new orleans

Election 08: How Race Sways the Vote in New Orleans

Monday, November 3rd, 2008

Obama-Biden sign at Vaughan's Lounge located in Bywater neighborhood - in the 2nd Congressional District

With less than a week before the election, the latest polls and projected electoral counts show that Democratic Presidential candidate Barack Obama is leading Republican John McCain. If Obama wins, many will claim he was able to transcend race and reach the hearts and minds of the American electorate.

However, in other parts of the country, especially New Orleans, race is still partially or fully the voting decision-maker.

“White people will never vote for a black person in Louisiana,” said William Everette, Political Science Lecturer at Xavier University of Louisiana, a Historically Black College & University (HBCU). “We talk about the same thing with the Obama election.”

As the first African American Democratic Party presidential nominee, Obama’s historical bid for the United States presidency has highlighted the nationwide issue of race and politics. As this election season has shown, there are still areas of the country where racial prejudice prevents people from voting for Obama. A September 2008 AP/Yahoo poll confirmed that race is an issue: “If there was no racial prejudice among voters, Sen. Barack Obama would retrieve about six percentage points more support.”

Nothing reveals the pitfalls of voting along racial lines more than the current New Orleans democratic contest for the 2nd Congressional district between incumbent William Jefferson and broadcast journalist-turned-politician Helena Moreno.

One of New Orleans’ most powerful politicians, Jefferson is Louisiana’s first black congressman since Reconstruction and a nine-term incumbent. He faces Moreno, a journalist, who moved to New Orleans to take a reporting job with TV station, WDSU-TV, eight years ago. She worked as an anchor and investigative news reporter until she resigned in March 2008 to run for Congress.

Although the race between Jefferson and Moreno is viewed as black versus white, many city residents don’t even know that Moreno isn’t white.
“Moreno is Hispanic,” said Darrin M. Hanson, who is a white Political Science professor at Xavier University of Louisiana. “A lot of the white people and black people who I talk to don’t realize that she is Hispanic.”

“She made the run-off because she was the only candidate close enough to white,” said Everette.

Political art featuring Obama at Xavier University of Louisiana

Jefferson and Moreno are campaigning to win a district that is approximately 62 percent black, and includes the majority of New Orleans. The area contains the 9th Ward, Gentilly and other low-lying areas, which were greatly damaged from Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

This district’s congressional leadership has been Democratic since Reconstruction. And the Voting Rights Act of 1965 turned this area into a “Majority-Minority” district to guard against racially-motivated gerrymandering, thereby ensuring minority voters the equal opportunity to elect congressional representatives.

With a predominantly black congressional district, many political insiders knew that Moreno would have an uphill battle due to race and other issues. And in order to win, Moreno would need a significant black “crossover” vote. Most New Orleanians assumed she would get the white vote.

“If [white people] get a chance to not vote for a black person, they don’t vote for them,” said William Everette, Political Science Lecturer at Xavier University of Louisiana.

Before the 2006 congressional election, Jefferson’s support diminished due to federal charges that he had $90,000 in alleged bribe money in his freezer. Although Jefferson still won the election, he was removed from his powerful House Ways and Means committee post. He was also indicted in 2007, and will go to trial in December on bribery, money laundering and other charges.

Yet despite Jefferson’s alleged corruption, he received 25 percent of the vote in the October election with Moreno garnering 20 percent. Although New Orleans residents may disagree as to the merits of re-electing Jefferson, most agree that the election was heavily decided based on race.

Hanson, who is a white Political Science professor at Xavier University of Louisiana, explains the run-off between Jefferson and Moreno.

“The problem with the previous election was that there was Jefferson and five young African-American males,” said Hanson. “They were all well-qualified. The five young male candidates cancelled each other, but together they had 55 percent of the vote. If the black vote had consolidated behind one person, Jefferson or Moreno would have been knocked off.”

On Nov. 4, New Orleans residents will vote for the next president and several state and national congressional seats, including the 2nd Congressional district. Most experts agree that both Jefferson and Moreno won the first election because the vote was splintered by race.
The Times-Picayune staff writer, Stephanie Grace said, “If voters often talk about choosing the lesser of two evils, this is one election where that saying really does fit the mood.”
Grace along with several others in New Orleans predicts Jefferson will win. The numbers and race are in his favor, as well as having Obama on the ticket.

“Jefferson is running the same day that Obama is running, said Hanson. “People are going to vote for history. They are expecting a 95 percent African American city-wide turnout.”

