This is a long post. I hope you’ll stick with it until the end. Some of the pictures were submitted by friends from around Texas, without attribution to respect their privacy. Captions in quotes are their words.
“I lived in Moscow after the Soviet Union collapsed, and it was never as bad as the last week was in Texas.”
I’ve never been to Moscow but now I think I owe it a visit.
Last week was the worst week of my life. I said this out loud and then paused, questioning myself. Oh come now Carla, was it really? It didn’t take me very long to answer—yes, yes it was. Two events in my life stand out as particularly horrible: my father’s death and my divorce. But you know what I enjoyed consistently throughout both of those ordeals? Electricity, warmth, and running water.
I have learned a painful lesson along with millions of my fellow Texans, and I promise you, it will not be one I soon forget: the elemental necessities of our lives are far more tenuous than we assumed, controlled by gluttonous millionaires who have little thought or concern for the people they’re serving. Even those who purport to care ghosted us last week. With the exception of City Council Member Greg Casar, any useful information I received was via Facebook or Twitter from friends and neighbors. Mayor Adler would waft in every few days with a platitude-filled video but those sure as hell didn’t turn my lights back on.
When the necessities disappear, their absence consumes every last ounce of your emotional and physical energy. The only people that can effectively help you are those in your immediate orbit. Bless Beto and AOC and celebrities who stepped up, but none of those well-wishers could actually reach us when the real shit hit the fan. Of all the frightening parts, that was perhaps the worst: we were iced in and unreachable. Roads were undrivable, in cities with no equipment to combat ice. Police and firefighters were inundated. If you or your neighbors didn’t have it, you were out of luck. And ‘it’ in this case was food, water, and fuel.
On Monday afternoon, when the power had been out for 12 hours and the temperature inside my house was dropping faster by the minute, I realized I could go sit in my car. I could get warm and charge my phone, maybe stop my brain from frantically swirling from one stop-gap solution to the next. I grasped onto this idea like it was the door in the ocean beside the Titanic. It didn’t deliver on its promise though. Six inches of snow was deeper than I thought; I got wetter and colder just getting into the car. All the snow made the car strongly resemble a cave - somehow more depressing than laying in bed in a ski cap - and my phone was slow as Christmas to charge. (One of many lessons learned last week: ‘battery optimized charging’ on the iPhone is a feature that slows down charge time to ‘prevent battery aging’. Turn that shit off.)
Defeated, I went back inside, exchanged my cold wet clothes for cold dry ones, put my hat back on, and crawled into bed. It was the warmest place in the house, but not an ideal place to feel in control and capable.
Various tweets were saying that power would be out for at least another 24 hours and possibly more. The expected low that night was 1 degree. I am a self-sufficient person (some would say to a fault) and have no problem going it alone 99% of the time. But the prospect of spending the night by myself in a freezing, dark house brought on a sense of loneliness that is hard to convey. When the thought, “could I actually freeze to death in here?” crossed my mind, I burst into tears. I was terrified, in a way I don’t think I’ve ever been before. (As of this writing, at least a dozen people died of hypothermia last week, including an 11-year-old boy and the former keyboardist for Canned Heat and the Fabulous Thunderbirds.)
The ensuing days were a continuous process of moving the goalposts of worry. I have an offer of a warm house from a gracious, generous friend. How do I drive on ice-coated roads? Why didn’t I buy an additional cat carrier when I thought about it months ago? (I ended up putting one of the cats in a duffel bag and man, did that go badly.) I have arrived at my friend’s house. Why are my cats hissing at me and hiding? (I’m thinking maybe the duffel bag.) What is happening in my house while I’m gone? Are the pipes bursting? My children are safe and warm at their father’s house. Wait, now their power went out, are they okay? Are they cold and scared? My power is back on but the ice is even thicker on the roads. How do I get us back home? Are my floors going to be covered in standing water? I skidded six times and broke my windshield wipers but I am back home and the pipes seem ok. Wait, my water’s turning off. I didn’t have time to fill up my bathtubs. Do I have enough drinking water?
I should shovel some snow to melt.
I should shovel some snow to melt.
I should shovel some snow to melt.
It’s exhausting to work for the bare minimum of survival. It’s an oxymoronic frenetic fatigue that robs you of the ability to think of anything else beyond the next five minutes. My brain and my body felt like a bundle of frayed wires, intermittently popping with electricity.
Remember when Trump was elected and white liberals (myself included) were shocked to discover that racism still existed and Black people were like, oh good lord almighty welcome to our ongoing existence since the dawn of America? I feel like people living at the margins of society deserve the same reaction to our realizations about last week. The ability to flip a light switch, wash your hands, and sleep in a bed without 3 layers of clothes on—that, unfortunately, is privilege in America. It’s a privilege that waxes and wanes depending on your location, both geographically and politically.
Those elemental privileges bring with them some very important secondary ones: cleanliness, order, and calm. When your water goes, so goes any type of hygiene, be it in your house or on your body. Because you’re not defeated enough already, why not enjoy a kitchen full of dirty dishes and some body odor? The combination of the two will ensure a mental state stretched past the point of reason.
When the nightmare officially ended - 3 days ago with the lifting of the boil water notice - I had spent a total of 47 hours without electricity and 5 days without water. I am one of the lucky ones. I am alive. I have an incredible support network and a neighborhood now wonderfully entwined with each other. I’m still waking up with a start at 3am to see if the electricity is on. But that will pass. My frayed ends will smooth over again because I have the luxury of them doing so.
What is different is that I’m shopping for generators, looking into rainwater collection, and beginning the process of filling out an emergency survival kit. I will not find myself in this position again. My illusions about government support in times of crisis have been dispensed with and so should yours.
Climate change is just beginning its assault on an antiquated national infrastructure that has been kept intact by chewing gum and string. Yes, Texas had the additional failing of deregulation of its electric grid, but if you think weak infrastructure, corporate greed, and self-serving politicians are exclusive to our fair state, I have buckets full of dirty snow I’d like to sell you.
Republican state legislatures across the country are going all-in on voter suppression. It’s the only way they will be able to hold on to power in the coming years. If you’re wondering what voter suppression looks like in action - what happens when those in power got there by cheating and subsequently reward the deep pockets (and not the people) that put them there - I give you 4 million Texans huddling in tents in their living rooms last week.
The blame in Texas is ping-ponging around - currently at the feet of the Public Utility Commission, which is appointed by the governor - and where it eventually lands is anyone’s guess. The various exhortations to ‘vote them out!’ last week were cold comfort (literally). Sure, I’ll go to the voting booth in a year and a half. Could somebody maybe help me out before then?
I am all in on the For the People Act and the Green New Deal and reversing gerrymandering and anything else you want me to sign a petition or vote for. But in the meantime, I’ll be stocking up on canned goods, firewood, and batteries, forking over cash for a generator, and in general learning how to fend for myself. It’s pretty damn clear we’re all going to have to.
As always, THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS. I'm so sorry this happened to so many of the people I love and continues to happen to those with less privilege every day. We felt EXTREMELY lucky that we had power the whole time, even if we had no propane or water. The constant stress of wondering if/when the power was going to go out at anytime wasn't fun, though. And I felt so helpless not being able to house anyone or go help anyone because as you pointed out, WE WERE ALL STUCK. We were somewhat prepared just by pure luck, but I too have already put together a huge list of things to have on hand for next time. Because you KNOW there will be a next time. And anyone who's been handing out platitudes and no actual concrete help can FUCK. RIGHT. OFF. Love you and I'm so sorry I couldn't help you or anyone else while you were going through the thick of it. (I have some weird survivor's guilt issues I will be discussing in therapy next week. LOL)