Social Commentary: On Disaster Fatigue

Downtown homes being demolished, Springfield, Ma. photo: F LoBuono

Because of my position as a news photographer for a major news outlet, I have witnessed my share of disaster. In fact, perhaps, I've witnessed more than my share. I have been present at 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, mine collapses, devastating California wildfires, and the Gulf Coast oil spill. The list goes on and on. And, I suppose, that like most others who work under these difficult conditions, you MUST develop a thick skin in order to complete your assignment. You must approach your work with a certain detachment that allows you to capture the essence of what has transpired without being directly effected by it. But you also must guard against a cavalier attitude towards the misfortune of others. It can become entirely too easy to think of it just as a job and forget that, eventually, you leave but others are left to deal with the aftermath of a disaster.

I have never been in combat but I've read, many times, how soldiers, in order to survive, become emotionally disconnected from the task at hand. If they are not able to do so, most could not do what they were trained to do i.e. witness the horrors of war and still function as a human being.

In many ways, it's no different for us in the news business. Of course, we are not required to act in a way that adds to the malevolence of the event but, by our very presence, we are a part of it. Just like any soldier, we steel ourselves so we can do what we know MUST be done. Documenting images of catastrophe and human suffering is never easy or pleasant. Still, we cannot become so callous that we lose sight of the humanity in any given situation. This is our challenge.

Recently, I drew the assignment to cover the tornadoes that rocked Springfield, Ma. The tornado hit in the evening but we were not asked to go until about 10 p.m. that night. By the time we prepared our gear and drove from NYC to Springfield, we did not arrive there until about 2 a.m. I had seen some earlier video from the area and the damage did not seem too severe. However, when we arrived, we found something quite different. We were directed to a residential area that had borne the brunt of the tornado's fury. Downed power lines where everywhere. Huge trees, smashed and broken, impeded our path down virtually every street. Still, in the darkness, we could only see shadows of what the full extent of the damage might be.

Dodging the power lines and downed trees, we set up our broadcast area and prepared for our dawn report. With the coming of the daylight, we saw, firsthand, the full extent of the damage. And it was extreme! As is the random nature of destruction in a tornado, not every house was severely damage. I have seen this phenomenon before, at the California wildfires: two homes in a row are burned, one or two are skipped over before the fire engulfs two more. It strikes me to consider the shear randomness of life - with no rhyme or reason, some are spared while others suffer. Such was the case in Springfield; whole blocks were spared but those who were directly in the path of the hellacious winds, were utterly smashed! Huge, beautiful. mature trees, some 3 or 4 feet in diameter were splintered into tooth picks! Cars were lifted from their original parking spots, crushed and redeposited, sometimes blocks away. The local high school was totaled with collapsed walls and virtually every window smashed. I saw a huge, 50 foot tree that was completely uprooted, with the sidewalk that surrounded it still clinging to the roots, deposited alone in the middle of the school parking lot.

We broadcast from this position for the entire day, while work crews and neighbors tried clearing the roads and their homes from the debris. The constant sound of chain saws provided a "sound track" to our reports. Some residents were in shock but most were grateful just to be alive. In fact, I was surprised at how well people seemed to be adjusting to the magnitude of the destruction that was all around them. They knew that normalcy would not return for weeks or, perhaps, even months. The school year at that high school was certainly over. Eventually, the work crews managed to clear narrow passageways through the debris so that residents could at least get to their homes to survey the damage. Some home were so badly damaged that they were beyond repair and would have to be demolished.

The next evening my crew was assigned a different location; the corner of Main and Park Streets. The tornado had roared through downtown Springfield, causing tremendous damage to some of the historic homes and businesses located there. We arrived at dusk to a deserted Main St. As usual, the area was restricted to just rescue personnel, work crews, the police and the news media. Even though I have experienced this before, it's always an erie feeling. You just never really see things like this. On a normal evening, this part of downtown would be, like most small city downtowns on a beautiful late spring evening, thriving. The Rose Pizzeria, a local landmark was right across the street. I'm sure that, if not for the fact that its roof was torn off and it was, therefore, CLOSED, we would have been stopping by for a slice.

But there was no sign of life but the cops, the technicians, and us. Instead of laughter and friendly conversation, all that could be heard was the sound of the heavy earth moving equipment that was being used to demolish what was left of some of the homes and businesses that were too damaged to be repaired. It was decided that they were just too dangerous to be left in such a state and would have to be leveled for safety reasons. As I watched a crane tear into one such home, it struck me how sad it all was. From what I could tell, it was an older home, having been there for quite a long time. As the crane began ripping down the facade of the building, I thought of all of the people and all of the memories that had been a part of that place. I thought of the joy of babies being born and the sorrow of those passing, all in that house. I thought of Christmas past and the laughter of children as they opened their presents. I imagined grand Thanksgiving dinners elegantly prepared and served in the dinning room. I drifted so far that I could smell a waiting dinner and hear the murmur of conversations taking place around the table. Now, in an instant, it was all being lost. How sad I felt. In the gathering darkness, I felt like I was the only one there to provide testament to what was once someones home, now being quickly and unceremoniously reduced to a pile of rubble. I actually felt, in a way, lonely. An overwhelming melancholy descended upon me - at least until the satellite truck operator reminded me that we had another "live" shot in 10 minutes.