And if the 2006 election proved anything, Jefferson can be re-elected with federal investigations and alleges charges of corruption hanging over him.
For radio host, CJ Morgan, of WBOK 1230 AM’s show “Talk Back, Talk Black,” the Jefferson race is “very much a reflection of the racial polarization of the city.” Whites vote predominantly for whites and blacks vote for blacks.
Xavier University of Louisiana student Jayson Williams, 23, explained Jefferson’s support from the black community.
“The reason why they are supporting Bill Jefferson is because he has seniority as a representative,” said Williams who is a Political Science major.  “He has served a lot of time and been on boards. And he’s given us streets, lights and money. He helps his district. That’s all that really matters to me.”

Yet despite Jefferson’s congressional track record and Katrina efforts, the alleged charges against him weigh heavily in some minds.
“Although there are people who want to elect Jefferson, I was kind of shocked because of what’s going on and what’s in the media,” said Alysha Smith, a senior Political Science major at Xavier University of Louisiana.

Dr. Lance Hill, the Executive Director of the Southern Institute for Education and Research at Tulane University, claims there are logical reasons why many African Americans in New Orleans support Jefferson.
“Bill Jefferson defended the black community, prevented it from being demolished, went to Congress, and used his power of the Black Caucus to get funding to rebuild the homes of black homeowners when the Republican establishment turned its back on New Orleans,” said Hill, who is white.

Considered an expert on race, prejudice and tolerance, Hill co-founded the Southern Institute for Education and Research at Tulane in 1993. The Institute uses the Holocaust and Civil Rights Movement case studies to teach students about prejudice. The organization boasts that it has “the most comprehensive tolerance education program” of its kind in the South and trained more than 3,600 teachers.

“It’s no question that even stripped of his committee assignments that he has been able to leverage more change and more benefits for Katrina victims, white and black alike, than probably any other member of Congress,” said Hill.

Early Voting Event attendees- photographer: Jeremy McLean

And although Katrina occurred more than three years ago, it has affected the politics of New Orleans. It brought New Orleans problems to the surface, said Mike Flores, President of GCR Consulting.

Even though Mayor Nagin claims that 75% of New Orleans has returned after Hurricane Katrina, many residents say the city is not the same.

After Katrina, the demographics of New Orleans have changed, said Bruce Nolan, reporter for The Times-Picayune.

“The underlying concerns and fears are still there, said Nolan. “Black folk are still utterly convinced, utterly persuaded that the powers-that-be used Katrina as an excuse to lock them out of town. I mean that’s embedded. And that legacy is carried forward into our politics of today, even though it’s less black than it was before.”

Several blacks viewed the post-Katrina rebuilding plans like “Bring New Orleans Back” and the Master Plan or “Green Space” plans as a way for a portion of the white constituency to prevent poor, low-income blacks from returning to New Orleans, said Hill.

These post-Katrina demographic changes have resulted in a majority white city council and school board in New Orleans, said Hanson who considers himself a part of the group of whites that arrived in New Orleans after the storm.

Thus, many blacks feel their generations of political leadership are being stripped away by the white minority. Jefferson is using this fear to his advantage in the race against Moreno, explained Hill.

Although the Green Space plan has been abandoned, Jefferson’s use of the term the “greening of New Orleans” has been a strong campaign message against Moreno.

According to Hill, Jefferson makes claims, in political ads on black radio and in appearances, that Moreno is supported by the people who tried to prevent blacks from coming home, and is trying to turn their community into “green space.”

The Jefferson v. Moreno race points out politically strategies based on racial identity and in some cases racial misgivings. It also shows the strategy of power retention according to race.

“We want to keep our person, by our person, I mean racial identifier, in office. Moreno is not us, we can’t lose our seat,” said Hanson who described the sentiment of African Americans voting for Jefferson.

Hill agreed that the black community doesn’t want to forego its political influence.

“Jefferson said, ‘Look if I get elected you have the same kind of power and influence in congress that you’ve had in all the years that I’ve served. If I’m convicted of a crime, there will be a new election. And you will get somebody that represents you,’” said Hill.

For many New Orleans voters, the 2nd Congressional district and presidential races may all come down to race and the re-opening of prejudicial wounds. And it remains to be seen if Barack Obama can transcend the issue of race nationally.

Yet, it appears that racial politics of 2008 may boil down to one simple statement. As Obama said in an interview in July 2008 with Brian Williams about being viewed as a political risk, and as CJ Morgan said about the politics of New Orleans: “The devil that you know is better than the devil that you don’t know.”

