The Human Side of Disaster

Thomas E. Drabek

• Éditeur: CRC Press
• Année: 2018
• ISBN:
  9781315360454
• Édition: 2
• Sujet: Law
• Sous-sujet: Forensic Science

Since the first edition of The Human Side of Disaster was published in 2009, new catastrophes have plagued the globe, including earthquakes in Haiti and New Zealand, tornadoes in Alabama and Missouri, floods in numerous locations, Hurricane Sandy, and the infamous BP oil spill. Enhanced with new cases and real-world examples, The Human Side of Disaster, Second Edition presents an updated summary of the social science knowledge base of human responses to disaster. Dr. Drabek draws upon his 40-plus years of conducting research on individual, group, and organizational responses to disaster to illustrate and integrate key insights from the social sciences to teach us how to anticipate human behaviors in crisis.

The book begins with a series of original short stories rooted within actual disaster events. These stories are woven into the entire text to demonstrate essential findings from the research literature. Dr. Drabek provides an overview of the range of disasters and hazards confronting the public and an explanation of why these are increasing each year, both in number and scope of impact.

The core of the book is a summary of key findings regarding disaster warning responses, evacuation behavior, initial post-impact survival behavior, traditional and emergent roles of volunteers, and both short-term and longer-term disaster impacts. The theme of "organized-disorganization" is used to illustrate multiorganizational response networks that form the key managerial task for local emergency managers. The final chapter provides a new vision for the emergency management profession—one that reflects a more strategic approach wherein disasters are viewed as non-routine social problems.

This book will continue to be an invaluable reference for professionals and students in emergency management and public policy and aid organizations who need to understand human behavior and how best to communicate and work with the public in disaster situations.

1
Experiences^*

When disaster strikes, people react. Depending on the context, fear levels rise. Sometimes these exceed any experienced previously. Temporarily, however, one motivation supersedes all others: survival, of self and those nearby, especially loved ones.

During four decades of interviewing people caught in the context of disaster, I have listened to thousands describe their experiences. Each is unique. But when you listen carefully, patterns can be identified. There are elements of commonality.

What is disaster from the human perspective? The following accounts reveal some of the commonalities documented through painstaking comparative analyses. The accounts that follow are fictionalized. I made them up. The contexts—the events—are real, however. The names are my invention, but the stories are representative of dozens of interviews. As such, they introduce the experience of disaster.

As I summarize various aspects of the social science research base, we will return to these stories many times throughout this book. Too often, statistical details about a slice of human response—warning, evacuation, or whatever—prevent us from seeing the larger context of individual experiences. Hopefully, these stories will provide that larger context and, in so doing, will enhance our understanding of the human side of disaster.

THE TAXI

The Setting

•October 31, 1963.

•Indianapolis, Indiana (Indiana State Fairgrounds Coliseum).

•Throughout the evening, it had been raining very hard. Just as the Holiday on Ice Show was ending (11:06 p.m.), a massive explosion killed 54 people and injured more than 400 others. Within a few days, 27 of the injured died. This event remains the deadliest disaster in the history of Indiana.¹

The Story

Sam Wilson glanced at his watch. “11:02,” he observed. Just 4 minutes since his last look.

“Guess I’m getting a bit antsy. Should be about over. Damn seat has gotten hard—too hard. Knew I should have listened to her. Why does she always have to be right? Just a little hemorrhoid; it’ll feel a hell of a lot better when we get out of here. When I get off this damned rock.”

These thoughts were still moving inside his private person, when Sam realized he had stopped looking at the ice. Instead, he felt a slight grin, a smile really. He was focused on Tony. Wide awake and ready for more action, 6-year-old Tony had insisted on staying till the end.

“Come on Grandpa. We hardly ever do anything like this. Let’s make it last. We don’t want to leave now.”

“Yeah,” Sam thought to himself. “Let’s make it last. Can’t disagree with that. But damn, I’d sure enjoy it more if this butt wasn’t so hurt’n.”

The ice was now empty. Unbeknownst to Sam the skaters were about to move out in mass. The grand finale was seconds away.

Suddenly a flash. A big flash! Not to be confused with a news photographer’s camera. Then the noise. A thunderous sound. And then the screams. People from just over there across the aisle.

Sam’s senses reacted to the overload. First the flash, then the roar. Then the screams. Now the smell. The smell of dust—no, concrete powder, really. And burning. Something was burning over there across the aisle.

