Commentaries by Lance Hill

Throw Me Something Mister!

Commentary by Lance Hill

January 5, 2006

(First published in Louisiana Weekly, Fedruary 13, 2006)

I attended the second line parade in New Orleans a few weeks ago that was unfortunately marred by a shooting at the end.  The shooting overshadowed a much bigger story. By the time the second line had turned down Orleans Avenue, there were at least 10,000 people marching in the street, a solid mass of people–black people–from Claiborne to Broadway.  Near the end of the march they were chanting “we’re back,” “we’re back.”  A cultural event had been turned into a political protest–in quintessentially New Orleans style.  Contrast this outpouring to the poor turnout for recent traditional street protests staged in support of levees (100 people showed up for the protest at the Army Corp of Engineers).  What the second line parade did was what every successful social and religious movement in the past has done: adapt their message to the cultural traditions of a community. 

We need to make visible the frustration, anger, and sense of abandonment that has immobilized New Orleans.   I spoke at an event the other day and someone asked for a show of hands of people who had seen the “devastation.”   Most raised their hands.  I thought to myself, no you have not seen the devastation.  All you have seen is empty houses.  The real devastation is in the hearts of hundreds of thousands of people who lost everything and are far removed from family and community.  Day by day they are losing hope.  One of the ironies of Katrina is that the evacuation has made poverty and human pain virtually invisible.  We have become victims of the television age in which images dominate content.  Television shows pictures of empty houses and then cuts away to images of displaced people living well-fed and comfortably in Houston.  But seldom does the public see the victim on the foundation slab waiting for the mythical FEMA trailer.  They don’t see the fear of single mothers contemplating what will happen when the FEMA rent runs out and her children have no food or shelter. This is why Bush can dither on his commitment to build a new levee system; he is being asked to protect empty houses, not people.  Put families in these empty houses, as the Vietnamese community has done in New Orleans East, and the moral onus will be on Bush to protect people. 

We need to surface the pain, suffering, and frustration of Katrina victims for the public to see.  What do we want the world to see on Mardis Gras day?  Happy, well-fed people having a good time? Fine.  But we also should let them see a united mass movement of tens of thousands of determined people from all walks of life who believe the federal government has forsaken them.  We can do both.  I suggest that after the Rex parade, the crowds lining the streets fall in behind in a massive “second line parade” with children, costumes, wagons, and protest signs.  The march route would loop around Canal and end at the Federal Building where we would stage a protest–no leaders, no speeches, just people taking a stand before the world.  To give voice to those still displaced who deserve to come home, people could bring signs that have the names of people who want to come home, e.g. “My Name is Shirley Breaux and I want to come home to New Orleans” (people could post their names on a web site).  It would be a beautiful gesture and show the country we know how to both party and politic.  All you need is two feet or a few wheels.  And you’d still have time to catch the truck parades.  This is New Orleans, after all. 

Follow-up

(The post below was sent out to my personal list six-weeks later, February 20, 2006.  At the time of my initial proposal for an interracial march, the Bush administration appeared to have abandoned New Orleans and was backing off his promise to fund flood protection and the rebuilding of housing. But in the intervening weeks,  Bush announced funding that would provide levee protection and a bail-out for homeowners; but no guarenteed rentals for low-income people.  The announcement appeared to satisfy the white community, most of whom had already returned, but left the displaced black poplulation, the majority of whom rented, with no guarentees that they would have housing to return to.)

With some regret, I have abandoned my proposal for staging a second-line protest to the Federal Building on Mardis Gras day for several reasons. One is that I talked to the Zulu parade leaders and they plan to head the other way, down Orleans to their headquarters on Broad for a block party.  This means that any event along the traditional parade route will be virtually all-white and not reflect the unity I was hoping for. I expect the Zulu “second line” will have the feel of a political protest. Second-lines in the black community are different than carnival parades; they are participatory, self-organized, and not commercially driven or staged for tourists.  By definition, the “second line” is an unorganized assemblage that follows the march leaders, the “first line.” That leaves a lot of room for spontaneity and political expression.

I have to confess that the response to my initial proposal was disappointing. One of the Zulu leaders asked me if I thought any white people would attend the rally. I told him I didn’t know.  Last Christmas day I organized a “welcome home” community event at Jackson Square.  I was the only one there for a very, very long time. Why would people not want to attend a rally to bring back “homes and neighbors”?  Is it because most white people are willing to support rebuilding levees and razing neighborhoods, but they don’t want to open the city’s arms to displaced blacks and the poor? Or is it because people go to parades to forget their problems, not to remember them?In any case, I won’t be there.  I do not feel like attending any celebration in a city that, after six months, has yet to publicly memorialize the 1,300 dead nor lament the continued exodus of 300,000 citizens.  In the traditional Jazz funeral, the band first honors the deceased by playing a mournful dirge; it is only after this memorial that the body is “cut loose”and the raucous, swinging music begins.  First the dirge, than the party.

I am not telling people what do. I fled my home state of Kansas to escape the public scolds who want to regulate when and where you enjoy yourself. There will be a Mardis Gras day, regardless of what I think or do; but it won’t be my Mardis Gras day.  For me, Mardis Gras was not about floats and throws.  It was about sharing the streets in joy with thousands of my neighbors, black and white; cheering the bands from schools like Fortier, Carver, and Landry, who marched with pride and determination despite their tattered uniforms and dented instruments; and handing down the best “carnival throws” to the scruffy, children scampering on the ground.  I don’t think the neighbors, the bands, or the scruffy children will be there this year. So, neither will I.