The horror of New Orleans in 2005 is a national disgrace.

M. Charles Bakst: Bush, Katrina and 9/11

The attacks of Sept. 11, 2001 were a national disaster.

The horror of New Orleans in 2005 is a national disgrace.

As bad as 9/11 was -- the brutal shock that it was, as impossible to absorb as it was, to see the Twin Towers explode, to imagine the agony of humans incinerated -- coping with it still was easier in some ways than watching the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.

At least in 2001 there were heroes, lots of them, notably New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani and the firefighters and police officers who nobly rushed into buildings to save lives, often at the expense of their own.

And, after a momentary stumble, President Bush stood tall. This was the man who went to Ground Zero and spoke defiantly of the terrorists. And who later spoke to Congress with steely confidence and grim determination and declared, "I will not forget the wound to our country and those who inflicted it. I will not yield, I will not rest, I will not relent in waging this struggle."

This nation, in grief and in purpose, was as united in those days as I have seen it. In that saddest of times, people were proud to be Americans.

This past week has been a national embarrassment.

George Bush, who once seemed so decisive and so inspiring, has never seemed smaller, more out of touch, more overwhelmed by the job. He had, of course, weakened himself by getting the country bogged down in Iraq in a war that may be impossible to win and seems irrelevant to the genuine threat from terrorists.

But it is much more than that.

In the crucible of New Orleans, Bush has symbolized all of the government officials at any level who failed to anticipate or act upon the dangers hurricanes in general and Katrina specifically posed to New Orleans and, certainly, bungled the response to the devastation that finally came. (How dismaying it was to read yesterday of a Red Cross official saying the U.S. Department of Homeland Security "has basically told us they don't want us -- our Red Cross folks -- in New Orleans because our presence would keep people from evacuating.")

America has become a laughingstock, to think that people could suffer here for days on rooftops or terraces or in a sports arena or convention center without rudimentary help like food or water, amid lawlessness and stench, surrounded by death.

I do not diminish the horrors that took place within the World Trade Center or the vividness of the sight of the buildings exploding and falling.

But in terms of faces and voices of individuals in anguish -- faces that you actually have seen and voices you have heard -- enduring misery, begging for aid, and feeling abandoned by their government -- New Orleans has presented the starker, more inexplicable tableau.

The news media have superbly conveyed this suffering. They have not as successfully forced government officials to account for the poor planning and slow reaction.

The New Orleans catastrophe is made uglier by the fact that most victims are black and poor. This is the reality of inner city life. Race and class. You may wonder if race and class explain the slowness of the federal response.

The most inspiring thing about this tragedy is to be found among the huge numbers of organizations and individuals who have been collecting money and supplies for hurricane relief -- it will be long needed -- in New Orleans and elsewhere. They represent the best impulse in the nation's character and they remind me of a notion I associate with Jimmy Carter. Wouldn't it be nice to have a government as good and decent as the American people?

M. Charles Bakst, The Journal's political columnist, can be reached by e-mail at mbakst [at] projo.com