What the fuck were you thinking?

Five days after the tornado, I’m not feeling too good. I’m tired. My legs ache from picking glass out of the dirt, and my eyes are numb from looking at destruction for hours on end. These aren’t the problem, though – I have a warm bed and running water and even electricity to come home to, so I can comfort and distract myself well enough. No, that’s not what’s bothering me.

I’ve been helping clean up a house right next door to the sorority at 828 East Washington Street, whose destruction has become a national and international symbol of the tornadoes that turned Iowa City upside down. It’s showed up on CNN, NBC, and now, I’ve heard, even the BBC, so you’ve probably seen it – a brown building with the roof torn off and the entire east wall collapsed, leaving bedrooms exposed. It’s a dramatic sight, and so a part of me can’t blame the gawkers – literally thousands of people have filed past the building since Thursday night, in cars and on foot, taking pictures and staring in awe at the perfect symbol of nature’s wrath.

Part of me can’t blame these spectators – but another part of me has feelings about them that are difficult to put into words. Picture this: you’re shoving the shattered remnants of a storm window into a trash can. A guy – let’s say a young guy, at least as able-bodied as you are – walks through your yard, within five feet of you, without acknowledging your presence. He stands next to your fence, which is lying on its side, with muddy roof shingles scattered on top of it. He takes a picture of the cars that were blown into the giant ravine next door. He is amazed, impressed, excited.

And you? You want to shove one of the pointier ends of your ex-storm window into the guy’s left kidney.

What continues to bother me isn’t that I’m tired, but that my faith in humanity has been shaken – badly. If the Midwest is truly the heartland of America, then what I’ve seen in that heart over the last few days isn’t pretty. The kind of callous disregard for their fellow humans displayed by these tourists of misery is absolutely appalling. How much presence of mind would it have taken for these people to put down their cameras and pick up a rake, a shovel, a pair of gloves? At the very least ask those cleaning up the wreckage if they needed any help. Most of these people clearly knew what jackasses they were being, because, like the guy described above, they didn’t greet or speak to those actually involved in cleanup. It’s easier, sometimes, to not treat other people as human beings, but as scenery, as props. After all, the Golden Rule doesn’t apply to scenery.

This, then, is how people in the heartland of America react to their neighbors’ tragedy – with much amazement, and little action. And if this is the treatment that the guy down the street gets, then it’s no wonder Americans have seen fit to first gawk at the destruction of New Orleans on television, and then, very quickly after, ignore it. I’m guessing the same people who spent Friday and Saturday clicking away on their digital cameras will be those who, taking a wrong turn onto Washington street two months from now, will cluck their tongues and ask – “Why haven’t they cleaned all this up yet?”

It’s always “they” – never “me.” I can’t help but blame the political environment. No, I’m not talking about George Bush – it’s not the last six years, but the last twenty-five, maybe even the last fifty that have turned Americans progressively away from concern for their fellow citizens. I think it has something to do with what Noam Chomsky, in his visit to the Englert last week, called the “coin toss” – the American system’s ability to limit its citizens’ exercise of democratic power to two equally bad choices. Noone votes anymore, because everyone sees that the power of voting is only an illusion.

I guess if you demonstrate to people often enough – say, every four years – that they have no power over their world, some of them will start to believe it. They’ll protect themselves from their own sense of powerlessness by not caring about what happens to the other guy. They’ll start to regard their neighbors’ tragedies as spectacles. They’ll pick up their cameras instead of their shovels. And the people who taught them to give up on themselves will look on all of this approvingly.

There is still work to be done in Iowa City. Areas northeast of the University Campus are in shambles. Don’t just take pictures – help the people who need it. You may not be able to pick the President in this country anymore, but you can pick up some trash. And that might make your neighbors’ lives a little easier.