Nine Lives

Dan Baum's exploration of New Orleans' evolution from the 1960s through the mid-2000s works on a number of levels. Framed by the occurrence of two major hurricanes: Hurricane Betsy in September of 1965 and Hurricane Katrina in August of 2004. From inception, the reader thinks this will be a piece about disaster and its physical, social, economic, and psychological impacts. Yet, by the middle of the book, it is clear that hurricanes merely highlight the real disaster occurring in so many U.S. urban cores. Strife uncovers years of neglect, both of physical infrastructure and communities as well as entire segments of populations.

Baum skillfully manages to avoid the trap of being overtly political with the writing. Though some of those he interviews and whose stories he retells are politically active and tell stories designed to offer scathing commentary on the state of social affairs, Baum presents this information neutrally and allows the reader to pick a side. Baum is sentimental to the plight of New Orleanians, but he presents such sentiment in a human way such that the reader empathizes with the story subjects rather than feels sorry for the them.

Lost in the conversation about the rebuilding of New Orleans and the revitalization of our urban areas (in general) is the connection these places have with their residents. I am from a small town in central West Virginia; here, we frequently hear references to the role of place in our lives. Cities are often thought of as emotion-neutral and city-dwellers as connected to other things. Not so. Within cities lie individual communities that function more as autonomous small towns than gridded street patterns. City-dwellers function with dual identities; those of their entire city and those of their tightly-knit neighborhoods. We must recognize the divides between urban and rural in our country, seek to bridge those divides, all while preserving the uniqueness of both the urban and rural. Salvation of and advantage for one at the expense of the other is a failed attempt.

Resilience is sometimes thought of as a character trait - something innate the some people have and others don't. I study resilience and believe strongly that it can be nurtured. To nurture it is to recognize that it is unique to every individual, every community. To nurture it is to understand that what works for New Orleans would not work for Pittsburgh, nor Tulsa, nor my small town in West Virginia. The system must realize that social differences are a part of New Orleans' fabric; its residents have learned to account for those differences, having experienced a number of successes, a number of failures, and holding close the knowledge that many challenges remain. Supporting that process lays the groundwork for resilience in that community, more so that repeatedly imploring residents to set aside supplies for 72 hours. It is only by working to overcome the daily disaster that we build capability to survive and thrive through and following the rare catastrophe.