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Nearly two decades after Hurricane Katrina, the people of New Orleans continue to be a testament to hope, ingenuity and perseverance. Communities have done more than rebuild — they are reimagining systems to create opportunity for all, especially children. While significant progress has been made, critical work remains to ensure that growth is truly equitable and lasting. As part of an ongoing reflection series called Rooted In Us, W.K. Kellogg Foundation (WKKF) staff and local leaders will share their perspectives on community efforts, lessons learned and the investments still needed to build a future where all New Orleanians can thrive. WKKF has been investing in New Orleans since the 1940s but named the city a priority place after Hurricane Katrina. As we look ahead,we remain committed to working alongside partners to strengthen economic opportunity, racial equity and community leadership for generations to come.
In this conversation, Alyson Curro, a communications officer for the Kellogg Foundation, sits down with Derrick Johnson, president and CEO of the NAACP and founder of Mississippi’s One Voice. Their conversation explores the city’s evolving entrepreneurial landscape, the power of business to drive systemic change and what it takes to build an economy rooted in equity, resilience and opportunity for all.
Curro: Where does your mind go when you think back to the days and months following Hurricane Katrina?
Johnson: Urgency — and uncertainty. We didn’t know what to expect. Later, we came to understand just how devastating it had been along the Gulf Coast.
Curro: What were you seeing, hearing and feeling at the time, both as a Mississippian and as a leader?
Johnson: It was a unique moment. I was state president of the NAACP at the time. On Sunday, I got a call from our local branch president. Folks were deciding whether or not to evacuate. People in that area were used to hurricane warnings, and depending on how seriously they took them, some would evacuate and others wouldn’t.
At the last minute, this branch president and his family drove to Atlanta to stay with their son. That was Sunday evening — the hurricane hit early Monday morning, Aug. 29. It was so powerful that even in Jackson, 180 miles from the coast, we lost power. The winds were still at Category 2 strength that far inland.
Without power, we had no idea how bad it really was. No TV, no internet. Just radio. We didn’t begin to grasp the scale of devastation until Tuesday, when Mr. [James] Orwell, who had driven back to check on his property, called us. That evening, he arrived in Jackson, exhausted. There was nowhere to stay on the coast. He began describing what he’d seen, and that’s when we realized the magnitude of it. By Wednesday morning, we were moving into action.
Curro: You’ve long said that disaster recovery is not neutral — it either reinforces inequity or challenges it. In the aftermath of Katrina, how did you see that play out in Mississippi?
Johnson: Katrina exposed deep structural inequities. We were able to organize a recovery effort, but it was clear from the beginning that recovery was not happening equitably.
I remember walking into our office on Thursday and seeing the images for the first time. The residual flooding in New Orleans was catastrophic — and the people who couldn’t evacuate were suffering the most. In Mississippi, it wasn’t just unequal recovery — in some communities, there was no recovery at all. Poor communities, the Vietnamese community, Black communities — they were left without support.
By Saturday morning, we launched our own effort. We had two truckloads of supplies headed to East Biloxi, where devastation was total. We flew in medical equipment on a private plane. Only the National Guard, Red Cross, law enforcement and the NAACP had access at the time, so we mobilized fast.
And what we saw on the ground was shocking — casinos torn off barges and thrown inland, cars hanging in trees. In East Biloxi, which was a third Black, a third Vietnamese and a third low-income White, there was nothing. No FEMA. No Red Cross. No clean water. We were the first ones to show up.
But just across town, in West Biloxi, there was a full recovery setup — Red Cross stations, food, water, medical care. That disparity repeated across the coast. North Gulfport, Moss Point — majority Black neighborhoods — had no support. So we set up 22 sites across the region. Clean water, feeding operations, blue tarps — whatever people needed to survive and begin recovering.
Curro: In just two weeks — that’s remarkable. How were you able to mobilize such a large effort so quickly?
Johnson: That’s the beauty of the African American community and our history of organizing against disparities and inequities. We have infrastructure — real networks of connection. The NAACP in Mississippi was founded in 1918. The state conference in 1945. When I took over, it was struggling, but we began rebuilding — and we were rooted in the Black church.
The General Missionary Baptist Convention, the AME and AMEZ churches — all of those institutions were already connected to our work. A lot of them aren’t viewed through the traditional nonprofit lens, but they serve the same mission: to serve the people. So we tapped into that infrastructure. Urban and rural. Statewide. And we moved.
Curro: You founded One Voice shortly after Katrina. What made it clear that an institution like that was needed?
Johnson: We were responding to an immediate need. As we worked alongside grassroots organizations in the recovery, a pattern became clear: many of these groups were small, under-resourced, but doing critical, on-the-ground work with deep community trust. We were collaborating closely, but because the NAACP is a 501(c)(4) advocacy organization — not a 501(c)(3) charitable nonprofit — we weren’t eligible for certain types of support, even though we were helping lead coordination efforts.
It became clear that to sustain and scale the recovery work — and to strengthen the broader infrastructure in Mississippi — we needed a new kind of vehicle. That’s how One Voice came into being. It wasn’t about replacing any organization — it was about building capacity, investing in local leadership and ensuring the work would continue long after the cameras left.
Our goal from the start was to provide training, technical assistance and support to community organizations so that essential infrastructure — the kind that literally saves lives — wouldn’t be lost. One Voice has always been about reinforcing, not supplanting, what already exists and works in our communities.