Reflecting the instincts of grandfathers throughout the long course of human existence, Sam suspended any thoughts of personal survival or pain. Even the hurt in his butt vanished as his total being focused on Tony.

He was still there, just inches away. “Tony, you okay, kid?”

“Grandpa, it hurts. It hurts. What happened?”

“I don’t know son. Here, let me have a look.”

Sam was not prepared for the messages his eyes were transmitting. The gash looked nasty. Really nasty. Blood was now covering Tony’s left hand, running down into his lap. The wound was near the top of his shoulder. His denim short-sleeved cowboy shirt was flayed open. A red-filled crevice ran nearly to his elbow.

“Oh crap! Not tonight; not tonight. Damn it! What am I gonna do?”

Before this last thought actually reached his brain for processing, Sam had acted. Without really thinking, you see, he grabbed the blue rain jacket from his lap and covered Tony’s arm. This action covered the ugliness. Out of sight, the scene could be processed more easily.

Holding the jacket tight against Tony’s arm, Sam’s brain raced. Alternatives. Alternatives. “Should we get out now? Should I wait for help?”

“Grandpa, it hurts. It’s hurting worse.” And now fear and pain began to take their toll. Tears no longer could be held back. With sobs that started quietly, Tony suddenly began to press for answers.

“Grandpa, what are we going to do?”

“Tony, don’t you worry none. I’m here and you’re going to be fine. You just got a nasty cut. The docs can fix that up in nothing flat. Nothing to worry about. You just stay calm.”

As he spoke these words of comfort, Sam craned his neck. First, toward his left, up past Tony’s head, which was now pressed against Sam’s chest. He pulled the jacket tighter against the boy’s arm.

Some still sat, just staring ahead, downward toward the blast location. Others were standing. But a few were yelling. Their shouts now penetrated Sam’s awareness.

“Hey, damn it, we need some help here. My wife’s bleeding. She’s going to bleed to death. Has anybody got a coat or something? I need help.”

“Mommy, what’s happening? What’s on fire? What stinks?”

These were but a few of the utterances that you might have heard if you had been sitting near Sam and Tony. Sam heard these; the others did not penetrate. His brain refused to admit them. He focused only on one thing.

“Tony, we’re getting out of here. Come on. Grab me around the neck.”

“Ouch. Don’t pull like that! Grandpa, you’re hurting me. Stop it!”

Tony’s resistance came as a surprise. But Sam resisted the temptation to be abrupt. Maybe he did not even have to resist. Maybe such actions never entered into the stream of fast-moving thoughts. Or even his reflexes. For Sam was a gentle man. A man who truly loved his grandson, his only grandson.

So his response to Tony paralleled his everyday dealings with him. Firm, but gentle. Directive, but soft-spoken. Nurturing, protective, trustworthy. These are the adjectives an older Tony would use years later when he spoke to those mourning Sam’s death. But for now, in these moments of hurt and quick response, such qualities were reflected in Sam’s actions and, most importantly to 6-year-old Tony, in his voice. His tone was soft. The words flowed slowly, without a hint of impatience, panic, or uncertainty.

As he felt himself being carried up the stairs and out into the Coliseum hallways, Tony sobbed. His sobs did not prevent him from hearing the near constant comforting from Sam. “Don’t worry, Tony, we’re almost to the top. Just a few more steps. We’ll be out of here soon. The docs will fix you up in nothing flat. You’re going to be just fine.”

Slowly they moved toward a sign marked “Exit,” along with hundreds of others who shared their desire to get out. Some were visibly hurt. Others, like Sam, were carrying children. Some were half-carrying and half-helping other adults who also had been hit by the chunks of concrete that had flown into the audience.

The scene was one of tears, punctuated by an occasional scream. Some were still yelling for help. Most were quiet, however. Most just pressed forward. Not orderly really, but certainly not in a panic stampede either. They just pressed forward, wordlessly announcing their desire to get the hell out of this place as quickly as possible! A second explosion, much milder than the first, increased the intensity of the press.

What Tony could not know, because Sam never uttered it, was Sam’s thinking. Rapid assessments of alternatives. “Should I try to find a security guy? God, they were everywhere when we came in here. Where the hell are they now?” And, as they entered the main hall, Sam saw an exit sign in the distance. The sign evoked a rush.

“Exit. Yeah, but which one? Where the hell’s the car from here? That’s not where we came in. Crap! I’ll never find the damn car in this mess of confusion.”

