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Update
by Juniper
September 20, 2005
Skotty and I intended to leave by 8:00 a.m. so as to get in before dark. By the time the litter box was changed, the last draft engineering report e-mailed and the 55-gallon drum that will be come a toilet packed with canned goods, it was noon. That put us into Baton Rouge just at dark, still an hour out of New Orleans.
As we headed into the city, our side was eriely vacant. We watched a stream of cars headed west; every other one with blinky lights of some sort. By the time we pulled up to the first check point, we were the only car moving on a 6-lane wide freeway. Knowing that we were past curfew, and that, with another hurricane headed this way the mayor had ended all re-occupation indefinitely yesterday, I fully expected to be turned around, or at least have some talking to do.
Skotty, long-haired, 5-day beard, and younger, had suggested earlier that I do the talking. I lean toward the driver’s window and say “I am here with supplies for the Common Ground Collective in Algiers.” Without another word, they wave me through. I say to Skotty “I’d feel better in this moment if we had met more resistance.”
We are driving into one of the largest cities in the country without any sign of life. Not a visible car, not a house light. Only freeway lights and the skyscraper illumination downtown. My brain is saying post-appocolyptic and the feeling in my stomach is completely unfamiliar.
We follow our mapquest directions easily. No traffic to impede last minute changes across 3 lanes. All of the remaining checkpoints are as easy as the first. I can feel my reflection; they see an official or wealthy woman with my young, male driver. No questions.
When we cross the Mississippi and land on local streets, it takes three
times driving back and two times asking National Guard and NOLA police
to find a mis-maked turn (Whitney Street is marked something else, if
you are mapquesting your way here.)
About 9:00 p.m. we pull up to a scene that many of you will recognize.
I am easily twice as old as more than 1/2 the people. Natalie, from the
Rhizome Collective, orders us to get through the gate quickly, before
the cops come with guns to enforce curfew. The driveway is covered with
a 20-foot long makeshift cover of tarps, a wide aisle of supplies. The
air is warm and heavy. The mosquitoes bring back memories of an evening
in Cancun and fear of dengue fever.
The yards of two homes are filled with tents. Malik’s home is oldly
elegant, un-airconditioned and without a shower. The neighbor left him
the key. In the midst of what feels like a refugee camp, I am sitting
in a room with 8 computers, and every power strip is charging something:
phones, laptops, radios, video camera batteries. The morning meeting starts
at 7:00 a.m, which now. I will know more soon!
You can’t imagine how much I miss you. I am very grateful to be
here w/Skotty and other familiar faces from Austin’s anarchist community.
But I can’t wait to see Jessie, who is reportedly only a mile a
way!
Blessings,
Juniper
Juniper is an environmental engineer, activist, and organizer. Donations
to help support Juniper's work can be sent to:
ACT
1405 Hillmount Street
Austin, Texas 78704
USA