Finding Community in a FEMA Trailer

Two weeks ago instead of heading home for my spring break, I decided to take part in Spring Break Outreach (SBO), spending my spring break in the Gulf Coast helping with the relief efforts. Eighteen months have past since Katrina hit the Gulf Coast, devastating large parts of Mississippi and Louisiana, and yet there is still so much more work to be done. My “site group” was based in Pass Christian, Mississippi, but we did much of our work in Bay St. Louis, and Waveland, Mississippi. Mississippi is the epitome of southern living, with two-lane high ways, and major businesses being located forty-five minutes to an hour away from any house. Funny as it may seem, there was still significant damage done to many of the businesses, those who were up and running were chains that could afford to rebuild, funeral homes, Lowe’s and Home Depots, and even insurance companies. The entire week of my spring break was a life changing experience. I met people I will never forget, I saw images that will forever be branded in my mind, I made new friends, and I even learned how to correctly paint a house. But the one thing that really impacted me during that week was the sense of community the Gulf Coast residents had. Some people whose houses we worked on stayed during the storm, and risked their lives, others found shelter in friends’ and family’s homes, but either way they all came back. They told us that people would ask them time and time again why they came back, especially if they lost everything, and there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again. And their answer would always be the same; this was the only place they knew as home. For many of the residents of Mississippi and Louisiana they were born and raised there, along with their entire families tracing back years and years, generations and generations. A house is not just a house for them; it’s more than that it’s a home, a community, and most especially their roots. It was hard for members of my group and me to comprehend this idea. Many of the residents who we helped were already living in poor conditions, many at poverty level, even before the storm hit. So it was hard for us to understand why they would want to return, and to return to a FEMA trailer as a new home nonetheless.

We finally understood why many residents returned one day as we were driving home from one of our job sites. The homeowners of the house we just finished working on were kind enough to show us a scenic route to take to get back to where we were staying. As we were driving along the beach we passed houses that over a year ago were huge mansions. For many just the frame of the house stood, or the steps leading up to the front porch. And what stood in front of the houses were not FEMA trailers, rather for-sale signs. Once we passed the beach and were back to our normal route, we saw again the lower class area, with houses still partially in shambles, being rebuilt, with the notorious FEMA trailers parked in the driveways. For those houses that did not have FEMA trailers, had names and address of where the homeowners were temporarily staying spray-painted on plywood, along with the words, “Do not demolish.” For those who had new homes on the beach of the Gulf of Mexico, moving after Katrina was something definite, for they did not know what community meant. They moved to the Gulf for either a second home, or just for the scenic rural area. For them to pick up and leave meant nothing. Nothing was making them return except for the price of real estate. This idea of roots or community is mirrored in Alice Walker’s Everyday Use. The mother in the story understands and appreciates where she came from, along with her daughter Maggie. But for her other daughter Dee, the idea of appreciating where you came from, and who were your ancestors, is something she does not brace until it becomes “cool” or in style to embrace your roots. After attending college Dee moves on to more “important” things writing her mother that she would visit, but never bring her friends, being embarrassed of where she came from. Dee eventually returns to visit her mother and sister. And she shows some signs of appreciation for her roots, but its all fake and under false pretenses, only doing it because for her it’s the “cool thing” to do. Her family being people that could barely read or write, and who lived simply and in poverty like conditions. The mother and her daughter Maggie are like the residents of the gulf coast who have spent the past eighteen months in FEMA trailers trying to rebuild their lives, while Dee is like the former residents, who if anything will return in the next ten or so years when the Gulf Coast is as nearly as rebuilt as it can be. In Ezra Pound’s In a Station of the Metro, the speaker of the poem shows appreciation for, and acknowledges her surroundings. The poem is short, yet is able to say a lot, stating: “The appearance of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough.” The speaker is able to clearly see all of the faces of the crowd, no matter the vastness of them like petals or leaves on a branch. A sense of familiarity is hinted to in the poem, with the idea that the speaker can identify and put a name to each face of the crowd, something that can be found in tight knit communities, one similar to the towns in the Gulf Coast. The ability to name and notice every single person in a crowd, gives a sense of community something that today is worth less and less, but can found worth much in the Gulf Coast.

After leaving the Gulf Coast and returning back to Loyola, I though to myself if it came down to having to leave my home and move out of New York, would I be able to do it? I do not know. I know I would never want to move out of New York State, but I think it would not be hard to move out of my house and out of my town. And this makes me a little jealous of the Gulf Coast inhabitants. I wish I had that sense of community and a deep appreciation of where I live.