A Movable, If Soggy, Feast

One year anniversary of the Hurricane Katrina nightmare. Enough's been said about it for the last year and so much so today alone, so I'll keep this brief.

One year since the roof was ripped off America's dirty little secret. Race-based societal stratification lingers like a bloated corpse in a back alley-turned-oil-slicked-creek.

The Republican Neocon wet dream of breaking the back of the middle class would see us all as those hapless, helpless left-behinds in New Orleans or Mississippi--skin color be damned. They'd be content to worry about how they look on TV press conferences, how they appeared to be managing the situation. But when the cameras were turned off, they'd get busy cutting communication lines, turning around aid trucks and holding National Gaurd troops back at state lines with every intention of using the chaos and suffering to their political advantage. They did it. They'd do it again in a heartbeat.

In so many ways the Katrina aftermath was the beginning of the end for Bush and company. So many formerly middle-of-the-road-Americans would awake from the brain-deadening lies they'd been swallowing. So many would begin to understand what we've been saying all along. And now a year later, it seems only those with malfunctioned brains or those with something to gain are the only ones left believing in what the criminals and power-mad fascists in Washington have to say. They don't see the melding of the Federal and the Corporate, the erosion of the individual and the Rights inherent to them. They still don't care about the Neoconservative agenda, haven't read PNAC and could care less that their TV news oozes a toxic mix of misinformation and inanity. They continue to confuse patriotism for obedience, safety for fear, war for peace.

But their numbers are shrinking. And that fact alone should allow this grim anniversary to inspire us to continue fighting to make those numbers even fewer.