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Jamaicans Don’t Build Castles on the Sand

Friday, August 29th, 2008

Most Jamaicans keep their homes pretty low-key. Huts made with wooden slats or metal sheets dot the landscape along the coast and for miles inland. Most of them are no more than one large room, so families congregate on the fields outside instead. Hustlers hoping to make their money from tourists spend the hot, lazy days on plastic chairs along the road, shouting occasionally at passers by to come and view their goods, buy a beer or share a joint.

Everything on the island is transitory, from the tourists to the real estate. Concrete makes no sense to the citizens of this Caribbean paradise, who know that it only takes one stormy summer to level everything back down to zero. Last year, Hurricane Dean pummeled the island with torrential rain and biting winds. On Thursday, Hurricane Gustav flooded the plains of low-lying areas, including the city of Portmore on the outskirts of Kingston.

According to the National Hurricane Center, Gustav swept along the east side of the Jamaica Thursday, hovering threateningly close to the capital city of Kingston, before creeping further toward the U.S. border. The winds are up to 70 mph, and as the hurricane heads North-East, New Orleanians are being told to evacuate. Meanwhile, Jamaica’s Northern region battles the tropical storm. Residents and tourists in high-risk areas were told Wednesday to evacuate, or hunker down and prepare for a big one. Three years to the day after Hurricane Katrina, the people of New Orleans are in panic-mode. But Jamaicans experience the same sense of déjà vu every summer.

(more…)

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A future tour of historic N’awlins

Monday, March 31st, 2008

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NEW ORLEANS, 2055
(after Republicans sweep the 2008 elections)

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the official tour of historic New Orleans. This exact replica of an old-style trolley-car will begin its route through the famed, and infamous, French Quarter very soon. But first, some facts about this grand old Southern city. Can anyone tell me anything about the history of this city?”

“They held the Mardi Gras here.”

“Correct, and there is a still a Mardi Gras remembrance celebration right here on George W. Bush Boulevard— formerly called Bourbon Street— every year. Anything else.”

“Wasn’t there a controversy over renaming the street?”

“No controversy, really. Under President Jeb Bush, the State Church proclaimed in 2019 that street names celebrating decadence were not appropriate to one of our most historic places.”

“It was port where black slaves were sold to white people.”

“Now, young man, as you know, the 2028 Proclamation of Colorblindness signed by President Jenna Bush makes clear that slaves came in all colors, and that slavery means many things. A slave to the land is the same as a slave in chains. One more. Anything else?”

“The city was washed away in a flood early this century.”

“Correct. And the Father of New Orleans saved the citizens from great hardships during the flood. You’ll see a grand statue of Father George W. Bush on the tour, which stands as an eternal testament to his great leadership during that crisis.”

“Didn’t a lot of black people once live in this city?”

“We don’t separate people by color anymore. It is, in fact, against the law.”

“Right, but wasn’t there a major upheaval after the flood that led to the precursors of the Proclamation of Colorblindness?”

“(Sigh) It is well-documented historical fact that in the mid-late 20th century, the communists instigated what was Orwellianly called the ‘Civil Rights Movement’ to drive a wedge between different types of citizens by convincing some of the most gullible that they had been treated unfairly. We all know that America is founded on “justice for all,” so unfair treatment of any group is impossible. Impossible. After Great Leader Ronald Reagan defeated the communists, it was only a matter of time before the last vestiges of the unequal rights cabal was also defeated. But they had one last ‘hurrah’ after the great Hurricane Katrina, culminating in an attempt to inject the toxic topic of race, which we have now transcended, into the 2008 presidential election by nominating a self-described “black man” for president! Imagine! For crushing that cabal, the people showed their appreciation by making the Republicans the Official Party of the United States… Now, let’s begin the tour…”

“I’m sorry, I have one more question.”

“I’m afraid we have a schedule to keep. The French Quarter is one of the oldest parts of this city, and the one area that was completely recreated after the great flood. Look. On the right you’ll see the old-fashioned minstrel character that has brought joy and laughter to millions since the founding of our country… Look. The minstrel has his hand to his ear. What’s he trying to tell us? Wait. Listen. Can you hear that? It’s the sound of music they called jazz. Though rarely heard today, it’s one of the musical forms, along with blues, that has faded from American life.”

“But didn’t that happen after they consolidated the media into one single company?”

