"Today Your Doomed!" - Article

Forwarded by Casimir and Debbie Grys:

Welcome to our preparedness meeting. Today, you'll learn you're DOOMED! Then we'll have quiche.

David Curran

Thursday, May 3, 2007

I don't have seven days of water, I don't have four weeks of rations, and I don't know where my flashlights are hiding. In those circles where everyone has a Honda generator and can do CPR in their sleep, I would quickly be classified as a Disaster Preparedness Loser.

This is not a point of pride. In fact, when a neighbor decided to organize a Community Emergency Response Team (CERT) on our block, I was eager to join. Here was a chance to learn what to store, where to buy walkie-talkies, how to pry people from under large structures and much more.

The CERT program, in case you're unaware, is part of FEMA -- you know, "Heckuva job" Brownie's ex-employer -- and is a perfect fit for the agency's apparent tendencies: Its mission is to help us cope in a cataclysm because HELP WILL NOT BE ON THE WAY.

So I went to the introductory meeting/potluck one Sunday afternoon, and I was shocked. Not by the buffet; the spread of pastas, quiche and cookies looked great. But only about 10 people total -- out of about 60 on the block -- showed up. Here is the get-together to begin planning for quite possibly the worst day of our lives. There had been emails, flyers, phone calls, guilt trips and... 10 people?

Apparently this wasn't unusual. According to our CERT presenter, a local fire department employee, our ten people was like filling the Oakland Coliseum compared to what she was used to. And nationally, CERTs don't appear to be doing too much better: "Since 1993 ... CERT teams have been trained throughout 28 states and Puerto Rico," the brochure says. In other words, it's been fourteen years and 22 states still are NOT involved.

Not that I'm some expert, because it's hard to get people to do anything that doesn't involve TV or free beer, but here's one suggestion that could help spread the word: Get a more upbeat presentation.

Our CERT trainer seemed to take the "YOU'RE GONNA DIE!!!" approach and run with it. For openers, there was a Q&A about the many ways we could be obliterated. Earthquakes! Floods! A train could tip over and chemicals could spill everywhere! Terrorists!

Couldn't she at least have said, "Let's introduce ourselves before we go over how we're going to die together?" Apparently not, because we quickly segued to the viral outbreak that could've been caused if a man with some rare TB virus hadn't been imprisoned as he entered the country.

Now I saw the reasoning behind not showing up. Outside it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. And inside I felt like I was hearing a bedtime story written by the vice president.

"You will be your own government. You can not count on any help from the police department or the fire department. They will be elsewhere if they are in fact not disabled themselves."

Undoubtedly, she was telling the truth. And you could argue that her approach made sense considering we live in an information landscape where every day GLOBAL WARMING IS MORE DIRE THAN EVER!! and if that doesn't kill us, THE TERRORISTS WILL!! And don't forget the INVADING MOTHS DEVOURING OUR FOOD SUPPLY!! And, worst of all, "THE 49ERS ARE THREATENING TO MOVE 45 MILES DOWN THE ROAD!!"

The only problem is that, while some people respond well to scare tactics, others melt into little puddles of jelly. The positive responder will get pumped, buy a hard hat and become a block leader. The puddle of jelly will go home, cower and have nightmares that he's Jason Robards in "The Day After." And on our block, we couldn't afford any defections. Yes, ten came to our meeting but several were only marginally what you would call "rescuers." There was the nice man hooked up to an oxygen tank, his wife who is in a wheelchair, another woman who had had a double knee replacement, my almost-next-door neighbor with arthritic feet, his wife who has a bad back, and myself who would probably have an asthma attack at the first sign of smoke and pass out. After our presenter gave us more to worry about -- "If you call me and say armed men have come to your house, I'll tell you to just give them what you've got because we can't help you," -- I sensed the worst; the German distance runner, by far our studliest citizen, looked ready to walk out.

"Please stay for our very tasty potluck!" I wanted to yell. But I didn't. As it turns out, my concerns weren't unfounded. The second disaster meeting on our block took place a few weeks later. Only four people showed up. This time there was no potluck. Instead, a neighbor introduced us to a disaster toilet. It was a plastic bucket that you then stick a toilet seat onto and toss lime into the bottom, and presto! I could stash a couple of Sporting Greens next to this thing and life after the Big One could be pretty normal. But was this a metaphor for where we were? I hoped our effort wasn't already flushed away. We had yet to digest any disaster essentials. We had no leaders.

We had no tools.

But first we just needed a few people to sign up

David Curran is an editor at SFGate.com who can be reached at

dcurran@sfgate.com.

http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/g/a/2007/05/03/disaster.DTL

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