ON September 11, when much of America regards the terrible events on that morning four years ago, the bodies that it will see will not be those scorched by fire but instead the ones that were recently visible floating in the water in New Orleans.The September 11 attacks had claimed the lives not only of financial consultants and brokers but also of fire-fighters and policemen and secretaries and janitors. The people that the terrorists had killed belonged to diverse races and classes; many of them had been born in a variety of other countries of the world. The injustice of all those lives cut short seemed to belong to death itself. But not in New Orleans.In a city where 69 per cent of the population is black and poor and now overwhelmingly dead or destitute, injustice has taken a more familiar, and depressing, social form. Disaster and material affliction in this instance has all the trappings of race and class hierarchy. For many in this country today and in the world, it bears a face that most closely resembles the features of President George W. Bush. Some years ago, I had read an essay by Ian Jack on the sinking of the Titanic. Jack had presented an interesting piece of statistic about the percentage of passengers saved from the sinking liner. The British Board of Trade Inquiry had arranged the figures relating to the rescued passengers by age, gender and class. In the first class: 34 per cent of the men, 97 per cent of the women, 100 per cent of the children. In the second class: eight per cent of men, 84 per cent of women, 100 per cent of the children. In the third class: 12 per cent of men, 55 per cent of women, 30 per cent of the children. Jack had noted that ‘‘the usual juxtaposition’’ was to ‘‘compare the percentages of first to third class children, or of first-class men and third-class children’’. But the more interesting statistic, he argued, related to the percentage regarding the second-class men.