wild via the window.

The episode is one of our favorite family stories, and we’ve since learned that my wife’s bat dance is dramatically different from her spider dance. But that’s a story for another day.

Update:

When it comes to animal control problems, what are a few bats and gophers around the house, anyway? At least I don’t have to feed them. One man is going to great and hilarious lengths to keep his birdfeeder from becoming a squirrel’s answer to Old Country Buffet, and you can read about it here.

On camping and commandments

I’m working on a longer post on another topic that I hope to finish tonight. In the meantime, a couple of interesting news stories (click the links to read the entire article):

“Camp Reality” sets up across from “Camp Casey”

Military families disturbed by a sea of crosses erected by anti-war protesters near President Bush’s ranch in Crawford, Texas, have removed crosses bearing the names of their fallen children and transferred them to another site to show support for American troops in Iraq.

Anti-war protesters “never asked for my permission to put up a cross for my son for their cause,” said Gary Qualls, whose son was killed in Iraq. “They are not respecting our sons and daughters.”

… Also, starting today, about 500 yard signs that say “Support Our Troops” and “Bush Country” will be placed on property directly across from Camp Casey by a group called GrassFire.org.

“We will also unfurl a huge American flag” to fly at the site, which is being called “Camp Reality,” said Steve Elliott, president of GrassFire.org. He said his group has collected 400,000 petitions supporting both Mr. Bush and U.S. troops.

Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals rules 11-2 in favor of Nebraska town’s Ten Commandments display.

PLATTSMOUTH, Neb. (BP)–In the first major Ten Commandments decision since the U.S. Supreme Court had its say, a federal appeals court Aug. 19 upheld the constitutionality of a large granite Decalogue monument that has stood in the city of Plattsmouth, Neb., for 40 years.

The 11-2 decision by the full Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals comes nearly two months after the Supreme Court issued a split decision in two separate cases, allowing a Texas Ten Commandments monument to stand but ordering the removal of a Kentucky Ten Commandments courtroom plaque. The ruling by the Eighth Circuit reversed an earlier 2-1 decision by one of the court’s three-judge panels.

There’s also this:
Anti-war protestors target wounded at Walter Reed

Washington (CNSNews.com) – The Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C., the current home of hundreds of wounded veterans from the war in Iraq, has been the target of weekly anti-war demonstrations since March. The protesters hold signs that read “Maimed for Lies” and “Enlist here and die for Halliburton.”

The anti-war demonstrators, who obtain their protest permits from the Washington, D.C., police department, position themselves directly in front of the main entrance to the Army Medical Center, which is located in northwest D.C., about five miles from the White House.

Among the props used by the protesters are mock caskets, lined up on the sidewalk to represent the death toll in Iraq.

Seen any coupons for cardiologists?

“Hello, this is ABC Cardiology. How may I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m looking to have a little work done, and I’m calling around to find out what it costs to see one of your doctors and have a couple of tests?”

“What kind of tests?”

“Oh, you know, EKG, stress test, enzyme test, whatever it is you folks do to figure out if something’s wrong with the old ticker.”

“Um, I don’t know what that costs. Let me transfer you.”

“Ok.”

“Hello, Coding Department.”

“Yeah, could you please tell me how much a visit with one of your cardiologists costs, and what kind of tests I might expect and how much they cost?”

“Well, I’m not sure I can tell you…”

“Look, it’s like this. I’m thinking it might be a good idea to have someone take a look at me, but I have a high deductible health plan so that means I’m paying for most, if not all, of any visit out of my own pocket and I’m just calling around trying to get some prices for a comparison.”

“Well, let’s see…a consultation is $334 to $432, depending on the amount of time spent.”

“Yow! Is there anyone in town who charges less?”

“No, that’s pretty much the standard Usual, Customary and Reasonable cost accepted by the health plans.”

“So, uh, do you have any coupons or specials this week?”

The above is a composite of the discussions I’ve had recently as I try to follow up after my ultimately innocuous visit to the ER recently. I’m taking this approach for two reasons.

Licensed to thrill gophers by the government of the United Nations

One time a gopher climbed into the outdoor vent for our dryer and wound up falling down the exhaust tube and meeting its end inside the works of the machine. The dryer had to be turned on its side and almost entirely disassembled before we could get to the source of the smell and by that time the little carcass was…well, it was pretty awful.

Today when my youngest daughter, Patience, and I came home from church she opened the door from the garage into the kitchen just in time to see our cat coming hard from the living room in high speed pursuit of a brown streak. Said streak made it to the dining area and underneath a free-standing jelly cabinet, whereupon the cat set up a seige. My daughter scooped the very annoyed kitty and closed him in the basement and came out to the garage where I was still getting things out of the car.

“Dad, Felix chased a chipmunk under the jelly cabinet!”

“Good,” I said, “let him earn his keep by keeping the varmints under control.”

“Daddy, we can’t let Felix get him,” she said in some distress, “and besides I’ve already locked him in the basement.”

This was not good news. We don’t see many chipmunks around our place, so I was thinking gopher. Which of course reminded me of the last time a gopher breached our perimeter. I had also been thinking a dead, rotting gopher in the dryer was about the worst thing we ever hoped to experience as homeowners, but now I started wondering if a live, excited gopher could be more destructive – and a lot harder to remove.

I went inside with Patience to scope out the situation. She announced she was going to try to trap the beast using a shoe box and some hazel nuts from the cupboard; an idea I thought would be spectacularly unsuccessful. Still, it was an idea, and since my thought of letting the cat retrieve the interloper (and then retrieving the neutralized rodent from the cat) was in disfavor I figured it was useless to suggest the Carl Spackler options of flooding, shooting with a high-powered rifle, or plastic explosives shaped like the gopher’s “friends”.

