Commentaries by Lance Hill

Orlando on the Bayou
(short version)
Commentary by Lance Hill
I submitted this op-ed to the New York Times at their request on September 16, 2005 while I was living inside New Orleans in defiance of the evacuation order.  A longer version follows.  Neither was published by the Times but both versions appeared in on-line publications on October 17, 2005 and Harry Shearer’s Huffington Post blog on October 26, 2005.      

Within the next few weeks, city authorities will lift the order declaring martial law in New Orleans and begin to allow reentry of homeowners with habitable shelter.  The result will be one of the most remarkable and unprecedented political transformations ever experienced by a major American city.  New Orleans will emerge with a white political majority where African Americans once comprised 70 percent of the population.  Conservative estimates are that less than half of the city’s 350,000 blacks will have the wherewithal or inclination to return.  This seismic demographic and political shift is the direct result of Katrina’s destruction of tens of thousands of black homes that, notwithstanding massive federal aid and flood insurance guarantees, will either be permanently razed or rebuilt at costs far beyond the reach of most African-Americans.  For example, the legendary Ninth Ward, which once held nearly 13 percent of the city’s black population, has been decimated and is unlikely to see many of its former 45,000 residents return.The questions facing all of us who still call this city home – including those like myself who stayed throughout the hurricane and its aftermath to care for neighbors and those less fortunate - will be, “In whose image will New Orleans be reconstituted?”  What will become of black New Orleans and its vibrant and innovative culture?  What will be the fate of the city that gave the world Louis Armstrong, Mardis Gras Indians, brass bands, and the uniquely inflected “bounce” musical innovations in rap and hip hop music?

Sadly, there are those who share none of these concerns, for they believe Katrina was a blessing in disguise for eradicating the poverty and crime they exclusively associate with black people.  After all, what is to be made of the now-confirmed reports that law enforcement authorities from the predominantly white suburban community of Gretna closed the Crescent City Connection Bridge — the major thoroughfare heading west out of New Orleans across the Mississippi River – and fired over the heads of those seeking food, water and shelter in Katrina’s aftermath? Shocking as it may sound, the idea of purging New Orleans of its African American majority is appealing to some people.  After all, proposals to forcibly exclude African Americans from the city in the 1950s in order to make New Orleans an all-white enclave enjoyed legitimacy and support in the same respected social circles that later went on to lead the Citizens’ Council movement and other forms of resistance to integration.  And today on the streets of New Orleans I am hearing many members of the same old moneyed “carnival royalty” families openly arguing that Katrina provides an opening to depose black majority rule.  These sentiments are deeply rooted in the psyche of those Southern whites who still bemoan the post-Civil War federal occupation of South, and recall with pride the day that their confederate forbearers overthrew bi-racial Reconstruction with the Southern Compromise of 1877.  Today that situation is turned on its head as federal authorities prepare to “occupy” the city with a different form of reconstruction – only this time it will likely have the unintended consequence of restoring white majority rule.  Even now, during the process of recovery, many of the city’s leading businesses and institutions have brought in thousands of unskilled workers from outside Louisiana, while unemployed black New Orleanians sit idle in relocation centers.

The decisions being made today about New Orleans, with only one percent of the city’s voters present, will set the course for decades to come.   But they will be decisions made without the input of New Orleans’ black community, which is fragmented and disorganized in exile.  Not only are tens of thousands of poor and unemployed African Americans still housed in shelters, but countless educated black middle class professionals who comprised the city’s political, intellectual, religious and social leadership have been just as severely displaced.  Likewise, all of the traditional mechanisms for black community dialogue and protest are gone – the black radio and television stations, newspapers and magazines, barber and beauty shops, and even churches and bars.  

Following the Civil War the federal government failed to provide the education, training and economic resources necessary for dispossessed African Americans in Louisiana and throughout the South to overcome the poverty and deprivation of slavery.  In the aftermath of Katrina, the federal government now has a second opportunity to succeed where it formerly failed.

The spirit and ethnic diversity of New Orleans is worth saving as much as the Italianate mansions of St. Charles Avenue.  But already there is tremendous pressure to repackage, and commercialize the culture of this great city without the people who made it.  New Orleans may be reborn, but if not done right it will be without a soul. Such a spiritual death would make the city a vacant caricature of itself; the Orlando of the Bayou. That’s when I will finally evacuate.
 Permission is granted to republish or link at no cost. Lance Hill, Ph.D. is the Executive Director of the Southern Institute for Education and Research at Tulane University and author of “Deacons for Defense:  Armed Resistance and the Civil Rights Movement,” UNC press. You can subscribe to his commentaries at http://www.southerninstitute.info/commentaries/
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Orlando On the Bayou
(long version)
Commentary by Lance Hill
September 16, 2005
 “The niggers are killing each other over in Lafayette” said the pickup driver, referring to the black New Orleanians who had relocated to a shelter in Cajun country following Hurricane Katrina.  The driver, a middle-aged white man employed in the disaster recovery business, was accompanied by the owner of several gas stations.  I sat quietly observing from the back seat of a Texas National Guard humvee on my way to receive a tetanus shot at a military hospital.   (I had refused to evacuate and, thankfully, the Texans had decided to defy city and state authorities who prohibited providing food, water, or medical assistance to “outlaws” such as myself).  “Thank God you guys are here,” the driver shouted over din of his diesel engine.  “Keep the blacks out,” he yelled.  “Don’t let them back in.  We’re going make this a beautiful city.”   New Orleans authorities will soon suspend martial law and permit the reentry of all New Orleanians to their city.  This will result in one the most remarkable political transformation of any major city in United States’ history.  New Orleans will resurrect under a white political majority in a city where African Americans were 70% of the population only a month ago.   This seismic shift is the direct result of Katrina’s destruction of tens of thousands of black homes that, notwithstanding massive federal aid and flood insurance guarantees, will never be rebuilt, or will be rebuilt at costs far beyond the reach of most blacks. 

