Wow. I’m not the only one that’s horrified by the reactions of the people around them to the hurricane. For those of you scolding me for getting upset at my friend’s racist emails… Read this L. A. Weekly piece by Tim Wise talking about the people sitting at a table near him in a restaurant.
You blessed your chimichanga in the name of Jesus Christ, and then proceeded to spend the better part of your meal — and mine, since I was too near your table to avoid hearing every word — moralistically scolding the people of that devastated city, heaping scorn on them for not heeding the warnings to leave before disaster struck. Then you attacked them — all of them, without distinction, it seemed — for the behavior of a relative handful: those who have looted items like guns, or big-screen TVs.
I heard you ask, amid the din of your colleagues’ “Amens,” why it was that instead of pitching in to help their fellow Americans, the people of New Orleans instead — again, all of them, in your mind — chose to steal and shoot at relief helicopters.
I watched you wipe salsa from the corners of your mouth, as you nodded agreement to the statement of one of your friends, her hair neatly coifed, her makeup flawless, her jewelry sparkling. When you asked, rhetorically, why it was that people were so much more decent amid the tragedy of 9/11, as compared to the aftermath of Katrina, she had offered her response, but only after apologizing for what she admitted was going to sound harsh.
“Well,” Buffy explained. “It’s probably because in New Orleans, it seems to be mostly poor people, and, you know, they just don’t have the same regard.”
Your God is one with whom I am not familiar.
Your God — the one to whom you prayed today, and likely do before every meal, because this gesture proves what a good Christian you are — is one who you sincerely believe gives a flying fuck about your lunch. Your God is one who you seem to believe watches over you and blesses you, and brings good tidings your way, while simultaneously letting thousands of people watch their homes be destroyed, and perhaps 10,000 or more die, many of them in the streets for lack of water or food.
Did you ever stop to think just what a rancid asshole such a God would have to be, such that he would take care of the likes of you, while letting babies die in their mothers’ arms, and letting old people die in wheelchairs, at the foot of Canal Street? But no, it isn’t God who’s the asshole here, Skip (or Brad, or Braxton, or whatever your name is).
This is one of my favorite articles ever.