The situation seemed stable for the moment, so while Patience assembled the elements of her scheme I went outside to see if I could find a gopher-sized opening into the house; hopefully one that didn’t already have a gopher-sized sign advertising “free high-speed internet.” Minutes later Patience came bounding outside as well.

“I tried to force it out from the cabinet and toward the box with the food in it,” she said, “but it ran into the kitchen and under the stove. And I think it’s a gopher and not a chipmunk.”

“Ah, Mr. Gopher, we meet again,” I thought. I was not surprised that the trap hadn’t worked because – in order to defeat my enemy – I was already thinking like my enemy and I sensed that a gopher on the run in strange surroundings would not be thinking, “I’ve got to get out of here – but first, a snack!”

I was thinking again of unleashing the cat, but my daughter was thinking strictly in terms of an exit strategy. “If only we could get him to run outside,” she said. I was about to say, “Oh yes, perhaps if we asked him nicely…” when it started to dawn on me. The stove is opposite of a door that leads directly to our driveway. Both are located in a narrow neck of the kitchen that leads to the larger part of the room. If we could just establish a barricade to prevent any flight deeper into the house, and if we could hold the door to the outside wide open….why, yes, it could just work!

Quickly we laid chairs on their sides, perpindicular to the front of the stove. Next my daughter selected a broom, and I positioned myself in the threshold, holding the inside and outside doors open as widely as possible. Patience then started to probe gently under the stove with the broom. Almost instantly the gopher shot out from under the stove, crossed the narrow strip of floor between us and was out the door in front of me and launched itself off of the stoop. It landed in stride and crossed eight feet of pavement faster than you can say “great gobs of” and flung itself into a hedge with a last exultant leap. I choked up like at the end of “Free Willy”.

But do you want to know what the best part of all this is? The cat still thinks the gopher is under the jelly cabinet, and is camped out. I plan on breaking the news to him in the next day or two.

Sweet 17

The summer of ’88 was a summer of heat and drought, which my pregnant wife and I weathered in an unairconditioned garden level apartment. Wednesday night August 17 was as steamy as the rest, made even more unpleasant for my wife because she was more than a week overdue with our first child. We went to Wednesday night service at our church that evening and our pastor had me, and the rest of the congregation, pray that the baby would come soon but not before service was over.

About midnight that night the heat wave broke and the temperature dropped by about 20 degrees in two hours time. My wife, and apparently nearly every other full-term pregnant woman in St. Paul, went into labor. When we arrived at our hospital early on the morning of August 18th every bed in the Labor and Delivery area was already full. It turned out to be a day of complications that kept our prayer chain busy as we waited for space in L&D to open up, waited for an anesthesiologist to show up and administer an epidural (which didn’t take), waited an hour and a half for another anesthesiologist to come and try again while I tried to be as calm and comforting as I could be while my wife went through contraction after contraction. When she rested in between I would step out of her line of sight and lift whatever piece of furniture or heavy equipment I could get my hands on to vent my own frustration. I think the nurses were ready to call another anesthesiologist to bring a tranquilizer dart. At 4:33 p.m. it was all worth it.

A hard lesson

This is the beginning of a much more in-depth education program, in which we tell our members why and what Wal-Mart does — not just to small towns, but to workers,” said Louise Sundin, president of the Minneapolis Federation of Teachers. (Strib: Twin Cities teachers unions push Wal-Mart boycott)

Honest, Mom, I wasn’t doing anything. I was sitting in my American History class and Ms. Wolverton was talking about the founding fathers, and when she got through telling us about the first president — Samuel Gompers of the American Federation of Labor, that is, so you know I was paying attention — she told us to take out our Diversity Journals and write about what it would feel like to be beat up by cops employed by fatcat capitalists and to not have health insurance besides.

So I was opening up my backpack when it slipped – honest! – and everything spilled out on the floor. Well, not everything, because I was able to catch my iPod, you know, and then the Wolf, I mean, Ms. Wolverton points at the floor next to me and says, really mean-like, “What’s that?”

Well, I look down and I say, “Nothing Ms. Wolverton, that’s just the condoms they gave us in third period today.”

“No,” she says, “What’s that?”

Then I say, “You mean this flyer about what time Tuesday morning we’re to catch the school bus to take us to the state capital to protest for higher education spending?”

“No!” she says, and now she’s really mad. “That looks like one of the new Trapper Keepers that Wal-Mart is advertising in the newspaper! How dare you bring something like that to school?”

“Hey, it’s not mine,” I said. “Someone must have stuck that in there just to get me in trouble, probably during Conflict-Resolution class!” Really, Mom, that Billy Swedberg is sooo passive-aggressive.

So anyway, now Ms. Wolverton is all, “shopping at Wal-Mart is the first step to economic servitude, and how buying a Trapper Keeper seems innocent enough now but, like, the next thing you know I’ll be listening to talk radio and voting Republican,” you know? Then she says something like, “someday when you’re working 70 hours a week for $1 you’ll wish you’d paid more attention in class.” Well, I didn’t really know what to say to that, but she gave me the idea, so I said, “I’m sorry, my ADD is acting up – what was the question again?”

Well, that seemed to calm her down and I thought it was all going to blow over when she says, “I don’t know what people are looking for when they go into a den of iniquity and social injustice like Wal-Mart.”

OK, Mom, I knooow I should have kept my mouth shut, but I wasn’t really thinking because I was still so nervous, so I said, “Good values?” And that’s when she went ballistic and told me I knew I wasn’t allowed to use that kind of language in school and that I had to go to the principal’s office and they were going to call you to come and get me.

So, am I in trouble?

Update:

For more informative and serious insight, read this post from Bogus Gold. Be sure to follow the links in that story to Craig Westover and Swiftee.