The question that will face New Orleanians in the coming weeks is “In whose image will New Orleans be reconstituted?”  What will become of black New Orleans and its dynamic culture that gave the world Sidney Bechet, Louis Armstrong, Mardis Gras Indians, brass bands, and uniquely inflected contemporary musical innovations in rap and hip hop music?  What will become of the endearing culture of celebration that served as an antidote for the numbing boredom of repressed and colorless Midwestern lives?  The spirit and ethnic diversity of New Orleans is worth saving as much as the Italianate mansions along St. Charles Avenue.  But as we rebuild this city there will be tremendous pressure to commercialize, package, and deliver the culture without the people who made it.  New Orleans, the city of majestic homes and elegant muscular oaks will no doubt be reborn; but possibly without a soul.  Such a spiritual death will result in New Orleans becoming the Orlando of the South.   That’s when I will voluntarily evacuate.
Since Hurricane Katrina came ashore on August 29, I have traveled by bicycle through hundreds of neighborhoods taking care of strangers (mostly pet lovers who would not leave their pets) talking to people from all walks of life.  I do not pretend to know what the nation’s perception of the events here have been.  We “resisters”, as the government has dubbed us (odd, I thought I was a “resident”) have gone three weeks without newspapers, internet access, postal service, land-line phones, and receive almost all of our news through one officially designated radio/television station. So I do not know the issues in the national policy debate on the rescue and recovery efforts.  But I do know what I have seen and heard on the streets, and it is not encouraging. 

There is a growing and powerful “racial exclusion movement” among a significant section of the white New Orleanian community that sees Katrina as an opportunity to eliminate poverty and crime by eliminating black people.   It is not a new movement, nor is it the sole province of parvenu gas station owners.  Proposals of remove the New Orleans black population enjoyed a measure of support as late as the 1950s.  I now hear many members of the old moneyed “carnival royalty” families openly arguing that Katrina provides an opening to depose black majority rule in the same way that their confederate forbearers overthrew the bi-racial Reconstruction government in the 1876 compromise.  

I draw a distinction between a disaster and a tragedy.  Disasters are something nature inflicts upon humans.  Tragedies are something humans inflict upon other humans in their botched efforts to remedy disasters.  The rescue efforts were clearly a tragedy; now we are faced with a second tragedy in the recovery processes both material and moral.   

The decisions that will set the course for recovery for decades to come are being made today——with only one percent of the city’s voters present.  It is not a foregone conclusion that the issues of equity and fairness will make it to the table. The table has already been set, and who will be at it is anyone’s guess.  The New Orleans African American community finds itself fragmented and living in exile; not only the thousands of poor and unemployed African Americans in shelters, but also the thousands of educated black middle class professionals who comprised the city’s political, intellectual, religious, and social justice activist  leadership.  When these people return things will no doubt heat up, given that the majority of black voters opposed Mayor Ray Nagin’s election and his strongest critics, like the rest of the city’s residents, have not been allowed back into the city.There are already ominous signs that the recovery path may end up reproducing privilege inside New Orleans and poverty outside.  Economically secure white New Orleanians have, for the most part, returned to secure their homes, yet no return provisions have been made for poor homeowners and renter.  Particularly disturbing is the failure of corporate and institutional leadership in the city to set an example of equity.  As thousands of unemployed black New Orleanians sit idle in relocation centers in Texas, many of New Orleans’ leading businesses and institutions are rapidly cleaning up with the help of thousands of workers–largely Hispanics imported from Texas.  The city is flooded with Latinos who will soon become the new preferred service class.  This development does not bode well for the eventual return of the black working poor.   

Despite the dearth of outside news, I did listen to President George Bush’s speech on the radio when he laid out his recovery plan.  His call to build 4,000 new homes for low-income people is a good start; but that will provide housing for less than six percent of the 350,000 blacks who lived in New Orleans before Katrina.   What was missing from his speech was a commitment to a specific funding level and the guarantee of equality in outcomes, not simply treatment. 

The degrading treatment of black New Orleanians during the rescue phase also raises questions about the recovery process and equity.  To this day, the city and state governments refuse to provide water, food, or medical aid to anyone remaining in New Orleans, though virtually all of those people live in the thousands of homes that sit on historically high ground and have never flooded by way of Lake Ponchartrain.  Many of these residents are wondering aloud if should place our confidence in the same people to plan and direct a recovery process that results in a vibrantly diverse city? 
The final task is that of moral recovery.  My wife, Eileen San Juan and I originally stayed because we have lived through thirty years of hurricanes and floods and have always stayed to care for our homes and help our neighbors.  It is the appalling indifference to the suffering of others that I have witnessed as a “resister” inside the city that convinces me that we urgently need a carefully planned and comprehensive program for “moral and ethical” recovery.  My own experience was particularly disturbing.