Curro: The national narrative around Katrina often focuses on New Orleans. What do people miss when they leave Mississippi out of that story?
Johnson: First of all, the actual hurricane hit Mississippi — not New Orleans. The recovery stories of African American and other communities in Mississippi deserve to be told.
Second, Mississippi’s nonprofits did tremendous work. We appreciated the national groups who came down to help, but there was a shared understanding: we would lose momentum if national organizations did work that local people could do for themselves. There was a unified effort to prevent outside groups from exploiting the moment.
There was — and still is — real capacity in Mississippi. When invested in, that capacity can respond long term.
One Voice grew. HOPE Credit Union expanded. The Children’s Defense Fund opened a regional office. The Steps Coalition formed to advocate for equitable redevelopment. Other groups stepped up to train women for jobs in the rebuilding process.
It was a story not just of resilience, but of growth. When the people most affected are entrusted with the investment, new possibilities emerge.
Curro: What should we remember and honor about those community efforts and Black leadership?
Johnson: Community-centered leadership is the most effective path to recovery and growth. Ego-centered leadership destroys momentum. When you invest in just one person or one group, it’s bound to leave people behind. Everyone has a role, and the community must determine what matters.
In Mississippi, we saw that if recovery dollars were going to be distributed through Community Development Block Grants, then we needed real oversight. We fought hard to ensure renters weren’t left out — and filed a lawsuit when funds were being redirected.
Organizations weren’t competing. Social justice isn’t a competition. NAACP, Steps Coalition, Mississippi Center for Justice, HOPE — we each had a lane, and when we came together, we were effective. That’s the story: not one group, one leader or one theory — but all of us, together.
Curro: How have the structural inequities exposed by Katrina — in housing, health care and economic mobility — continued to shape your work?
Johnson: The strategies I learned from elders like Hollis Watkins — who founded Southern Echo — were reaffirmed during Katrina and guide me today. Whenever you’re confronted with tragedy, opportunity or change, start by listening to those most affected. Don’t prescribe solutions from the outside. There is no one solution. The solution is the people — and the broad coalition we build.
And be careful about organizational supremacy. It’s just as dangerous as ego-driven leadership. Social justice movements must be inclusive, collaborative and deeply rooted in community.
Curro: Two decades later — are we better prepared? Or still vulnerable in the ways that matter most?
Johnson: Yes to both. We’re still vulnerable. Many of the same inequities remain. The state hasn’t fully accepted that climate change puts people at risk — or taken steps to ensure a rapid, equitable response for all citizens.
But we’re also better prepared. The infrastructure we built after Katrina — One Voice, NAACP, the Black church, other community organizations — it’s still growing. We’re stronger, more connected and more appreciated than ever before. So yes, we’re not ready — and we’re stronger than we’ve ever been. Both things can be true.
Curro: What lessons would you pass on to the next generation of Southern leaders — those too young to remember Katrina?
Johnson: History matters. We need to learn from what worked — and what didn’t. Be patient. Listen to the wisdom of elders. And if you’re an elder, be patient with the energy young people bring.
Intergenerational leadership is what sustains movements. That understanding — that shared space — is how we succeed.
Curro: What unfinished work still lies ahead — especially in democracy, justice and the South?
Johnson: We have to fully embrace the concept of citizenship — that all people deserve equal protection under the law. Human dignity must guide how we treat people, regardless of their status.
We must use our voices, our votes and demand that public policy improve lives. Mississippi will remain stagnant until it values all its citizens. But the moment we begin dismantling those inequities, our state — and the South — can flourish.
Curro: Is there a memory or story from that time that still grounds you in the work?
Johnson: There are many. But I remember that Saturday morning, when we landed with medical supplies and met the first truckload of donations. People were already lined up, organizing, unloading, setting up feeding stations.
It was Black, White, Vietnamese — young, old, disabled. Everyone working together. Everyone caring for each other. That moment showed me what’s possible when people unite around shared humanity. They didn’t just need food and water — they needed tarps to protect what little they had left. It was about dignity. That stuck with me.
Curro: What message would you want funders, policymakers and national audiences to take from this 20th anniversary?
Johnson: That the South — and Katrina — have lessons for the whole country. We’re on the verge of another disaster, this time a “hurricane of policy violence.” Cuts to Medicaid, education, veterans’ benefits — these are acts of policy, not nature. And we need to organize to respond.
But I believe we will. Just like we did in the ’50s and ’60s, just like we did after Katrina. When we lean into each other, we can win.
Curro: What gives you hope in this moment?
Johnson: People. Unexpected people. Innovation from places you wouldn’t think to look. A veteran who’s been cast aside. A young person who’s been overlooked. A community no one believed in.
That’s where the paradigm shifts come from. That’s what gives me hope.
Curro: Is there anything you’d like to add?
Johnson: Twenty years went by quickly and a lot of lessons can be learned. I’m glad the foundation is doing this. It’s important to begin to capture these stories and learn from what worked and what didn’t so that we can be stronger as a result.
The NAACP aims to achieve equity, political rights and social inclusion by advancing policies and practices that expand human and civil rights, eliminate discrimination and accelerate the well-being, education and economic security of Black people and all persons of color. Learn more about their work by visiting naacp.org
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