By the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, foundations and corporations had
donated nearly $600 million for recovery efforts along the Gulf Coast, but the
initial outpouring only funded the first steps toward healing the stricken
region. As philanthropists increasingly turn their attention—and
capital—elsewhere, James Joseph is seeking to keep the capital flowing. Joseph
is chairman of the Louisiana Disaster Recovery Foundation, launched after the
hurricane by Governor Kathleen Babineaux Blanco to foster economic and social
equity during the rebuilding process. In his role, Joseph raises private money
for, and public awareness of, ongoing recovery and reform efforts in his native
state. The former president of the Council on Foundations and U.S. ambassador to
South Africa (1996–1999) lives in Durham, N.C., where he is a professor of
public policy studies and executive director of the United States-Southern
Africa Center for Leadership and Public Values at Duke University. Joseph spoke
with Worth executive editor Matt Purdue about the challenges of fundraising and
the future of New Orleanians and their neighbors. How were you personally affected by
Katrina?
My hometown,
Opelousas, is
on one of the higher spots in
Louisiana, of which there aren’t many. It was not affected
directly by the storm, but it was affected by the large number of displaced
people. I can remember talking to my brother, and he told me that the parking
lots were full, and he couldn’t move on the streets because of all the people
who were fleeing Hurricane Katrina, and then, later, Rita. You have stated that the true driver of philanthropy
is never losing a sense of outrage. How does that apply in
Louisiana? A lot of people
were outraged by what they
saw—and so they gave money and moved on to other things. We want them to sustain
some sense of that outrage, and to recognize that this wasn’t a
once-in-a-lifetime event that occurred and has passed; it’s a process that
continues into the future in terms of responding to the need. All around the
country, we do press interviews, editorial board briefings, everything we can to
try to keep this on the minds of the American people, to remind them that the
business of the Gulf is not finished. The public sector promised
New
Orleans tens of
billions of dollars in assistance. The city has only received a small fraction
of that. I was in
New
Orleans in August, and we had a town hall meeting with
the police chief, the mayor and a number of other folks affected by the storm
that was broadcast on public television. They were wondering where this money
is, because they haven’t seen it appropriated. Yet, although the levee system has been plugged,
the Army Corps of Engineers recently admitted that the infrastructure for flood
control is a system “in name only,” and more work needs to be
done. Nothing is really
sufficient until we secure those
levees. It was a man-made disaster because almost 80 percent of the damage came
about because of breaks in the levee. Those breaches would never have occurred
if they had been engineered soundly. That’s where the billions of dollars come in. To get
the displaced people coming home to invest in New Orleans and make workers
available for its economic growth, we need to make them feel that they’re secure
and that the levees have been built to their appropriate standards. We would
certainly like to see the levees improved. But there will be life in
New
Orleans. There
may not be a Lower Ninth Ward of the same capacity as before Katrina, but life
has resumed in the city. You’re beginning to see a reassertion of the cultural
vitality of the place, though a lot of the low-wealth people were the ones who
fueled that culture. How do you respond to donors worried about
supporting projects that could bring residents back to a dangerous flood
plain?
It’s not
simple. I can sit back and
be an armchair critic, but I face people who say, “We’ve lived on this block for
several generations,” and see the comfort they get from a sense of place in this
time of posttraumatic stress. They are uplifted by their sense of place. So
it’s very difficult to say to them, “While we respect your rights as an American
citizen to own property, we are now going to say you can’t live there.” There
are two goods in conflict: How do you
resolve the moral dilemma, as well as the political dilemma? Do you play God and say you can’t live
there?
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