As the days have passed since Katrina bore down her maleficent force on the South, there has been some time to reflect on the loss. Losses in this battle cannot be counted with simple price tags, or even body counts. America has lost so much more in this disaster than it ever has before, not from the actions of the many, but of the few. The violence, the looting, the vicious hatred of mankind all go beyond the struggle for survival in a land without hope - they taint the American spirit, the kindness of strangers, the love for fellow men. Efforts by the many will soon overshadow the sins of these few, but the stain has been set, forever a mark on the American landscape. For now, a grand old town of the South remains in anarchy.
We've lost the city of ghosts, voodoo, and vampires, a historic town unlike any other in the vast United States. A beacon of the South, a town of mystery and delight. We've lost the vampire Lestat, Zora Neale Hurston's voodoo education, and a confederacy of dunces. We've lost a rich culture, a grand heritage, a city made for people of all kinds, a city where everyone could be free to be themselves.
We've lost some American pride, spirit, and hope. Someday we will have it back again, but not yet. For now all we can do is watch it churn and sputter in the swirling water that engulfs a Southern city.