As I write this, firestorms are still raging around my lovely city, but I don’t think the pictures you see on the news tell the whole story. For one, though no one is really saying it out loud, there seems to be a quiet determination here that San Diego will not be another Katrina, where civil society collapsed, and the Federal government did nothing. So many people have donated food and other relief supplies to Qualcomm Stadium, the city’s main relief center, that authorities are now turning them away. The mayor even said that he thought the evacuees are being treated like VIPs. He had good reason to think that, as the L.A. Times described:
Just inside the stadium gate Monday, a young bleached-blond woman offered a drink: “Would you care for a Red Bull, sir?” Another hundred feet on, a woman walked by carrying a sign: “Anyone distressed?” She gave directions to a crisis counseling center down the way. There was more food than could be eaten. More help than could be used. San Diego Mayor Jerry Sanders guessed there were as many volunteers as victims. A good 9,000 people ended up here, at Qualcomm Stadium, and if this was the endgame of a disaster, it would be a disaster that seemed possible only in the idyll of California. There was a banh mi picnic in the parking lot, beef empanadas on the chow line, Caesar salads, cartons of fresh Starbucks House Blend, free magazines, toys for the kids, cots for grandma, pizza by the slice or, if you wished, the box. There was a man playing jazz guitar, a blues band, massages and acupuncture. “It’s better service than when you go to a restaurant,” said Gary Potter of Rancho Penasquitos. “Every time you turn around, people are asking us if you need something — water, food, anything.” “They thought of everything,” said Erin Kelley, his wife. She was particularly impressed by the massages being offered in the parking lot. A steady stream of volunteers brought blankets, potato chips, diapers — anything they thought someone might need. The makeshift campsites inside the stadium quickly took on the fabric of Southern California. There were faces and traces of words from Vietnam, Mexico, China, South-Central L.A., as families staked out their own little territories to call home for a day or two or three. They re-created neighborhoods, complete with a group of boys on skateboards. Look man, free food, they shouted, swooped in, ate and ran.
San Diego was horribly unprepared when fire hit four years ago, but this time seems vastly different. In the grocery store this morning, the woman behind me was buying dozens of bags of carrots. I joked, “you must really like carrots!”. No, she said, it was a treat for the evacuated horses in a local park. The police won’t let any more relief supplies in there either, but she hoped to give them to the cops so they could give them to the horses. The organized animal rescue is just one example of “lessons learned” from the last fire, as animal lovers became just one part of a “full court press” in response to this horrible situation.
To be fair, this disaster is far different from the one in New Orleans. For one, most people have cars here so evacuation is less of a problem. For another, most of the evacuees (but not all) are fairly affluent as they are homeowners in rural areas, so we have a situation where at times the less affluent are helping the more affluent. Still, today,, even with so much devastation here, I have some real reasons to be proud of my city.