The President on Grand Isle
I don't think I've even begun to process the weirdness of seeing The. Prez. O. Dent. Of. The. United. States (and not even a sucky one) walking on the beaches of Grand Isle and Port Fourchon. Don't get me wrong, I think it's very good that he came. But those beaches are where Chris and I have spent some of the happiest, most peaceful moments of our lives (see icon). What cognitive dissonance to see a clusterfuck of politicians in spots where I've rarely seen more than a handful of people, usually locals fishing or walking their dogs (we mostly go down there in the off-season). To see the presidential motorcade driving past camps and marinas we've seen a thousand times -- and bless the islanders' tenacious hearts for making all those signs, not abusing Obama but letting him know they are desperate. To hear about the 400 extra workers BP trucked in before the visit, deployed to conspicuously clean the beach, and then trucked right back out again once the president was gone.
I don't know what Obama should do. I'm too heartsick to think very rationally about the options. My friend Rich wrote a letter to the editor making a pretty good case for federalizing the disaster. Maybe that should be done. The only thing I feel sure of at this point is that BP's response has been totally inadequate. They've lied, they've lied about lying, they've waffled, they've dithered, they've poisoned waters and workers with the toxic dispersant Corexit, they've failed to acknowledge reality. I was willing to listen to opposing points of view a month ago, but now I say boycott BP forever. Failing that, at least please don't defend them on my journal.
Mostly, though, I'm thinking about those beaches that were always so fragile yet somehow seemed so eternal. I listened to the audio of the president's speech from Grand Isle yesterday, and I alternately nodded in encouragement and pounded my fist (when he referred to "Katrina and other natural disasters") and thought "Oh boy, we've heard that before" (when he pledged to do "whatever it takes" to fix this shit), but when the shorebirds flew over and you could hear them crying out to each other in the background, I just bawled.
[ETA: Transcript and video of Obama's remarks. Also, just noting that the White House website has misspelled both "Grand Isle" and the last name of its mayor, David Camardelle.]
I don't know what Obama should do. I'm too heartsick to think very rationally about the options. My friend Rich wrote a letter to the editor making a pretty good case for federalizing the disaster. Maybe that should be done. The only thing I feel sure of at this point is that BP's response has been totally inadequate. They've lied, they've lied about lying, they've waffled, they've dithered, they've poisoned waters and workers with the toxic dispersant Corexit, they've failed to acknowledge reality. I was willing to listen to opposing points of view a month ago, but now I say boycott BP forever. Failing that, at least please don't defend them on my journal.
Mostly, though, I'm thinking about those beaches that were always so fragile yet somehow seemed so eternal. I listened to the audio of the president's speech from Grand Isle yesterday, and I alternately nodded in encouragement and pounded my fist (when he referred to "Katrina and other natural disasters") and thought "Oh boy, we've heard that before" (when he pledged to do "whatever it takes" to fix this shit), but when the shorebirds flew over and you could hear them crying out to each other in the background, I just bawled.
[ETA: Transcript and video of Obama's remarks. Also, just noting that the White House website has misspelled both "Grand Isle" and the last name of its mayor, David Camardelle.]