Emergency Alerts and the Stories They Tell
Another update from the road! Last week, we were staying with friends outside of Philadelphia when an insane storm tore through the area. I was actually in my car on a work call when hail started pounding on the windshield and roof, making a huge racket. The friend I was visiting was inside her house and when she called me on my cell, I hung up on the colleague and took her call.
“This is crazy!” I shouted over the uproar of grape-sized hail beating down on my vehicle.
“I don’t want to freak you out,” she said, “but there’s a tornado warning for this area.”
Just as she spoke the words, a tree toppled down a few feet from the car, its branches grazing my window.
“Yikes!” I yelped into the phone. “A tree just fell!” (See picture above for said tree; I'm really glad that's not my car trapped under that trunk!)
Meanwhile, my phone beeped and a message appeared on my screen: “Emergency Alert: Tornado Warning in this area til 5:45 PM EDT. Take shelter now.”
Shit. I crawled into the backseat, mostly because I was afraid that the windshield might break from the pieces of ice that were falling from the sky. Looking out the window on the side that wasn’t covered by a fallen tree, the world was a blur of wind and water. I tentatively opened the door but quickly shut it again for fear that it might tear off. Still, it was enough time to have rainwater gush into the car.
Another beep and another message: “Flash flood warning in this area until 9:30 PM EDT. Avoid flood areas.”
This didn’t seem like it was going to get better anytime soon. My friend called me again to see how I was doing. “Stay in the car,” she said. I could barely hear her over the din of the storm. “Norbert said you’re safe there.”
Safe in this tin can? I certainly didn’t feel safe, and my mind was full of disturbing images from the movie Twister.
“I’m going to wait for the hail to slow down and run to the house,” I said.
“Okay, if you think that’s best. Be careful!”
The distance between the house and the car was only a few meters but it seemed like a wide gulf in which anything could happen. Finally, the sound of hail softened to a pitter patter and I made a run for it. Once I was inside the house (where the hail wasn’t making any sounds at all!), wrapped up in a blanket and being squeezed by my friend and my husband, I realized I was shaking.
As it turns out, my friend’s husband was on the road home from work when the storm hit. He was getting the same emergency alert messages – we were all getting the same messages – but he was behind the wheel of a car, driving. I did not envy him.
Later on, I told my husband, “What’s the point of those alerts? They feel a bit too late. By the time we get the message, we’re in the middle of it.” Imagine; my friend’s husband had learned about the flash flooding while his car was inching along down a flooded street, trees blocking his path on the road. How was he supposed to seek shelter? What good had those messages done for him? (Thankfully, he made it home safely, even though the driveway was blocked by several massive trees that succumbed to the storm’s high winds.)
“They’re like fire alarms,” my very pragmatic partner responded. “Are you saying we should get rid of those too?”
By now, I think most people who own a cell phone have received some form of these emergency alerts. I got one a few days ago while we were barreling down I-95 on the first leg of our road trip alerting me to the fact that the police were looking for a 23-year-old woman in a blue shirt, tan shorts and salt and pepper hair. I had no idea what she’d done, but I knew that I should not approach her if I came anywhere near her.
“Well, now this woman knows to change her clothes,” my partner quipped when I read him the message. He meant to be funny but perhaps there was something to his comment. Why wouldn’t the fugitive receive the same well-intentioned mass text?
It’s definitely disconcerting receiving these alerts, whether they be about real-time weather or real-time crime. (The verdict is still out whether climate change is to blame in the recent insurgence of tornadoes throughout the Midwest; the last 2 weeks of May are going down in history.) Of course, I know that my phone exists on a network and can be easily tracked and located, but these alerts confirm that fact.
To this day, I still receive mass emergency alerts from USF, even though I haven’t been a student there in two years. Although I don’t study there or live in the area, it’s still very freaky to receive a message that reads: “Armed person near 50th/Fowler Ave. Urgent alert. Continue to avoid area.” Another message a few months ago read: HILLSBOROUGH COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE INVESTIGATING ARMED HOME INVASION AT THE FLATS ON FLETCHER. REMAIN ALERT. AVOID AREA.” I used to live in that area, and I have friends who still do. It’s scary to know that something terrible is happening in real time but there’s nothing you can do about it.
A few months ago, the entire American population received a Presidential alert testing the National Wireless Emergency Alert System. Of course, the word “presidential” made many people uneasy, given the president’s tweeting record, but according to the Integrated Public Alert and Warning System Modernization Act of 2015, the system “shall not be used to transmit a message that does not relate to a natural disaster, act of terrorism, or other man-made disaster or threat to public safety.” Unfortunately, a false alert was sent to Hawaii residents back in January 2018 claiming that a ballistic missile threat was inbound for the islands. The message read: “SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.” Another emergency alert sent 45 minutes later confirmed that it had been a false alarm, but imagine the panic this must have created for Hawaiians.
I recognize that these emergency messages are for safety, but they also produce a sense of panic (and helplessness) in all those who receive them. They’re just another way that we’re connected to our community (local, national, and global), whether we’re barreling down I-95 at the beginning of a 4,000-mile journey or doing homework in our university dorm room.
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