Leadership and Crisis (15 page)

Lewis Morris of New York was a prominent land owner who also signed the Declaration of Independence and sat in the First Continental Congress. When warned by his brother Gouvernour Morris of the danger of signing the Declaration, Morris replied, “Damn the consequences. Give me the pen.” When the British occupied New York, they looted and burned down his home.

For almost two hundred years, being in Congress meant holding down another job. As recently as the 1950s, Congress was still largely a part-time institution. Aside from extraordinary times such as World War II, members arrived in Washington by train in January and left in the summer. But Congress became more ambitious in the 1960s with the explosion of government spending and regulations. The power and importance of congressmen vastly increased, as the number of Senate and House Committees and Subcommittees mushroomed to enact the Great Society programs. With all the new money suddenly sloshing around Washington, interest groups sprang up
demanding their piece of the pie. And they hired lobbyists to make sure they got it. Living under the same rules they enact for others may deter members of Congress from regulating our economy to death.

Granted, a part-time Congress would face its own ethical issues. How can we avoid conflicts of interest when people simultaneously run a business and pass laws? How could we prevent businesses from hiring congressmen just for the sake of influence? The answer is simple: full disclosure. Let the voters know everything, and they can render their judgment at election-time.

Some of my former congressional colleagues will not like this chapter, but most won’t have time to read it. Many of them believe every congressman has a responsibility to defend Congress’s reputation. I completely agree. But the only way to defend Congress’s reputation today is to reform the whole institution, returning it to the limited, honest, and transparent role for which the Founding Fathers designed it.

CHAPTER 7

IN THE EYE OF THE STORM

My three-year-old daughter was frightened and trying to put off going to bed. She had heard the weather reports, and was terrified that the storm might come to the house to get her. I told Selia to pray to God and He would keep her safe. She asked me why the children in Florida hadn’t prayed. I was confused, until she explained that Katrina had hit their homes and so they must not have prayed. We were soon forced to evacuate, along with my in-laws, to my parents’ home in Baton Rouge. We packed for a weekend, and ended up staying for months. One night, my daughter asked me why God hadn’t listened to her prayers. I was again confused until she explained she had asked Him to keep Katrina away from her house. I told her to go to bed, stop asking Daddy such questions, and to ask Mommy in the morning since Mommy knows everything. But many Louisianians were asking themselves that same question.

In Louisiana we just call it “the storm.”

I had been in Congress eight months when Katrina, a 300-mile-wide hurricane, hit Louisiana in August 2005. After around a 20-foot-high storm surge, 80 percent of New Orleans was buried underwater.
One of the five most deadly hurricanes in U.S. history, Katrina’s final tally was devastating: more than 1,400 people killed, a quarter million homes and businesses destroyed, and $60 billion worth of property damage.

Finger-pointing became an art form in the wake of the storm. Everyone involved had someone to blame for what happened, for what they did and didn’t do. Some blamed President Bush, some blamed Michael Brown at FEMA, some blamed then-Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco. The television commentators blamed anyone and everyone, it seemed, at one time or another. There was enough blame to go around at every level of government.

The truth is, no single individual can be blamed for this storm. The idea that politicians can control the weather went out of style at the end of the Dark Ages when, so the story goes, King Canute of Denmark purposefully demonstrated the limits of monarchical power by sitting on the beach and commanding the tides to stop their advance.

Aside from the amusing clique of global warming alarmists, most people realize politicians and kings can’t control the weather. The only thing government can do is to prepare adequately for a natural disaster and act quickly and intelligently when one hits. When the sky splits in two, as it did in 2005 and doubtless will again, are we prepared for what comes? Do we hesitate to respond? Do we shirk our duties? Or do we act as best we can, in the interests of the people we serve, to do what needs to be done?

During Katrina, New Orleans saw some terrible acts of selfishness, malice, and lawlessness, which were the focus of most media attention. But the storm also brought out the best in countless Louisiana residents. Reporters tended to overlook the innumerable acts of selfless heroism and compassion, some of which I witnessed with my own
eyes. Contrary to the impression conveyed by the media, the vast majority of New Orleanians did not rob passers-by or loot stores. No—they risked themselves, over and over again, to help their neighbors, their friends, and outright strangers. The heroic actions of everyday people saved thousands of lives—that fact must never disappear from the history of Katrina.

The phones were quiet in my office just before Katrina hit—it was literally the calm before the storm. No strangers to severe weather, Louisianians thought they were prepared, with more than one million people having already evacuated their homes. Unfortunately, many stayed behind, either unable to escape or foolishly deciding to ride out the storm. On his emergency radio, Sheriff Harry Lee of Jefferson Parish offered some good advice to everyone still in the area: “You better haul ass! Y’all should have left yesterday.”

When the storm first hit, it looked like New Orleans had dodged a bullet. Katrina caused some damage, but it wasn’t as bad as initially feared. Then conditions rapidly deteriorated. My staff began receiving reports that the city was filling up with water. Forensic studies later discovered the broken floodwalls were not built according to modern standards, and they lacked deep sheet pilings and the proper kind of clay.

At first federal bureaucrats inexplicably denied the floodwalls had been breached. Later they acknowledged the city was flooding but, reluctant to admit their previous mistake, told me that “technically speaking,” it was not a breach. I yelled into the phone, “Look, the water’s coming in. You can call it whatever you want, but the water’s coming in!”

