The Difference between Justice and Law

by Kinzo Mihara

There is a difference between justice and the law. What that difference is, I do not yet know; but I know that there is a divide between the two. The people that I interviewed live in the Seventh Ward. Most of the people are elderly: retirees or soon-to-be. These people expressed many different emotions during our visits. Many were brought to tears. It is hard not to join them. I have been here for a week, but to express what I have seen during that time would take too long; I only write about my experiences today.

The first stop today was the Sisters of the Holy Family. The sisters run parochial schools for disadvantaged students. They also feed the poor and take care of the sick and needy. The youngest Sister is 47 years old, many are in their 70s and 80s, and a few are nearing 100.

Many of the sisters left New Orleans prior to Katrina. A few, however, stayed behind to care for the elderly sisters and parishioners that did not have the family or the means to leave. They said that it was their holy duty to do so. It is the stories of the latter that humble me. Initially, the storm was uneventful. During a lull in the storm, one sister went down to the first floor of a six story building to check on the damage.

She told us that it was then she saw a wall of water rushing towards the building. She remembered that there were two very elderly parishioners still on the first floor. She rushed to them and ushered them to the stairs. By the time they had reached the stairs, the water was nearly four feet deep. They barely managed to make it up the stairs. The water remained on the first floor and did not rise any further — just enough to trap them in the building.

That night, the Sisters and their wards ate food that was left in the sister’s rooms on the second floor. There was no electricity. There was no running water. There was, however, one telephone line that was up and running. The sister called this a miracle given to those who pray. Their phone was set on redial to 911, taking four days before it was finally answered. They rationed out the water they had and were eventually rescued. During the resulting turmoil and constant movement between temporary residences, not all of the sisters survived. Fifteen of 125 sisters died as a result of Katrina. Their lives were lived and given to the Grace of God.

The sisters are rebuilding. They are rebuilding the schools used to educate the children of the Ninth Ward. They are rebuilding the home that they have known for over 50 years. Luckily, the Sisters had insurance. The payout amount was nowhere near the cost needed to repair the damage. Now, the nunnery is “livable” due to the outpouring of support from other Catholic entities. One of the parochial schools is back up and running, the Academy for Girls remains unfinished, and the free school for the poor remains unfinished. Many of the sisters are elderly women. But they have returned to serve the community.

The second stop today was to a man, Lionel, and his wife. Lionel is a retired high school teacher and coach. His wife is a retired parole officer. Lionel told us that his wife is better equipped to speak to folks, so she did all of the talking. She told us that they were lucky enough to have evacuated prior to the storm.

They live in a FEMA mobile trailer in front of their home. The trailer is small, approximately 250 square feet. It was crowded and cramped. But they are both very thankful for it. They told us that it was better than being homeless. They were homeless prior to receiving it. She said in her 70 plus years, she had never been homeless before, and it was a very scary experience for her. She started to cry. Her story was humbling.

She said that her family had lived in the home since the 1950’s. She owns her home and rents out the one next door. They currently live on their pensions. She is angry at the insurance company for giving them so little money. They paid their premiums on time and in full — something hard to do as pensioners living on limited incomes. When it came time to help, the insurance company cut them a check for a paltry amount.

Lionel and his wife are products of the Great Depression. She tells us that they know what it means to do without. She tells us that they are rebuilding a little at a time. 25 dollars here, 25 dollars there. Slowly but steadily, they will stick it out. New Orleans is their home, and they would like to leave the house they lived in for so many years to their children.

She tells us that there is so much money out there, but Lionel and she have seen little in aid. They have received approximately $4,000 of FEMA aid, a long time ago. She told me that this could not compensate her for her loss. All of the pictures of her grandchildren are gone. Their furniture is gone. All of her jewelry she was not wearing at the time of the storm is gone. FEMA wants to be reimbursed for the money they were given.

The last stop was to a 92-year-old woman. She has outlived two husbands, and has lived in the same house since the 1950s. She lives on a pension that she receives from teaching in the city.

She is lucky to have health insurance. She was also lucky enough to have left prior to the storm. She has stayed with several grand-nephews and -nieces across the country. She received little money from FEMA. She paid for her temporary housing out of her own pocket, even though FEMA had promised to pay for these expenses — and has paid others.

The local government did not allow her to return for approximately six to seven weeks. She said she feels that she could have salvaged more if she had been allowed to return earlier. A single tear came to her cheek as she reminisced over the life’s worth of belongings that were lost. She then brightened up and told us that it is all part of God’s plan for her, and that the Lady watches over her. She told us that she has lived a good life.

Her home is almost finished. She said that she is about two months away. She is rebuilding to leave something to her niece, who lives next door. She is also having problems with her insurance company. Her home was worth more than $450,000. But she only received an insurance check for $17,000. The rest of her remodeling has been done through loans she has taken out to complete the work. The money that has been promised by the federal government has not come, and she does not expect that it will. A man from the government came and appraised her home for $67,000.

She then gave us a tour of her house. It was nice. I am not an appraiser, but I would have eagerly given her more than $150,000 — the amount that she needs to pay off the loans that she has taken out to finish the renovation of her home.

Word on the street is that the money was given to the State of Louisiana by the Federal Government. The problem seen by many is that the money that is not disbursed will be kept for State purposes. Not too many politicians have been by to see her home. She tells us that she is too black to be white, and too white to be black. But she does not dwell on that. She is too busy working on her home.

In the Great State of Louisiana there is a wide divide between justice and the law. The homes in the historically white part of the city stand with their grandeur and opulence as they were during Jim Crow. Visitors and tourists pack the restaurants and bars, flush with rebuilding and tourism cash.

The “colored” sections of the city remain broken. The busses don’t run. The schools are not open. Jobs are hard to find. Folks are returning, but the aid promised to them by the federal and state governments seems to be more of a myth than a reality. Even so, the people I saw were working to rebuild anyway. I may not know what the difference is between the law and justice, but I know that here the gap is wide.