My First Big Story as a Journalism Student

Everyone has one or two news stories that become a permanent part of their memory. They’re not always necessarily the central focal point, but they present a side that speaks to something complicated and human. 

One of those moments came in 2005. Given current events, I was turning to ABC7’s nightly news to fill in the gaps of a tragedy that would come to define the next decade. Here was a moment that would be impossible to forget, one that would inspire artistic expression across every possible medium. HBO would create a four-season drama that centered around its fallout. In light of its 20th anniversary, filmmakers like Ryan Coogler have crafted documentaries exploring its legacy. 

No matter how many hurricanes have hit America’s shores, none of them would ever compare to Katrina in my imagination. The mythic destruction of New Orleans, LA, was a symbolic loss of history and a terrible commentary on infrastructure shortcomings. The reasons that it stuck with me were likely that it was the first time that I saw homes underwater, where people were stranded on their roofs, waving to helicopters and rescue boats. There was a world I hadn’t previously considered, and it was surreal before I could grasp what it would take to reconstruct the community.

If someone were to ask me the one image from Hurricane Katrina that has lingered, it’s one that I haven’t been able to track down since that night decades ago. As I sat watching ABC7, I saw a reporter wandering the desecrated streets looking for any survivors. At random, he landed on a man who looked more devastated than anyone I had ever seen before. While the reporter made a concerted effort to console his subject, there was a lack of focus in his eyes. They were wandering around. His shoulders seemed burdened by unknown forces. 

When asked to provide his opinion, this man had only two words to share: “She gone.” Try and over-intellectualize the situation all you want, but those two words stabbed me in the gut, capturing a greater reality of a hurricane that left an entire region in dire straits. I couldn’t tell you who “She” is. I’ve never seen that man again, nor is this one of those feel-good stories where he was later reunited. For all I know, that never happened. All I’ve ever seen was him saying, “She gone,” and it’s something that makes you realize the fragility of life. Things may get better. Recovery may eventually find a satisfactory middle. Life may move on, but then you realize that, for the rest of time, She will be gone.

Something important to consider is that I have never been to Louisiana. The furthest east that I’ve gone in The South is Texas. I’ve been a California kid my entire life, and that comes with distance from certain phenomena. Until recently, my coastal city hadn’t had a hurricane worth reporting on. 

And yet, Hurricane Katrina is one of those stories that has resonated for many reasons. It’s partially the fact that it’s a formative experience in American history. It was one of those moments where you want to believe that the country would come together to solve a problem. You believed that change, while gradual, would come and fix things. The response would forever define George W. Bush and, in some way, reflect how we respond to disaster on our own shores. More than the fact that New Orleans was a party city that carries its own eccentric mythology, it was a chance to argue that, for any fault we have from our differences, we respect each other’s hospitality.

I’m not wishing to make this essay a diatribe on what was and wasn’t done right. I personally believe there are hundreds of better essays you could read to understand that time better. The only thing I can provide is a sense of what it meant to me at the time, a 16-year-old who was in a fortunate (?) position to follow every development. 

August 2005 marked the start of my Sophomore year of high school. For years at that point, I aspired to be a journalism student. I was the person in middle school who walked with a pocket full of quarters to a newspaper stand and slid them in the slot. As I pulled a copy out, I took a look at the front page and saw my first glimpse of current events. I can’t say that I processed the severity of those headlines, but there was something romantic about their tangibility, where you had this room full of people crafting a perfect view of the previous day. There was the uniformity that I craved, and it may be what drew me to the profession originally.

Having gotten a slip signed off by the journalism teacher, I was placed into the system for the upcoming year. Once I was there, I sat learning the 5 W’s. I saw the editors fill the board with assignments while pointing around the room for takers. There was this teenage-level understanding of a newsroom unfolding before me. While we were about local events, there was no denying the impact of a world outside the school gates. Before publishing our first pieces, we would scan the papers and have homework assignments deconstructing what the prose was saying. It’s the most formative reason why I’ve long endorsed teaching media literacy.

