To know Eric Arceneaux is to know one of the most charismatic, articulate, gifted, young men you will probably ever meet. And that articulation and talent extends beyond his magnetic personality, and into his music. A burgeoning New Orleans star waiting to truly get his shine on, you could not tell he's a professional artist and vocal coach. But a close knit, well-grounded family will have that effect.
Arceneaux was actually spending time with his family in Louisiana at the time, although his record label urged him to move to Atlanta to further his blossoming R & B music career. Dazed, he awoke to his mother screaming frantically, telling him to move his car because of water rising underneath it. In their neighborhood, Katrina had already hit, but with little damages other than a few broken windows and debris in the streets. Still, with his mother's urging he walked outside. Arceneaux was shocked to find that the pavement for as far as he could see was no longer visible. Soaked to the calf in murky, dirty water, he wondered if he had accidentally woken up to a different, surreal dimension. The worst, however, had yet to come.
Within twenty short minutes the scene from outside had begun to invade the Arceneaux home. Not content to consume the outside of the house, water began to steadily pour through the first floor of the house. There was not enough time for Arceneaux to become afraid, as the water rose from his ankles, then to his waist and then to his chest. With emotions as cloudy as the polluted water he pushed through, he had no choice but to act. Reflecting on his emotions had to come at a more convenient time. Valuables had to be collected. Of course there was too much to save it all, but important items like government documents, food, birth certificates and family valuables were carried up to the attic in haste.
It is often said that what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, and after three days being stuck in the attic of his flooded home, not to mention the combination of hundred-degree temperature, Eric was operating on every bit of strength he had left. He guzzled all the water they could find to sustain himself and still his sweat-soaked body craved more. Humid, dank air filled the attic. The smell of sewage water mixed with god-knew-what-else invaded their nostrils. No one was able to take a shower. And the heat, God, the southern humid heat was unbearable. Eric was not so much worried of whether they would survive, but how they would be forced to survive than if their condition lasted much longer.
Thankfully, fate intervened. On the third day, the sound of chopper blades echoed above their house and they were airlifted to safety. It was akin to hearing the wings of an angel flapping in the distance. For Eric Arceneaux, that savory feeling of triumph would not last long enough.
The Harsh Reality of InjusticeOf course, they weren't entirely certain, but the way his family had figured they would be airlifted to a safe city outside of New Orleans until the chopper dropped them off at a bus station maybe not too far out of New Orleans called Medery. Maybe it wouldn't work quite like that. But this was the almighty America--this wasn't some third world country. However the situation played out, they would be taken care of. As citizens of the greatest country of the US, faced with unparalleled tragedy, they could expect their government to come to their aid. Right?
They arrived at a relief camp, but it was not entirely the scene they expected. Eric saw thousands of different faces, belonging to survivors like them. Eric could read the hunger, the despair and weariness in their eyes. There were people holding up sick, discolored babies, people passing out. Thousands of men, women and children were cramped in tight groups, but for the most part, they were dark-skinned faces. There were military officers to keep the crowds in order while buses came to transport the families to more hospitable conditions. The military instructed Eric and his family to fall into specific configurations. Literally, the Arceneaux family was instructed to pile up tight on other Katrina victims to the point where they could not move. All of the sudden, the nightmarish conditions in the attic of their flooded house seemed like a four-star accommodation, as human bodies were packed in tight. Eric Arceneaux wondered if this was how slaves shipped to the Americas felt centuries ago.
The conditions of the Katrina camp should have been the worst part, but they weren't. Growing up in New Orleans in the 80's and 90's, Eric Arceneaux's exposure to racism was limited, and for the most part, he presumed that it was not a significant social issue. But as he watched the scene around him, his previous notions were challenged. The military officials-who were all white-seemed less than empathetic in light of their severe loss. Sure, most of the victims-like Arceneaux and his family-were not in their Sunday best and smelling like a summer breeze. But what was so amusing about their condition that they had to point and laugh?
About six hours into day, the night began to fall but offered no relief as the will of many were tested in the humid camp. A white family being dropped off by helicopter caught his attention, a result of being packed with thousand of mostly black men, women and children. He watched and was confused as the military officials pushed through the crowd to get to the white family and escort them to the front of the crowd. His father decided to speak up. After everyone else was forced to in a line order, why was the white family skipped to the front of the line? "What's going' on? Why do they get to go to the front?" The military officials chose to justify their actions by threatening to spray him with mace and anyone else if they didn't stop "causing problems".
Eric's heart sunk. He felt like he had been punched to the chest. It was an abrupt and painful moment. He realizedto them, he was just another nigger. It didn't matter that these military officials were supposed to be aiding citizens of their own country. They didn't care that he was American. They didn't care that he was a human being. They didn't care that about his Creole background, or that he was twenty-one with a college degree and a successful career. All they saw was brown skin and thus, was just another nigger from the projects. It was the first serious experience he had as a victim of racism and a soul shaking experiencing.
As the buses approached, the military officials had them organized so the Katrina victims could all board the buses in an orderly fashion. However, when desperate, tired, hungry families began to aggressively rush the buses, the officials did nothing to maintain order. Eric Arceneaux and his family watched as chaos erupted about them. Why wasn't the military intervening? They continued to stand and watch as people who were once a community turned against each other in the absence of order, even forcing the Arceneaux to eventually fight to get on the bus.
The Katrina hurricane was a devastating event in the lives of thousands of families. But the media only sheds light on one perspective. The waters of the gulf that caused so much destruction served to baptize Eric Arceneaux and open his eyes to the real tragedy in the event. There is a war going on in this country. And that war is being waged in our homeland, on our soil. While it is not a proud fact, our country was founded on the institution of racism--a paradox considering the forefathers of our country fought for equality, independence, and based our foundation on "In God We Trust". Years later, Hurricane Katrina reveals a new paradox. Rather than bringing blacks, whites and all manners of humanity together, it showed that a division still exists even in our worst hour.
God bless the city of New Orleans, and the many proud natives like Eric Arceneaux. Nearly two years have passed, yet the experience lives on in the minds of many. Healing can come in many forms: writing, sports, and singing. But in order for healing to begin, the truth has to be revealed and not just swepped under the rug like our government has done so well! This was a personal testimony to the strength of the Arceneaux family, the New Orleans family, and the urban community. This was the truth about what really happened after Hurricane Katrina.
Written by Samuel Seton - Date: May 18, 2008