These were internal communications. Strictly internal! Not meant for Tony’s ears. “Don’t worry little guy. We’re almost out of this place. You’re doing fine.”

Suddenly Sam spotted him. A guy in a security uniform. “Thank God. Now I’ll get some help.”

“Hey Mister. Hey, you over there. I’ve got my grandson here. He’s hurt. Bleeding real bad. Where do you have the ambulances? This kid needs some stitches. Got to get him to the hospital fast.”

“Sir, I ain’t seen any ambulances. Just a lot of hurt people. I don’t know what to tell you. There’s just people going every direction. Maybe once you get outside you’ll see them. But I ain’t got no idea which way to tell you to go.”

Sam felt Tony’s arm tighten around his neck. “Had he heard this?” The tightening intensified. Simultaneously, the sobbing did too.

Choking back his tears, Tony’s voice had a tone of desperation. A tone of growing fear.

“Grandpa, what are we going to do?”

“Tony, listen to me.” The voice was firmer now. “We are going to get out of here. You’re going to the hospital to get that arm fixed. The docs will have it sewed up quicker than you can imagine. Don’t worry; everything’s going to be fine. You just keep hanging on to my neck. We’ll be outside as soon as we get over to that door.”

As they exited, Sam’s eyes focused. The rain had let up a bit. There in front of them was a line of taxi cabs.

“For God’s sake,” Sam thought to himself.

“See Tony, I told you everything would be okay. We’re going to take a little taxi ride.”

As they approached a cab, Sam spotted three men standing behind it. All three seemed fixated on the crowd streaming out the exits.

“Hey, whose cab is this? I’ve got a hurt kid here. We need to get to the nearest hospital as quick as possible.”

“Yes, sir. We can do that job. Let me grab that door. You just get right on in there. I’ll have you to the hospital front door in nothing flat.”

THE EARRING

The Setting

•June 17, 1978.

•Pomona Lake, Kansas.

•A tornado crossed Pomona Lake during the early evening and caused the Showboat Whippoorwill to capsize. As the boat turned on its side, 14 crew and theater cast members, along with 46 passengers, were tossed into the water. Of the 60 onboard, 15 individuals drowned. This event remains the worst boating disaster in the history of Kansas.²

The Story

“It’s still awfully hot. Breeze feels better. A bit cooler. Sure nice of Bobby to do this. Really was a surprise. Dinner smells wonderful. I know these guys are going to be great with the musical numbers.”

Pearl Altman was lost in her thoughts. She and her boyfriend, Billy Wells, had talked more about their upcoming August wedding during the 45-minute drive from Topeka.

Pearl had been at her desk at Federal-State Insurance. Billy’s call came at 9:30 that morning.

“Good morning, Federal-State. This is Pearl, how may I help you?”

“Yo, Pearl. Billy here.”

“Hey, you handsome devil. What’s up?”

“Well, Bobby and Louise just came by. They want us to join them for dinner tonight.”

“Cool. What time?”

“How ‘bout I pick you up at 4:30? Can you get away early?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Pearl replied as she fingered the heart-shaped earring that dangled from her right ear.

“What’s the dress? Fancy place or what?”

“No, not fancy. But it’ll be real neat. You’re in for a big surprise. I know you’re going to love it. It’s over 100 right now, so I’m wearing shorts and a T-shirt. You ought to do the same. We’re going to have a great time.”

“Okay, Billy. See you at 4:30.”

While the clouds looked a bit stormy, there were no indications of possible tornado activity. So the Whippoorwill crew had loaded the 46 passengers and backed away from shore. The intense June heat remained, but was blunted a bit as the small craft slowly made its way northward.

The tornado came from the west. Later, campers who were enjoying summer outings at Pomona State Park would advise emergency officials that they saw it coming. It came across the recently built reservoir moving in a northeasterly direction, a pattern that often defines the movement of these killer storms. It did not make a direct hit. Undoubtedly that would have been worse. But as it neared the Whippoorwill, the water became increasingly turbulent.

Pearl first noticed her purse moving. Quickly she grabbed it. But in that instant she felt Billy pushing against her.

“Billy! What’s happening?”

“Damned if I know. Grab that rail and hang on.”

Pearl next heard Bobby, then Louise.

“Billy, this damned boat is going to flip! It’s going over on its side.”

“Bobby! Bobby, hang on to me. I’m about to go over the side. You know I can’t swim. Hang on to me Bobby!”

As...