I Can't Say It Better Myself...

Read the whole article here
http://motherjones.com/media/2010/01/when-media-disaster-haiti-looting

An excerpt:

Imagine, reader, that your city is shattered by a disaster. Your home no longer exists, and you spent what cash was in your pockets days ago. Your credit cards are meaningless because there is no longer any power to run credit-card charges. Actually, there are no longer any storekeepers, any banks, any commerce, or much of anything to buy. The economy has ceased to exist.

By day three, you're pretty hungry and the water you grabbed on your way out of your house is gone. The thirst is far worse than the hunger. You can go for many days without food, but not water. And in the improvised encampment you settle in, there is an old man near you who seems on the edge of death. He no longer responds when you try to reassure him that this ordeal will surely end. Toddlers are now crying constantly, and their mothers infinitely stressed and distressed.

So you go out to see if any relief organization has finally arrived to distribute anything, only to realize that there are a million others like you stranded with nothing, and there isn't likely to be anywhere near enough aid anytime soon. The guy with the corner store has already given away all his goods to the neighbors. That supply's long gone by now. No wonder, when you see the chain pharmacy with the shattered windows or the supermarket, you don't think twice before grabbing a box of PowerBars and a few gallons of water that might keep you alive and help you save a few lives as well.

The old man might not die, the babies might stop their squalling, and the mothers might lose that look on their faces. Other people are calmly wandering in and helping themselves, too. Maybe they're people like you, and that gallon of milk the fellow near you has taken is going to spoil soon anyway. You haven't shoplifted since you were 14, and you have plenty of money to your name. But it doesn't mean anything now.

If you grab that stuff are you a criminal? Should you end up lying in the dirt on your stomach with a cop tying your hands behind your back? Should you end up labeled a looter in the international media? Should you be shot down in the street, since the overreaction in disaster, almost any disaster, often includes the imposition of the death penalty without benefit of trial for suspected minor property crimes?

Or are you a rescuer? Is the survival of disaster victims more important than the preservation of everyday property relations? Is that chain pharmacy more vulnerable, more a victim, more in need of help from the National Guard than you are, or those crying kids, or the thousands still trapped in buildings and soon to die?

http://motherjones.com/media/2010/01/when-media-disaster-haiti-looting

Something to Say

It's not easy to think of things to write, even if the world is full of inspiration. I've been neglecting this blog for months, and it's not the only thing; I've also been ignoring my journal. I've been keeping a journal off and on since I was seven years old. Since Semester at Sea, I haven't ever gone more than a few days without writing in one of my little books. That habit made contributing to this blog super easy. But for the last six months or so, I've had a hard time finding material to scribble for my own personal enjoyment, and I haven't been able to think of anything that I feel I need to share with the citizens of cyberspace. I don't know if this has something to do with getting older or if it's just that I don't feel like I have anything worth sharing.

I admit that sometimes I feel like writing reveals too much vulnerability -- something about giving voice to my inner musings makes me a little nervous. But I've also gained so much from doing just that; sharing my thoughts has often been the most rewarding part of my day, sometimes even my year. But I also recognize that the greatest inspiration for me has always been my experiences -- pushing my boundaries, trying new things, feeling the extremes of the human emotional spectrum. I don't really feel like I've had any exhilarating conversations or experiences in a long time. In fact when I think about it, the last time I felt exhilarated was somewhere between Boise, Idaho and Laramie, Wyoming. The Rockies always get to me in a good way.

Since December, I moved to Philadelphia, started a new job, got my own apartment, and met oodles of new, interesting people. But those experiences haven't translated to written confabulation. Fortunately, something completely exhilarating should occur in the next week. My sister is going to have a baby, and for the first time my genetic line will be extended into the next generation. I'm more excited than I was the first time I took a transatlantic flight, more pumped than when I first set foot in the Amazon rain forest, more giddy than I felt at the top of Cerro Chirripo in Costa Rica. I don't have to work hard, save money, organize arrangements, or anything. But this amazing thing is going to happen to me, to my family, to the world. A new person is going to join us on this floating blue marble, and because he/she will share my blood, it's special. I never got that before. And when I think about it, I definitely feel like I need to shout it to the world.