Treadmarks of the Oppression

Johanna Rittenburg, manager of UUSC's Economic Justice Program, returned recently from Hammond, La., where she participated in a Convening on Workers Rights in the Gulf Coast.

It’s 11 p.m. on the Wednesday night before the Workers’ Rights Convening, and I’m driving my rental car from the Baton Rouge airport to Hammond. After a two-hour plane delay, I’ve expected quick passage once on the ground, but on the highway there are two brutal accidents: an overturned 18-wheeler and two smashed passenger cars in one place, another car flat up against a guard-rail farther down the road.

Hauntingly, flares, police cruisers, and ambulances pepper the route I travel toward communities deeply impacted by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita.

When I arrive at midnight, my room is ready. Luckily, I’ve managed to book a room at the only local motel that would take an advance reservation –a response to the general and enduring unpredictability within the post-Katrina environment. Eight months after the Gulf Coast disaster, it’s still not “business as usual” in New Orleans and environs.

FAST FORWARD 24 HOURS:

On Thursday night following the convening, I’m walking through the streets of New Orleans with Frank Curiel, lead organizer for LIUNA, the Laborers International Union of North America. I’m hearing about his previous work with the farm workers, his outreach strategies among Latino workers, how to create racial solidarity, and his organizing among poultry workers.

I’m learning about Louisiana’s deplorable work conditions and how locals are coping with desperate conditions that just aren’t improving.

Reporting on Bureau of Labor statistics, the Economic Policy Institute states that "joblessness remains rampant among Katrina evacuees…for both those still away from home and those who have returned—their overall unemployment rate is a staggering 24.5 percent, but the rate for minorities is even higher, about 42 percent for both blacks and Hispanics."

As I walk with Frank, I notice that the first-floors of many of the major buildings we pass are still boarded up -- scaffolding supports the facades along many city blocks -- a depressing new sort of iron balcony. Frank is a solid guy and I’m glad he is a buffer against what seems to be an unusual number of inebriated people bumping through the streets of New Orleans.

“You wouldn’t believe how many car accidents there are now!” he remarks, shaking his head.

The next morning at 4:45 a.m. I’m 15 miles out of Hammond, driving back to the airport. In the early morning darkness, I can see more flares and four police vehicles up ahead. The ambulance has already left the scene and a pick-up truck and a compact car are being towed away. Slowing to navigate this accident, I remember the faces and voices of the local activists I was with the day before.

There is an active and tireless movement of people working passionately to address human and labor rights abuses in the Gulf – the desperate needs which fuel this work are expressing themselves physically in the crashes which bookend my trip.