While news of the ruin of New Orleans continues to sicken my heart with sadness, the past few days have brought encouraging stories of how people all over the nation, and even of neighboring nations, have acted upon a spirit of generosity and compassion rarely seen in a society of "bearish" individualism. I met a brother and sister forced to abandon their New Orleans apartment just this afternoon as they were signing a lease for a studio in my apartment tower on Peachtree Streeet. Earlier this week, my university set aside the basketball collesium as a temporary shelter for several hundred displaced persons in the process of moving into apartments here or catching flights to meet kinfolk in other parts of the country. Thus, in contrast to the cases of underreported catastrophes in overseas developing countries, or the media-contrived melodrama of lesser hardships closer to home, the wave of humanity radiating from Louisiana and Missisippi has swept into my neigborhood, providing everyone I meet each day with an opportunity for growth in matters of the spirit.

When faced with the multitudes of persons suddenly and unexpectedly suffering bereavement, injury, and homelessness, the rest of us, comfortable, well-to-do, or even prideful, must see the frailty and transience of our lives and all the things we possess. In midst of this dark time, one hope shines resplendently: that there are at least a few people in this nation today who, only two weeks ago, cared nothing about the poor, the marginalized, or the victims of racial hatred, but today know the nature of true virtue. The virtue of sharing the good things one posseses, of risking one's personal safety to bring comfort and safety to others, and of gaining a humbler perspective on the reliability of "pulling oneself up by one's own bootstraps." In this prospect for spiritual renewal, and the subsequent demands for repentence, the ones who suffer now and those in peril of similar affliction in the future, can hope to avert, or at least endure, future disasters.

During any sort of spiritual revival, a recognition of sins, both individual and collective, is essential. While many throw blame at our nation's leadership, and a deluded few, unwavering in thier perverse religious dogma, blame the victims themselves for incurring some sort of Divine punishment, we all stand sorely in need of admitting our corporate human failings which have aggravated the suffering of those who have lost loved ones or homes.

Two news pieces, by my estimation, have quite elegantly exposed the social component of the disaster without explicit finger-pointing. In the Technique, the college paper of my school, a retired president of the African-American Student Union lamented the obvious negligence of local officials who knew that 200,000 of the city's inhabitants would lack the resources to evacuate before the hurricane. Then, after the levee breach, the media and its consumers alike accepted the demonized portrayal of the looters. Even before reading this editorial, I took note of how long it took the media to humanize the persons stranded in the floodwaters and stop focusing on "violence to property." John Sugg and Ken Edelstein, in Atlanta's Creative Loafing consisely placed the blame on every member of our society in that, "we seem unwilling or incapable of confronting our most ominous, long-term risks--especially if confronting them might require inconvenience or sacrifice or simply challenging the status quo." They continued the article detailing various neglected social and environmental issues which made this hurricane so deadly, and invites a similar future calamity.

The ongoing catastrophe in New Orleans has occupied my sorrows and prayers this week. Monday, after hearing of Katrina's landfall near the city, I had assumed that the authorities were thoroughly prepared to care for the multitude of poor and elderly they had sheltered in the Superdome. Now, the thirst, starvation, sickness, and violence the 30,000 or so persons trapped there endure betrays both a lack of preparedness and an indifference on the part of the wealthy who hold the reins of political power. Even more disturbing is the obvious institutional racism which de-prioritized preparation for such a disaster affecting a city whose population is 67% African-American.

This past Friday morning, I crossed paths with an elderly homeless man who quite sleepily and meekly asked me for money. Practically without thinking, I refused, and only half a minute or so later realized what dire need the fellow was in. Not only did he walk as if delerious with fever, but pink, purple-speckled sores broke the skin on the right side of his face. Yet, within an hour, I completely forgot the man.

This morning, in church, I remembered St. Francis of Assissi, who throughout his youth, loathed and feared lepers. Finally, on the day of his conversion, Francis kissed a man suffering from leprosy, right on the lips. Then, I felt remorse for my own indifference two days before. Of what use is "contemporary" Christianity, with its formulaic conversion experiences, evangelical revivals, political concubinage, and lists upon lists of unbending, tyrannical doctrines? Without acting upon the outrageous impulses of the gentle voice of Divine love, there can be no true conversion, nor revival. I am but a wretched fool who heeds not the voice of the Mother I profess to serve. Only in submission to Her incomprehensible grace, have I even come near to a glimpse of unconditional love. A kind, tender love unclouded by the divisive doctrine of creed as well as unfettered by the unnatural inequities of society.

Here, in Atlanta, over a week ago, the city council passed it's divisive "Panhandling Ban." I could feel nought but ambivalence towards this ordinance, since I have oftimes felt uncomfortable or annoyed by the forward manners of a few homeless folk in this city. Though I write out of empathy and respect for the persons who, for sundry reasons, live by begging, I do not feel that my responsibilities lie in providing these folk with funds.

Today, however, I've recieved a warning forwarded through campus e-mail titled "Vagrants and Terrorism." Here, the U.S. State department warns that "terrorists could pass themselves off as vagrants in order to conduct surveillance of buildings and mass transit systems." As I currently immerse myself in the study of statistics, I winced in disgust as I read the single anecdote on which this warning is based: "an apparent homeless person repeatedly passed in front of the town's Social Security office and peered in the building's windows. An officer who questioned the man discovered that the man had a passport from a "country of interest" and a checkbook with a fishy address. The man did not provide a straight answer on what he was doing, and he was not arrested, but the FBI was informed about the incident and an investigation is ongoing."