Along with that, we would have copies of The Los Angeles Times delivered to the classroom. They were as much fodder for homework as it was a chance to feel inspired. There were hundreds of other stories that happened during August and September 2005, but there was one that stood out for obvious reasons: Hurricane Katrina. Every day we’d enter and there’d be photography of the floods lining the front page. Every new development brought with it a sense of urgency to pick a copy up and read. Even if my political views weren’t all that well developed, I could read about the F.E.M.A. response and comprehend the successes and failures of the time.

That was the major reason I was tuning in frequently to the nightly news. During that time, it felt important to know how New Orleans would recover. I watched as the charity telethon produced a controversial statement. I saw thousands struggle to be transported to safer regions. Everything about that moment has become mythic, in part because a lot of the survivors are still with us, and the more artistically inclined continue to produce amazing art that humanizes the situation. Louisiana would recover. My mother visited in 2024 and has mostly positive things to say about her experience. Even the hosting of The Super Bowl shows an endurance that far exceeds its initial setback.

I’m unsure if this sounds sentimental or foolish, but Hurricane Katrina was my first “big story” as a journalism student. Right at the dawn of my interest in reporting facts came an event that encouraged me to recognize the integrity of reporters. There was a need to break through the bias and see a world that needed healing. I’m sure there was a lot else of similar magnitude that came and went, but Hurricane Katrina spoke to an aspect of America that I wanted to believe in. It was a city full of its own rich, inimitable identity. You can’t read “Confederacy of Dunces” and set it elsewhere. You can’t look at the architecture and the first lines playing during funerals and imagine it in a Midwest city. There was a drive to bring the city ostensibly back from the dead. Maybe these are all ideas I formed later on as I studied the region, but I still saw the need to find hope amid disaster.

There isn’t some greater hook about me writing an essay on Hurricane Katrina that spoke to the students. All that you can find is a student who felt moved to follow a story about a phenomenon that still feels commonplace but also seems to be mired in more cynicism. Yes, global warming has always been an issue. Certain patterns have only gotten worse. However, I can’t imagine any of the upcoming hurricanes inspiring the collective support that Louisiana had in 2005. So much happens in a given day now that they’re at risk of being forgotten after a week of coverage, maybe returned a month later for retrospection. 

So it makes me wonder what it is that has stuck in our imagination about Hurricane Katrina that others haven’t. For me, it’s very literal. I was there. I was reading daily newspapers and watching the news unfold in real time. I saw the victims panic while searching for any tangible connection to safety. However, as today marks the 20th anniversary since it struck land, why do we still remember the tragedy?

My only contribution is that Hurricane Katrina symbolized something greater. Not so much the flooding and destruction within itself. It’s more the idea that in a world that has become more digital, having tangible things feels more important. Yes, a lot was ruined, but there was also a lot that could be rebuilt and redefined. Watching Treme for the first time recently, I saw a community emerge with a passion to celebrate again. They weren’t going to let the former conditions ruin their perception of New Orleans. They were going to do Mardi Gras. They would have local jazz bands playing every night. Indigenous communities would march in flamboyant uniforms. There is a whole personality that has emerged since 2005, and it’s maybe helped tourism more than simply writing it off as one of the great former glories of America. 

I don’t know if every city could hope to recover to the extent that New Orleans has. Even then, to have witnessed the phoenix-like rising from the ashes is one of the most endearing things that I have seen. It’s a reminder of patience and that it takes a village to resurrect the beams. It’s a reminder to hold onto the history and share it with anyone willing to listen. A city is more than one matter. It is physical and metaphysical, holding significance for what it has been through. It speaks well of the community that never let the flame die. 

Again, I wasn’t in the physical region to watch this happen. Maybe Treme’s account took some artistic liberties as well – I’m not sure. All I know is that it’s a moment in time that resonates in my imagination, allowing me sight not of what America can lose, but what it can gain if it works together. Not everything was perfect, but those willing to sacrifice did a lot to restore morale. Some things will undoubtedly be gone forever, and that brings its own heaviness. However, there’s still room to grow again. The question is if we’re all willing to help out where we can.