Larry Bradshaw and Lorrie Beth Slonsky are paramedics frorm California who attended the EMS conference in New Orleans [that preceded Hurricane Katrina]. They wrote about their experiences in trying to leave New Orleans for EMS Network.

"As we entered the center of the city, we finally encountered the National Guard. The guardsmen told us we would not be allowed into the Superdome, as the city's primary shelter had descended into a humanitarian and health hellhole. The guards further told us that the city's only other shelter, the convention center, was also descending into chaos and squalor and that the police were not allowing anyone else in.

"Quite naturally, we asked, 'If we can't go to the only two shelters in the city, what was our alternative?' The guardsmen told us that that was our problem, and no, they did not have extra water to give to us...

"We walked to the police command center at Harrah's on Canal Street and were told the same thing, that we were on our own, and no, they did not have water to give us. We now numbered several hundred. We held a mass meeting to decide a course of action. We agreed to camp outside the police command post...

"The police told us that we could not stay. Regardless, we began to settle in and set up camp. In short order, the police commander came across the street to address our group. He told us he had a solution: we should walk to the Pontchartrain Expressway and cross the Greater New Orleans Bridge, where the police had buses lined up to take us out of the city...

"As we approached the bridge, armed Gretna sheriffs formed a line across the foot of the bridge. Before we were close enough to speak, they began firing their weapons over our heads. This sent the crowd fleeing in various directions.

"As the crowd scattered and dissipated, a few of us inched forward and managed to engage some of the sheriffs in conversation. We told them of our conversation with the New Orleans police commander, and of the commander's assurances. The sheriffs informed us there were no buses waiting. The commander had lied to us to get us to move.

"We questioned why we couldn't cross the bridge anyway, especially as there was little traffic on the six-lane highway. They responded that the West Bank was not going to become New Orleans and there would be no Superdomes in their city. These were code words for 'if you are poor and black, you are not crossing the Mississippi River and you are not getting out of New Orleans...'

"All day long, we saw other families, individuals and groups make the same trip up the incline in an attempt to cross the bridge, only to be turned away. Some chased away with gunfire, others simply told no, others to be verbally berated and humiliated. Thousands of New Orleaners were prevented and prohibited from self-evacuating the City on foot...

"Our small group retreated back down Highway 90 to seek shelter from the rain under an overpass. We debated our options and, in the end, decided to build an encampment in the middle of the Ponchartrain Expressway on the center divide, between the O'Keefe and Tchoupitoulas exits. We reasoned we would be visible to everyone, we would have some security being on an elevated freeway and we could wait and watch for the arrival of the yet to be seen buses...

"From a woman with a battery-powered radio, we learned that the media was talking about us. Up in full view on the freeway, every relief and news organizations saw us on their way into the city. Officials were being asked what they were going to do about all those families living up on the freeway. The officials responded they were going to take care of us. Some of us got a sinking feeling. 'Taking care of us' had an ominous tone to it.

"Unfortunately, our sinking feeling was correct. Just as dusk set in, a Gretna sheriff showed up, jumped out of his patrol vehicle, aimed his gun at our faces, screaming, "Get off the fucking freeway!" A helicopter arrived and used the wind from its blades to blow away our flimsy structures. As we retreated, the sheriff loaded up his truck with our food and water.

Once again, at gunpoint, we were forced off the freeway. All the law enforcement agencies appeared threatened when we congregated or congealed into groups of 20 or more. In every congregation of 'victims,' they saw 'mob' or 'riot.' We felt safety in numbers. Our 'we must stay together' plan was impossible because the agencies would force us into small, atomized groups...

"We arrived at the airport on the day a massive airlift had begun. After being evacuated on a Coast Guard cargo plane, we arrived in San Antonio, Texas. There, the humiliation and dehumanization of the official relief effort continued.

"We were placed on buses and driven to a large field where we were forced to sit for hours and hours. Some of the buses did not have air-conditioners. In the dark, hundreds if us were forced to share two filthy, overflowing porta-potties. Those who managed to make it out with any possessions (often a few belongings in tattered plastic bags) were subjected to two different dog-sniffing searches.

"This official treatment was in sharp contrast to the warm, heart-felt reception given to us by the ordinary Texans. We saw one airline worker give her shoes to someone who was barefoot. Strangers on the street offered us money and toiletries with words of welcome. Throughout, the official relief effort was callous, inept and racist."