Though I lack a charitable attitude towards the more assertive segment of this city's homeless population, this e-mail warning, no doubt forwarded with good intentions, saddens me greatly. The paranoid tone communicated by this message threatens to justify cruel or unlawful acts against some of the most powerless members of our society.

Yesterday, I completed my summer internship in Bioinformatics. I was blessed with the most delightful co-workers who represented a diverse range of nationalities. Most had come from China or Vietnam to earn their PhD's in the U.S. One came from Zambia and another came from Estonia. Hence, I experienced a great wealth of culture, from a job in a computational branch of sciences no less!

I could never cease to admire the commitment to learning and hard work shown by these immigrant scholars. Whereas I've struggled all my life against the anti-intellectualism endemic to my church and my region of the U.S., the kindred spirits I met at this internship, though certainly struggling against poverty, most likely educated themselves in an environment more supportive of learning.

Lately, mine has been the lot of a scholarly recluse. Though I've spent some time with friends over the past few weeks, I've had little of the most meaningful interaction of all, with the poor, the estranged, or the condemned. While time spent with friends and family is essential to one's individual health and the health of one's most important relationships, the opening of one's heart and mind to the socially-disadvantaged brings maximal spiritual healing to the community and the individual. Thus, not only have I been disengaged these past few weeks, but lacking any newsworthy accounts on which to write.

For this reason, I turn to a newspaper, The New York Times, one of few whose news I consider both creditable and pertinent to my social concerns. On today's issue, on the front page, is printed a story on the tragic plight of inmates quarantined within the H.I.V. unit of Alabama's Limestone Prison. Apparently, the firm contracted to provide the inmate's health care, Prison Health, suspended a newly-hired director for adhering to high standards of patient care and refusing to continue the fudging of spotty medical records. Many inmates were not receiving their anti-viral drugs nor prescribed antibiotics. The physically-fragile inmates, as they slowly waste away from the virus, must also endure scanty food, and crowded, drafty, rat-infested quarters. In addition, the Alabama Department of Corrections has no facilities to quarantine any of the H.I.V + inmates who contract tuberculosis.

Yet, the inmates consider the previous prison health contractor, Naphcare, to have been nothing more than a "corporate executioner." During that companies contract, the death rate in Alabama's prisons reached twice the national average. I lack the space to expound upon the extent of cruelty and human suffering suggested by this story, but even the most ardent proponent for the harsh punishment of crimes cannot defend such injustice without descending into an abyss of inhumanity.

This evening in the fitness room, I met a young person whose hardships constitute an all-to-familiar story. She has a college degree, yet is in a rut working in retail for a high-school-dropout supervisor. She recounted her situation while working out her frustration on the stairmaster, speaking with a friend over her phone and then speaking with me, her sibilant voice seeming on the verge of sobs. She expressed her despair to me over the effort which she spent in four years of college, yet now finding no reward for her effort.

Today, I had a good chat with a friend at work. He was born and raised in Zambia, yet has travelled to nearly every nation. Not only does he speak several languages, but he adapts his dialect according to his perceptions of the local subculture, be it a university, or a ghetto. He emphasized the importance to one's safety of making an effort to speak in the manner of the minorities or poor one meets in a city. He then related an incident in Athens perpetrated by a man who asked a customer at a gas station if he were from the east side or the west side. The customer did not give a response pleasing to the man, and that is presumably why he eftsoons shot him dead.

My colleague, being from southern Africa, is certainly no stranger to poverty and its accompanying social tensions. Yet, I could sense a hint of derision mingled with moral outrage at the rampant crime, hand-in-glove with poverty, which is a fact of life in such cities as Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit, Gary, and even the western portions of Atlanta.

I've had no encounters this week with any members of homeless or marginalized classes. However, on Thursday, while crossing a highway in Sandy Springs to make it to a coffeeshop, I hardened my face as I approached a group of unkempt young men standing on the side of the highway. Though these were perhaps day-laborers or unemployed men, my hypocritical fear speaks more eloquently than the words I type here. The self-centeredness inherent in my heart and broadcast through every media outlet of society and preached from every pulpit of political or religious authority invariably overpowers the calm, sweet voice of the Divine One in Her immeasureable generosity.

Today, I've committed to document the plight of oppressed or excluded persons I personally encounter throughout northern Georgia and the metro Atlanta area. I will strive for objectivity while realizing that it is not possible for me to be entirely objective. I cannot help but be moved by the men and women of modest means I meet on Atlanta streets or on the rural byways. Here, I hope to make a few stories of a few special individuals known.

I shall strive for balance, but not in sense of giving "equal time" to sundry political views, which may objectify or demonize these forgotten folk. I shall acheive balance by carefully chosen words, particularly descriptions of the people I hope to lift up. I wish to show them the respect and honor they so seldom find in the eyes of all this world's materialistic citizens. While compassion and pity move me to write, I cannot reduce the people I feel moved to serve into "causes" or "sob-stories." To the world I wish to make known the strengths of the disadvantaged, the strength and worth of each individual no matter how undesireable the worldly crowds may deem them. For this day, July the Fourth, commemorates not only that ideal of Liberty, but Equality as well. Indeed, the Declaration of Independence refers to Equality before all else. In the words of Thomas Jefferson, "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal:".