As resident of the great state of Georgia and student at Boston University, I find myself in the unique position of explaining the Southerners to Northerners and vice versa on a regular basis. For whatever reason, the Mason-Dixon Line has proved a far greater divide than the 90 miles between Havana and Key West. Be that as it may, recent events in the Peach State have left me at a loss for words.

Gov. Sonny Perdue has apparently run out of all options in quelling the drought that has ravaged the state on and off for the past 10 years. I say “ran out of options” because it is the only way I could possibly explain a lawmaker resorting to a public prayer for rain on the steps of the Capitol in Atlanta.

According to Heather Teilhet, his spokeswoman, “Georgia needs rain. The issue at the heart of our drought problems is a lack of rain. And there is nothing the government can do to make that happen. The governor recognizes that the request has got to be made to a higher power.”

Setting aside some of the more obvious implications of that statement (separation of church and state, for instance) because space is tight and my life is getting shorter the longer my rant extends, I’d like to delve into this topic a bit to find out what caused Perdue to resort to such a drastic measure.

After all, many things have been prayed for in the past by many different people in many circumstances. I myself have prayed on countless occasions for the Redskins to beat the Cowboys. But I can’t remember an instance when the governor of Georgia took it upon himself to publicly bring in the counsel of a higher power during what would seem to be a manageable state of emergency.

This is no Hurricane Katrina. Hundreds are not dying daily with no water on the Horn of Africa. This is a drought in Georgia, a state in the richest and most powerful nation in the world. This problem can be solved by average citizens.

Georgia is a state of peaches, good barbecue and megachurches, and for the past 10 years, rain has not been on its list. Most counties have sought drought relief for some time, but little in the way of environmental reform has been done in the past decade.

Until this summer, my uncle, who lives in Atlanta, still washed his driveway and car as he pleased and recycling seemed like a “newfangled idea” in my family’s household. Not to say that these examples directly link to the water shortages, but they certainly do not paint a picture of conservation.

Southern Australia has been in a severe drought for two years and rather than praying for rain, the government there has instituted many reforms directed at using what little water there is in the most efficient way. This year Australians are pulling out of the drought and, better yet, they have in place mechanisms that will lessen the severity of the next drought (that’s right, droughts tend to reoccur in dry places, like the South or southern Australia).

In Georgia, instead of taking the initiative to fix the problem or even apologizing for the incompetence of lawmakers to broker deal at some point during the past 10 years to reform their water policy, the governor is praying for rain and missing the point of all of the “liberal craziness” over global warming these past few years. This drought is supposed to continue at least through next summer, so unless he wants to start holding a weekly vigil, Perdue better leave the praying to the religious leaders and find some solutions that he can enact.

To be sure, prayer itself is not the problem here; the implications of a public prayer hosted by the governor to resolve a natural disaster are. Instead of doing his job to try to resolve the problem politically, Perdue is praying on the Capitol steps. At best, residents see a government on the brink. At worst, it shows that the power is out of our hands, exactly the opposite of how a democratic society is run.

It may rain tonight in Georgia, and hopefully it will rain for the next month and a half. Maybe by the spring we’ll be out of this mess and can again wash our cars with peace of mind. Until then, I guess we’ll just pray and dive our heads deeper into the sand. After all, that seems to be the only thing growing in Georgia these days.