I have a sinking suspicion I’m going to obsessed with the photos, videos and stories from the Deepwater Horizon oil spill disaster. And as a New Orleans resident, I have a bad feeling it’s going to make me sad and mad. I won’t be the only one feeling this way. So what do we do? How can we help?

Storm amidst peace, New Orleans, Louisiana, April 2010

When the news first broke about the explosion of the Deepwater Horizon oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico, it was amazing, sad, and tragic. I read a bit about it, but then my attention shifted on to other matters. But it’s quickly resurfaced into mine, the nation’s and the world’s collective conscious through the steadily increasing stories, photos and news streaming out of the Gulf and here in New Orleans. The devastating photos from Boston.com’s The Big Picture made the rounds, we all gasped, got sad, got mad. And yet, here’s the worst story: we haven’t begun to understand the full impact to the environment, the Gulf’s economy, the oil industry and the many lives touched by this disaster.

We’re seeing the first-order impacts right now, and as tragic as they are, the second- and third-order impacts stand to be far larger, lasting and important.

And we’re starting to see those stories slip out and sweep around, a new thread to follow everyday, a new fact, bias or viewpoint to check out deeper.

Pointing out that social media going to play a role in how these stories are told is obvious. But while the mechanics of how the stories are communicated is interesting, it’s just a sliver of the real impact. As my friend Ethan Bauley once said, “Social media tools are just that: tools”:

Social media tools are just that: tools. Here’s hoping more people start using them to build a better plane/train/couch/IRA/classroom, instead of wringing their hands over advertising.

How will we build a better disaster response?

What’s more interesting here? How we track the oil spill, it’s impacts, its effects, and distribute the content and context surrounding these stories to our communities. How people use the tools of technology for social good. How Crisis Commons spans geography, interests and communities to bring together professionals and volunteers to respond to the oil spill. How people use blogs and Twitter to spread messages, organize people, create solutions (following @crisiscamp and NOLA’s @crisiscampNOLA and tracking #oilspill is just the start). How national, state and local governments will coordinate with NGOs, organizations, individuals. How the response to the gulf oil spill will be crowdsourced and co-created.

I personally don’t know the answers, but I’ll be looking to help however I can. Five minutes or five hours, it’s all meaningful, as I’ve been taught by someone who understands how to create and live a cause-filled life far better than I.

So, what will you do?

I don’t ask “what will you do” as a challenge, because I don’t have the platform to make challenges like that to you. I’ve never volunteered regularly. Even though I help people every single day, it’s never been formal, organized, measured. If you asked me “what should I do?” and “how can I do it?”, I couldn’t tell you.

But I’ll be listening to those who can tell me, and you, how to show up, listen, care and give.

And that’s why I ask. To learn, listen and figure out what I can do. And then do it. Getting sad and mad won’t be enough.

This story’s not over.

Updated
Boston.com, Crowdsourcing the Gulf Oil Spill