By CLINT DAVIS, LPC
Special to the Shreveport-Bossier Journal
This week is the 20th anniversary of one of the most devastating natural disasters in U.S. history. In the fall of 2005, I was a young National Guard soldier sent into the chaos of New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina. My unit was deployed to the Superdome, a place the nation only saw in fleeting television shots. It was dark, overcrowded, and filled with desperation. What the cameras could never capture were the untold stories of survival, failure, faith, and fragile humanity that unfolded in those days.
Now, 20 years later, I tell this story not just for myself, but for the men and women I served alongside – the invisible ones no one has ever heard from. We were soldiers, police, medics, and civilians, thrust into a situation no one could have imagined, carrying the burden of a government that faltered and a community left to fend for itself.
The Dome nobody saw
Inside the Superdome, the air was heavy with fear, sweat, and the unrelenting stench of too many bodies trapped together. Thousands had come seeking shelter, only to find themselves stranded without food, water, or hope. Reports swirled of violence, assaults, and deaths. But the truth was far more complex. There was suffering, yes, but there was also resilience.
I remember shining a flashlight into dark corners, praying not to stumble upon someone being hurt. I remember the sound of mothers crying because their children hadn’t eaten. I remember the hollow stare of elderly men and women who had nowhere to go. These were not statistics. They were lives, each one precious, and each one bearing the image of God.
What was hardest was knowing that so much of what happened would never be told. When I returned home, even my own family couldn’t believe the stories I carried. “No one’s talking about that,” they said. “The news says it wasn’t that bad.” But I had seen enough to know the truth could not be minimized.
A Band of Brothers and Sisters
During the nightmare, something beautiful happened. A small band of brothers and sisters, soldiers of Alpha Company 527th and others I cannot name, rose up. We gave our hearts, our minds, and our bodies to caring for the abandoned. We carried stretchers, guarded doors, shared the last of our rations, and prayed in corners where despair threatened to take hold. We were spit on, threatened, attacked and disrespected.
We didn’t do it perfectly. We were tired, scared, and sometimes angry. But we stood together because the people around us had no one else. That’s the part of the story that rarely gets told. In the face of broken systems and government failure, human beings still reached for each other.
The weight we carried
For many of us, the weight of those days didn’t end when we left the Dome. It followed us home. The memories shoved deep into our unconscious minds resurfaced in nightmares, in anxiety, and in the gnawing sense that no one really understood.
That is why I tell this story now, not for sympathy, but for healing. God has healed me in so many ways that I want to give back and see others find freedom in Christ. As a trauma counselor, I see every day how people carry hidden wounds. The invisible ones are all around us: veterans, first responders, parents, children, neighbors. The scars may not show, but they shape our lives. Telling the story is the first step toward freedom.
Episode 7: Hope in the midst
In episode 7 of my podcast series on Katrina, I shared something that surprised even me after revisiting those memories. Amid the horror, there was hope. I saw strangers become family. I saw faith sustain people when supplies ran out. I saw courage in the eyes of soldiers who kept standing guard when everything in them wanted to collapse.
One of the most powerful lessons I carry from those days is this: even when the world fails, humanity does not have to. God can give us the strength to keep going. He will make beauty from ashes! Systems will break. Leaders will stumble. But ordinary people can still choose compassion over cruelty, courage over fear, and sacrifice over selfishness.
That truth is what encourages me today. We live in a world still filled with disasters – natural, political, and personal. Families are torn apart by addiction. Communities are divided by hatred. Many feel abandoned, invisible, and forgotten. But just like in the Dome, light still breaks through the cracks. People still rise up for each other. God is still at work, redeeming what the enemy meant for evil.
Why I share now
It has taken me nearly two decades to speak these words out loud. For too long, we, the soldiers of Alpha Company 527th, the medics, the guards, the unseen heroes, have been silent. Our silence wasn’t because we didn’t care, but because the weight was too heavy and the world seemed unwilling to listen.
But stories matter. Stories heal. Stories remind us that what we endured was real and that it cannot be erased. And stories remind those who are suffering now that they are not alone.
As a counselor, pastor, and speaker, my mission today is the same as it was in the Dome: to stand with the hurting, to call the invisible into the light, and to remind us all that we are not defined by disaster, but by the hope we carry through it.
A call to remember
As we mark 20 years since Katrina, my plea is simple: remember. Remember the lives lost. Remember the failures, so they are not repeated. Remember the survivors, whose stories are still waiting to be heard. And remember the invisible ones who carried burdens in silence so others could live another day.
Our community is stronger when we face the past together. Healing begins when the unseen are finally seen, and when the unheard are finally given a voice.
This is not just my story. It is our story. It is a story of pain, yes, but also of courage, compassion, and hope. And it is a story still being written, in every act of kindness, in every choice to serve, in every effort to bring light into the darkest places.
Want to hear the full story? Listen and hear of the devastating things humans are capable of, and the wonderful things God can do through horrible circumstances.
You can find The Asking Why with Clint Davis podcast on YouTube, Apple Music, and Spotify. Here is a link to the YouTube version:
https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIOrlMLRoBUSpMPAEaDnYow04vI_iQnmN&si=m8EyTVFoNTf0k68b
Clint Davis is a licensed professional counselor, and owner of Clint Davis Counseling. His company has offices in Shreveport, Bossier, and Benton.
