As I said earlier, I've been at a week long seminar for the 2005-6 class of ACE Fellows. Our schedule kept us busy for 16+ hour days, but we had time to speculate about Katrina. Before Katrina struck, a "progressive" colleague (his description) remarked that anyone who stayed deserved whatever outcome s/he got, and that, anyway, we subsidized their living on the coast in LA (or NC and elsewhere). No one in the group, myself included, objected. We were unable to imagine why anyone wouldn't leave the city when officials told them to go. Today, almost a week later, I've come to regret that failure of imagination on my part and I imagine my friend would regret his. The stories and the images we've had from Biloxi, New Orleans, and elsewhere, make it pretty clear that there but for the various accidents of life goes me, or any of us.
I've now had plenty of opportunities to put myself in the shoes of the people who stayed, and -- though I'd like to think I'd have had the resources and the wherewithall to leave -- I can imagine readily enough that I might have stayed.
There's something about that act of imagination that makes us the same. That's Adam Smith's incredibly powerful point. The passage about the European and China is most telling. I'll reproduce the beginning -- the problem -- and the end here, because it's often truncated in the literature so that the solution (giving up the finger) is lost on the reader who doesn't know the original.
Let us suppose that the great empire of China, with all its myriads of inhabitants, was suddenly swallowed up by an earthquake, and let us consider how a man of humanity in Europe, who had no sort of connexion with that part of the world, would be affected upon receiving intelligence of this dreadful calamity. He would, I imagine, first of all, express very strongly his sorrow for the misfortune of that unhappy people, he would make many melancholy reflections upon the precariousness of human life, and the vanity of all the labours of man, which could thus be annihilated in a moment. He would too, perhaps, if he was a man of speculation, enter into many reasonings concerning the effects which this disaster might produce upon the commerce of Europe, and the trade and business of the world in general. And when all this fine philosophy was over, when all these humane sentiments had been once fairly expressed, he would pursue his business or his pleasure, take his repose or his diversion, with the same ease and tranquillity, as if no such accident had happened. ... If he was to lose his little finger to-morrow, he would not sleep to-night; but, provided he never saw them, he will snore with the most profound security over the ruin of a hundred millions of his brethren, and the destruction of that immense multitude seems plainly an object less interesting to him, than this paltry misfortune of his own. To prevent, therefore, this paltry misfortune to himself, would a man of humanity be willing to sacrifice the lives of a hundred millions of his brethren, provided he had never seen them? Human nature startles with horror at the thought, and the world, in its greatest depravity and corruption, never produced such a villain as could be capable of entertaining it.
(The Econlib site has more...!) And, if you've not yet donated to the Katrina victims, you can do it here...