Archive for : Disaster Relief & Recovery

The road to rebuilding in Staten Island

My day began at 5:15am. Three trains, one bus and a 20-minute walk later, I arrived at the Christian Pentecostal Church on Staten Island for what I thought was a shift with the Food Bank for New York City. “Who here has a car?” asked the Pastor, as he surveyed the room of about fifteen volunteers. As two people raised their hands he began to explain that volunteers had been coming in and out of the food bank site all week and if we gave him our permission he’d prefer to send us “into the streets.” Weekdays were slower-going there, he explained.

“We” was actually a group of six individuals from across Long Island and Manhattan who had chosen to sign up online and donate our time on Friday. Besides the mutual desire to step outside of our comfort zones and give of what we could, we had very little in common. One of us was a recent college graduate living at home, two were grad students, another was in-between jobs, and two others had been given the day off from work. Regardless of our backgrounds, we instantaneously joined forces and became a team.

Driving into the destruction, it was not hard to imagine we were somewhere else entirely. The National Guard’s presence both on the ground in tanks and overhead in choppers cut the silence as if we were in a combat zone and added to the eerie atmosphere. Houses once filled with life, sat abandoned and boarded up with the entire contents of ground floors laid out front alongside the curb. It was as if the guts had literally been ripped from the body of the home. And yet even more bizarrely, we were actually there to assist with the “gutting” of the homes , removing contents from the lives that people had once lived.

As we got out of the car, an enthusiastic middle-aged woman in a colorful macaroni necklace came running up to us, excited to ask us who we were and who had sent us. After a few moments comparing phone numbers and names, she assured us that we were in the right spot. As one of the volunteer coordinators with the Staten Island Evangelical Relief Fund, she had been overseeing donation drop-offs, construction teams, and food bank deliveries for the neighborhood of Midland Beach. Not to mention that her home (the very one she had run out to greet us from) had also sustained four feet of flooding and no longer had a usable first floor. And yet, as she surveyed her fully-gutted, unfurnished house, she still managed to make the funniest, bittersweet comment of the day, as she yelled, “Someone move that soggy drywall out of the living room! There’s no room left to sit down!”

Staten Island Evangelical Relief Fund has existed for less than a month. Its efforts are made up of a collection of individuals from the Evangelical churches and ministries on the Island, who have come together in support of their communities and neighbors, in response to Hurricane Sandy. Together, the churches have divvied up responsibility for the entire Midland Beach zone, one of the hardest hit areas in Staten Island. Despite limited formal training and experience in volunteer management, and the fact that so many of the key organizers are among the same homeowners in need of volunteer help, they have a clear understanding of who needs what and how to get it to them. They have developed a rudimentary albeit effective system of assessment that has allowed them to survey entire neighborhoods. They have set up a volunteer and distribution center that not only provides food and goods to storm victims but feeds hundreds of volunteers who pass through the Island daily. Most importantly all of this is done in a way that validates and dignifies each volunteer and each recipient.

What we saw and the work we did was difficult and heavy. The day began with removing and disposing of a waterlogged dry wall from the home of a pregnant immigrant who had been working with a stranger to gut her entire house prior to our arrival. Afterwards, we moved along to the home of a man who had returned after the storm to find four feet of water sitting in the ground floor of his newly renovated house. Emotionally, this assignment was the most difficult part of the day because as we tore down walls, we watched this man go through his unsalvageable belongings for the first time. He was present to watch us rip apart his house and essentially discard his family’s previous life. It makes sense now why removing walls is called “gutting” in construction lingo. A wall is never just a wall– as you tear it down, you truly feel it internally, in your gut.

For a volunteer, it can be easy to get caught up in the tasks of swinging a crowbar and tearing out insulation, even to the point that you forget where you are. When a building is stripped down to its studs it loses the memories it once held. When working alongside a homeowner and holder of the memories, it is hard to forget the importance of where you are standing. Most of the people we met who had suffered the most during the storm, were working-class individuals who had watched their stable lives wash away with the hurricane.

I am both fortunate and unfortunate enough to have volunteered numerous times in response to disaster. In the years following Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, I spent weeks rebuilding in both rural and metropolitan Louisiana. I am comfortable leading a crew on a demolition project or in the rebuilding of a collapsing home, but it never gets easier to see devastation and watch people struggle to rebuild.

Until this experience, I had never stopped to think about how volunteering in the wake of a disaster is incredibly different than any other kind of volunteer work. Disaster relief is always retroactive – of course one can prepare for a storm, become trained in disaster response, and dedicate effort to planning and implementing specific protocols, but that can only get you so far. Until you are confronted with a disastrous situation, it is impossible to predict your necessary reaction. And that is what makes it all the more remarkable when you see organizations and volunteer managers who spring forth in not only dedicated, but also organized ways. It is not easy to manage a predetermined group of volunteers working on a traditional service project, let alone organize a haphazard stream of thousands of volunteers working on disaster relief. The volunteer managers and community organizations that spring forth to provide support in the wake of a disaster deserve incredible recognition.

Acting on Empathy

Beyond a few days without power, I experienced Sandy’s inconveniences only minimally, leading me to feel a mixture of gratitude and guilt. My guilt came mostly from empathy, and with flooding all over the city, it wasn’t difficult to imagine myself wearing someone else’s soggy shoes. Empathy aside, my mixed emotions made my desire to act feel almost self-serving, like a mea culpa for a life lived in Zone C. My separation from the affected areas, and simultaneous compulsion to go to them, forced me to realize just how isolated I was from the bulk of the city I call home. I felt privileged, and guiltier.

Because of my lack of knowledge about the areas most devastated by the storm, I felt that it would be arrogant to organize a disaster relief effort without seeing what was happening on the ground. I signed up to volunteer in one of the few places I could get to without a car: Red Hook, Brooklyn. After arriving at a staging location and being sent off to unload a badly flooded warehouse, my inability to lift my own bodyweight made the task impossible. After picking up tiny scraps of trash while twenty-foot stacks of ruined food and paper remained untouched, I left and joined my colleague nearby at The Farm, an incredible community garden that had been totaled by the storm. I sat side by side with locals who still had no power, and with volunteers came in from all over the city, compelled to do something beyond obsessively watching the news.

We rinsed out ruined trays of seedlings and broke open hundreds of cloves of garlic to replant anew. Hearing the incredible stories of displacement and determination of the volunteers made me feel more connected to my fellow New Yorkers than I had been in a long time. Like many of the other staffers who post here, I was just glad to be of use. It gave me hope to see such a robust effort towards new beginnings, both for the community and for its fauna. But I was also sad that it had taken a hurricane to make me realize my obligation to our great metropolis.

What makes New York so great isn’t the sum of our parts. Nor is it the parts; we are still made up of strong families and buildings and blocks like everywhere else. What makes our city so great is a deep, unshakable desire to associate with a common set of values. These include resilience (proven by generations of immigrants), valor in ways big and small, and a determination to accept (and even celebrate!) our differences. I am grateful to my community for rebuilding, and for choosing to do it together – one clove at a time.