Free Speech [off the Internet] I just got back from a FEMA Detainment Camp by Valhall – The Divine Sibyl Keeper of the Mystic Fish – Writer posted on 6-9-2005 at 12:59 AM Post Number: 1664014 (post id: 1685907) I JUST got back from a FEMA Detainment Camp I’m extremely depressed to report that things seem to only be getting sadder concerning the people so devastatingly affected by Katrina last week.
Two car loads of us headed over to Falls Creek, a youth camp for Southern Baptist churches in Oklahoma that agreed to have its facilities used to house Louisiana refugees. I’m afraid the camp is not going to be used as the kind people of the churches who own the cabins believe it was going to be used. Jesse Jackson was right when he said “refugees” was not the appropriate word for the poor souls dislocated due to Katrina. But he was wrong about why it is not appropriate.
It’s not appropriate because they are detainees, not refugees. Falls Creek is like a small town that is closed down about 9 months out of the year. It is made up of cabins that range from small and humble to large and grandiose, according to how much money the church who owns the cabin has. Each cabin has full kitchen facilities, bathrooms and usually have two large bunkrooms – one for women and one for men. The occupancy of the cabins varies according to the church.
This past week the Southern Baptist association of Oklahoma offered the facility as a place to house refugees from the Katrina disaster. Each church owning a cabin was then called to find out if they would make their cabin available. Churches across the state agreed. I started my journey by loading six large trash bags full of clothes in the back of my beetle buggy.
I then went to the local Dollar General and purchased various hygiene products, snacks and even a set of dominoes and a deck of cards. I had my daughter take her own shopping cart and go and select her own items that she wanted to take. I told her to imagine herself without anything in the world and then select what she would need to live every day.
We then met up with my elderly parents who had gone to the Dollar Store themselves, and to the grocery store and had spent WAY too much of their limited social security on the venture. But that’s okay. We ended up having to take both vehicles on the 150 mile round trip because they were both pretty full. My son showed up and wanted to go. He drove my parents while my daughter and I rode in my car. To say we all left with excitement would be appropriate. My 78 year old mother is a “fixer”.
She loves to help people and she absolutely needs some one to dote over. That she was about to be able to help some people who had lost all in their lives had her feeling physically healthier than I’ve seen her in days. I was glad to get the chance to actively do something other than donate what little I can to some faceless charity hoping it would get to the people who needed it. I felt glad I could do some small something that might cut through the helplessness I’ve felt over this situation.
Both of my kids were eager to assist. The only odd thing that occurred prior to setting off happened while I was gassing up in our small town. My daughter was pumping the gas and a lady she knew pulled up to an adjacent pump. My daughter started telling her where we were going and that we were taking things to the refugees. The lady told my daughter that she had been told the Red Cross was not allowing any one to deliver supplies.
When I returned to the car from paying for the gas my daughter informed of this. I told her that the Red Cross would not be preventing the members of our church from entering our own cabin, so it really didn’t matter. It was at that point we decided to stop back by the house and get my daughter’s camera so that she could take pictures if required. From the moment I heard about Falls Creek being scheduled to receive refugees I had two thoughts run through my mind: 1.
What a beautiful place to be able to stay while trying to get your life back in order. 2. What a terrible location to be when you’re trying to get your life back in order. The first thought is because Falls Creek is nestled in the Arbuckle Mountains of south central Oklahoma. One of the more beautiful regions of the state. It would be a peaceful and beautiful place to try to start mending emotionally, and begin to figure what you’re going to do next.
The second thought comes because Falls Creek is very secluded and absolutely no where near a population center. The closest route from Falls Creek to a connecting road is three miles on a winding narrow road called “High Road” (It gets that name for two reasons – it’s goes over the mountain instead of around it like “Low Road” does, and it’s where the teenagers of the area go to party). The road has not a single home on it for over 3 miles.
After battling that 3 miles over mountains, you’ll find yourself about 5 miles from the nearest town, Davis, Oklahoma, population ca. 2000. This is no place to start a new life. A few pictures headed toward Falls Creek over High Road to give you a feel of the seclusion. All of sudden the landscape changed from picturesque mountainous rural America, to something foreign to me as we approached the rear gate of the camp.
Two Oklahoma State Patrol vehicles and four Oklahoma Troopers guarded the gate. We started through and they stopped us. “Can I help you, ma’am?” I informed him we’re here to deliver supplies to *our church’s name* cabin. He stood silent and stared at me. My daughter turned and snapped a picture of his vehicle – very conspicuously. I smiled at him and he asked, “Do you know where that cabin is located?” I informed him I did.
He looked at me a bit longer and then said, “Ok” and stepped away from the car. They stopped my parents’ vehicle as well, but I assume my son informed them he was with us. They let them pass. We made our way through the narrow streets toward our church’s cabin. We noticed that the various church cabins had numbered placards on them that normally weren’t there. We arrived at our cabin and started toting the clothes in.
We finally found a group of men upstairs in the dorms trying to do something alien to them – make beds. They had almost completed the room of bunk beds and told us we could go over to the ladies’ dorm room and start on it. We lugged our sacks of clothes back down the stairs. Then we got the first negative message. “You can’t bring any clothes in. FEMA has stated they will accept no more clothes. They’ve had 30 people sorting clothes for days. They don’t want anymore.”
My mind couldn’t help but go back over the news articles that have accused FEMA of refusing water in to Jefferson Parrish, or turning fuel away. We lugged the bags of clothes