As the hours went by, the calls my staff received became more urgent and fearful. By the next day, the media were broadcasting pictures of desperate people seeking refuge in the Superdome and the convention center. Other images showed residents stuck on their rooftops. Many in Louisiana were asking the same question: if Fox News can get to these people, why can’t the government?

The expected assistance just wasn’t there. Michael Brown, head of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), told us unequivocally he had “resources in place” ready to move in with water, food, and clothing in the event the levees failed (though at the time, no one really considered that likely). But these resources were nowhere to be found. The initial response was further hampered by communications problems among first responders. After New York City police and fire departments had trouble communicating on 9/11, billions of dollars were spent to improve responder communication and homeland security—but state, federal, and local officials in Louisiana still had the same problems during Katrina. They were not communicating on the same frequencies.

As reports appeared of looting and chaos began to envelope New Orleans, I met with FEMA officials to figure out where the aid was. It was one of the most frustrating situations I’ve ever faced in my life. When we asked about the trucks, medical supplies, and food, we were told it wasn’t safe to send them in because of the looting. When I asked why they couldn’t just give the food and supplies to the National Guard already on-site—since they have guns, looters wouldn’t be much of a problem—FEMA officials told us such action wasn’t authorized yet.

FEMA’s planned response was enormous in scope but slow in execution. The sheer size of the effort, and the logistics of moving tens of
thousands of troops, hundreds of helicopters, and countless supplies and resources on such short notice, was just too much for them to handle. It took more than forty-eight hours for most FEMA officials and resources to get into the state, and even longer to get into the disaster area. By that time, many of the looters and criminals were running wild. The supplies just sat there, as federal officials were paralyzed. None of them wanted to make big decisions, fearing things would go wrong and jeopardize their careers.

I had my office set up a hotline number that we broadcast over the radio. We thought we might reach people who had no televisions but did have battery-operated radios. Even this simple measure was slowed by the bureaucracy—Congress informed us we couldn’t pay for the effort with our congressional funds, so we tapped campaign money to pay for it. The hotline produced calls from citizens with various emergencies: some needed power, others needed medical supplies, and others had been separated from their children. One caller told us, “I’m stranded in my house with a cell phone and radio. Please come and get me.”

Another woman I met at a shelter in Baton Rouge had been separated from her adult mentally disabled child. I sent volunteers to her house to find her daughter and convince the young woman to join her mom in safety. She was scared, finding the familiarity of her home reassuring, and refused to leave. Seeing no way to convince her to leave, these generous individuals gave her provisions and checked on her regularly, providing updates to her mother until she was permitted to go home.

In some areas criminals spilled into the streets to exploit the chaos. One sheriff ran across a thug who attacked and mugged an elderly woman. “What are you going to do with me?” the thug said with a
taunting laugh. “You can’t arrest me.” The intrepid sheriff nodded in agreement—and then duct taped the guy to a lamp post. As one of my aides told me, “It’s like Mad Max.”

Many top officials seemed primarily focused on meetings and press conferences. Several days after the storm, FEMA’s Michael Brown met with the Louisiana principals—Governor Blanco, congressmen, staffers, and others. I sat there with my chief of staff Timmy Teepell and waited for a useful discussion while the participants engaged in small talk. I reached my boiling point when several of the key figures gathered around a TV to watch footage of one of their previous press conferences.

“Let’s get out of here!” I snapped at Timmy.

We took off to go talk to my friend Harry Lee.

Harry was practically an institution in Louisiana. Born in the backroom of a New Orleans laundromat, he was first elected sheriff of Jefferson Parish in 1979, serving for decades before passing away just a few years ago. His tough tactics were sometimes controversial, but he kept crime rates low, and his constituents loved him. During Katrina, Harry became known in the national press for threatening to commandeer local Wal-Mart and Sam’s Club stores to keep them open so people could get urgent supplies. Bureaucrats were trying to keep the stores closed, so Harry announced that anyone who tried to shut the stores would be arrested.

In short, Harry was the kind of guy who gets things done in a crisis.

When I was with Harry after the storm, I had never seen him so angry. He was in a makeshift office cussing somebody out on the phone. “Well, I’m the sheriff,” he barked, “and if you don’t like it you can come and arrest me!” He explained the problem to me: he had
asked for volunteers to show up with their boats to help rescue people out of the water. Scores of people offered to help, but then some bureaucrat announced no one could go out on the water without proof of insurance and registration for their boat. People were clinging to their rooftops for their lives, and some government hack was worried about rescuers not having the proper papers! So Harry told the volunteers to ignore the bureaucrat and use an exit ramp off the interstate to launch their boats.

After I agreed with his approach, Harry got back on the phone and said, “This is Sheriff Harry Lee. You can come arrest me, and Congressman Jindal’s here—you can come and arrest him, too.”

Harry was also angry that some rescue teams were turned away because they wanted to bring armed escorts—the authorities had banned firearms in New Orleans. The prospect of an outbreak of lawlessness, when the government cannot guarantee citizens’ safety, is the reason why many law-abiding folks buy guns in the first place. But now that we faced this exact scenario, the government wanted to take away their only real means of self-defense. To ensure such an outrageous situation won’t be repeated, I had a bill passed in Congress afterward preventing authorities from confiscating guns from law-abiding citizens during a natural disaster.

I asked Harry what he needed and in typical fashion he said, “Nothing.” Harry, it seemed, was always prepared. Then I got a call from Dan Brouillette, then a vice president at Ford Motor Company. “We want to help,” he said. “I can get you some trucks. The keys will be in them. Don’t worry about paying for them.”