Katrina Survivors are Losing the Battle to Return Home

Two months after Katrina, the residents of New Orleans most traumatized by the hurricane and its aftermath are now traumatized by their battle to return home. And many of the city's poor, black "Katrina survivors" are losing this second battle.

Diane Watson lived in the district that was the poorest and the hardest hit: the lower Ninth Ward. Two months after Katrina, that area remains cordoned off by military guards and they're still finding dead bodies beneath the rubble. Mrs. Watson, who was evacuated to Houston, drove back to New Orleans with a relative to see the home she had lived in for the last 40 years. She was directed to the Red Cross tent, where an escort from the mayor's office took her to see the house. She returned in a daze. "It was supposed to be my house, but it sure didn't look like it. The roof was on one side, the house was somewhere else, and my neighbor's carport was smack in the middle." Her eyes bulged in disbelief and tears ran down her checks. "They wouldn't let me go inside to see if I could find something, anything, for memory's sake, like a picture of my late husband."

Mrs. Watson had no insurance. When her husband died two years ago, she forgot to keep up the payments. "A whole lifetime of work and now I have nothing," she sighed. "I'll have to move to Chicago and live with my daughter. My arthritis acts up bad in the cold, but I have no choice."

John Turner was luckier -- his house in the Gentilly section was water-logged but still standing, and he had insurance. But at 75, he was too overwhelmed by his ordeal at the Superdome and too tired to start all over again. "My house was a 'fixer-upper' when I bought it back in 1975, and I've been fixing it up ever since. This year I retired and was just able to start enjoying it. Now this," he said, tears welling up in his eyes. While Mr. Turner had home insurance, he didn't have flood insurance. He had no idea what his insurance would cover, but he prayed it would be enough for him to move somewhere else. When I wished him good luck, he tried to smile. "I sure need some good luck. If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all."

Giselle Smith, a single mom with three children, is younger and more resilient. In early October she returned to her home near the French Quarter, an area that only got two feet of water. "I love living in this district," she said, " and I couldn't wait to get back. I know all my neighbors, they help me with the kids, and during Mardi Gras, we just go out our door and we're right in the thick of it," she laughed. The day she returned, Ms. Smith got to work cleaning up the house. She ripped up the buckled floors and put in new tiles, she scrubbed off the mold and repainted. By the end of the month her modest home was clean as a whistle. But Ms. Smith had a different problem. She was a renter.

She'd been renting the same house for 11 years, just like she had the same job as a parking lot attendant for all those years. The neighbors attested that she was a good worker, a good tenant and a good mom. But the very day that the governor lifted the moratorium on evictions, her landlord presented her with an eviction notice. The reason? Failure to pay September's rent. The Smiths, like everyone else in the city, had been forced to evacuate, and her home had no electricity or water or sewage. She also had to pay rent in Houston for September, and didn't have money to pay rent in two places.

Ms. Smith is determined to fight the eviction, and local lawyers have come to her aid. But the real reason for the eviction notice is that houses that didn't flood are at a premium and her landlord, like many others, is eager to cash in. Ms. Smith's neighbors down the block were paying $800 rent until they came home to find their rent jacked up to $1,300. By end of the week her long-time neighbors, a black family, had packed up and a white family took their place.