Two questions have dogged me lately: If I could go back 18 years, would I raise my children in Louisiana? Would I still view this as a place that would nurture and educate them, offer opportunities for personal and financial growth and help my wife and me imbue in them the values important to us?

When my son and daughter were born, I believed the answer was yes. I had hope. Even three years ago, I still had faith in Louisiana, as I wrote in a column to young people who considered abandoning the state: "Stay here, find like-minded people, organize them, expand your influence, demand change, but don't give up on this amazing, beautiful place. Its good people -- flawed as we might be -- are worth your efforts."


When I wrote that, I believed Louisiana had brighter days. I hoped there was a small flame of desire to recreate something great here. I thought Louisiana's people wanted to redeem their state.

I was wrong.

Today, I ask only, "Is this as good as it will ever be?" The answer, I believe, is yes. It's not getting better and could get much worse.

For all its rich and diverse culture and abundant natural resources, Louisiana is the sick man of the United States. We're an economic basket case and a toxic waste pit of environmental neglect and misconduct.

We are the state most adept at missing opportunities and abusing and wasting our abundant natural resources.

Louisiana is my home in every way and, at 59, I cannot imagine living anywhere else. And yet it's time to admit this is a place with no visible promise and little hope. To pretend otherwise is to engage in delusional thinking. We must face facts.

I'm not saying everyone should give up and leave. I'm staying and fighting for our future. There is much work to do, and I believe I can make a difference. I suspect most of you feel the same. But if we're staying, we must be honest about Louisiana's deplorable condition and bleak future.

Blame our leaders, if you like. But the problem is us. On average, we aspire to mediocrity; we are happy with good enough. We live in a land of plenty but view the world from an attitude of scarcity.

We mask our state's profound illness and disease with colorful festivals and spicy food.

We tolerate -- sometimes celebrate -- our corrupt politicians. (Witness the recent outpouring of affection for disgraced former Gov. Edwin Edwards on his 90th birthday.)

Speaking of celebrations, nothing makes us happier than college football, which is our true religion. In the fall, we worship on Saturday nights in Tiger Stadium, the state's holy shrine. Meanwhile, what transpires across campus -- in the classrooms and lecture halls -- barely concerns us.

Our elected leaders sell their souls to big oil and the chemical industry. The first has spoiled our land, pillaged our resources and damaged our coast, while the other has poisoned our air and water.

We are 47th in environmental quality. Perhaps it's no coincidence we have the nation's highest cancer rate.

Almost a third of our children live in poverty, the third-highest rate in the nation. That's not changed for decades.

We have the seventh-lowest median household income and the third-highest unemployment rate. After decades of so-called "reforms," we still have the worst public schools in the country. We've cut higher education funding more than almost every other state.

I could go on. We are first in almost everything that's bad and last (or near last) in almost everything that's good. In most cases, even mediocrity seems beyond our reach.

The experience of the last four decades should settle any question about whether Louisiana and its people will soon awaken from their coma of complacency. We know well the diseases of ignorance, poverty and pollution that afflict us -- and have accepted them as sad facts, not obscenities.

The question isn't whether there is much hope or aspiration left in Louisiana's people. There is not. The question, instead, is whether this is a place our promising young people should abandon as soon as possible.

So here's what I'll tell my children: If you want to stay, then regard Louisiana as a mission field. However, if you want a place that will enlarge your life, expand your horizons, offer new opportunities and challenge your thinking, you should look elsewhere.

Our insular, prehistoric ways will not soon spawn a dynamic, creative culture to revive our economy and attract bright young minds to study at our universities and, after graduation, remain here to build a vibrant state. Our people have said loud and clear over the decades that we do not desire such a state.

It's time to admit that Louisiana is sick and dying.

Robert Mann, an author and former