Ramblings on the Wires - April 17, 2006

The Real Heroes . . .

Only time has changed since John Steinbeck first started writing about the plight of the migrant farm worker. It was a time after the great depression, during the dust bowl of Oklahoma. When plowed furrows went for miles and the rain never came, and the wind collected the soil, and blew it inside every home. A red film collected, it was everywhere.

It was a time like today, when corporations ruled as iconoclasts over the workers. And cheap labor drove pay down by the day. And tents sat juxtaposed in tiny cities, formed to give those in need a hand but they got little. The shabby dwellers were called hobos, bums or just asked to get. We remember them as Jim, Ma, Pa, Rose of Sharon, and the preacher.

And their struggles were captured, though we don’t read anymore, we don’t want to remember. And so time after time we trudge the very same path. Today a tent city sits humbly in the South. It rose to house those that have no other place to go. There materials are frayed and no one seems to care. They sleep on mold ridden mattresses, while in Arkansas, trailers sit empty, rotting away. And the Red Cross food lines are long and slow. Their homes that have blown away and yet, their spirit still remains.

We have all but deserted them . . . Insurance, just won’t pay . . . Citing God like ravages are not covered and yet their houses are no more. Politicians argue if it should be rebuilt and still it’s their homes . . . Wouldn’t you stay . . . If you had no place left to go?

It’s time for the politicians to stop arguing and start rebuilding New Orleans . . . What a thought, huh, working together?

Dan Hanosh
Dreams Are Yours To Share

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