“Sir, please don’t interrupt. As we turn the corner, we’ll see a recreation of some of the areas that were not rebuilt after the floods. On the right, you’ll see one of the charming, long, narrow ‘shotgun houses.’ It was jokingly said that the name occurred because you could shoot a gun through the front door and hit everyone in the house. Ha ha ha. However, the residents loved the old world charm of the dwellings and foolishly chose to rent them instead of owning their own homes on higher ground. Thus, many were flooded out and lost everything.”

“Weren’t they poor?”

“Sir, as it says as the mother of the Bush Dynasty has said, ‘poverty is a lifestyle choice.’”

“Weren’t most of them black?”

“SECURITY!”

——
Leonce Gaiter’s work on social and cultural issues has appeared in numerous publications, from the Los Angeles Times to the New York Times magazine. His noir novel Bourbon Street was published by Carroll & Graf.

New Orleans Flickr: Toshio

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Jesus pulls a right cross

Friday, February 8th, 2008

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NEW ORLEANS—— Lundi Gras— the Fat Monday before Fat Tuesday— dawns dry and perfectly blue, though dampened by official predictions of storms and fluctuating temperatures on the Big Day. I stop being a working stiff for the moment, however brief that was to be, and spend my time indoors, ignoring work and the cats, working on my costume. I consult by phone with other members of my marching krewe, the infamous Society of Sainte Anne. Who are surprised to find that I am still alive. There is a uniform exchange at the beginning of each conversation.

“Where ya been, boy?”

“Working at the University, editing a film at my studio in the Marigny.”

“Good man. But the hell with TV an’ school, ya know. It’s Carnival.”

Then, without any corrective explanation, we discuss Carnival. Nothing else is really important, not this close to The Day.

Everyone is prepared for the worst. Rain and wind on Fat Tuesday spells doom for feathers and bare skin, two essential ingredients of any true aficionado’s Carnival uniform. It is worrisome, but early Mardi Gras morning I stumble from a bed full of meteorologically‑based bad dreams around midnight to look skyward off my bedroom balcony. Nothing but a few clouds. I go back to bed a happy man and sleep soundly until 5:30am, when I rise to begin preparations for my day.

Start the coffee first. Then while it is brewing, I mix the pitcher of bloody marys, lacing it liberally with fresh ground horseradish purchased just the night before. Turn the tube to local weather. Remain calm. Wait for the local radar. Just dotty storms on the map, through to Texas. At least until noon. We may be home free. I finally get up the nerve to look outside, and there are those blue skies peering through a veil of light fast-moving clouds.

The good weather feels like a sure sign of redemption, like all our sins have been forgiven. Procuring a good day for Carnival takes major communal prayer. So many people in the city work through most of the season, making their livings as mask or costume makers, float artists, ball tableau decorators, performers. The only day they reserve for themselves is Mardi Gras itself, and that 24‑hour period is sacrosanct.

The concept, design, and fabrication of a local’s Carnival costume is usually a matter for discussion as far back as the fall’s (now late) Decadence Ball, though needless to say, I have been out of the loop. But advance planning is important, especially when one belongs to a marching krewe, where all the members must make an original costume each year. No one is allowed to march in the parade undisguised, (though nudity is encouraged) and originality is the most prized trait of any masque. The practice is in no way elitist, only requiring a commitment to the principals of good‑natured debauch. Of fun. The spending of an inordinate amount of money is considered insulting to the open‑hearted nature of the event, and in fact much of the challenge is to spend as little as possible while obtaining the largest possible effect.

Damn good thing for me this year. What with my months of house repair I am too broke to afford purchasing any major new materials. So, a few weeks back, I recycled black feathers (chicken, cocque, pheasant, and ostrich) from three old costumes, took welding wire, a few dozen plastic skeletons, two bags of plastic dog poop and a bag of plastic flies (courtesy of my brother Bob, who is also a Carnival addict), and packing box cardboard. Then, duct tape in hand, I began making a base layer. The skeletons in rows became scales of sorts sprouting in waves from the outfit’s head. The feathers disguised the cardboard and became a shiny outer skin. Things took form, a theme emerged, and I had a costume.

I am to be “Dr. Detritus, Governmental Excrementalist.” Plastic dog poop and all. The Doc’s cards are to be headlined with his governmental motto: “I know some shit.”

***
And then it is sunrise on Carnival morning, and everyone in the neighborhood is already awake as if they are to open Santa’s presents. Instead, they are happily masking.

It is the beginning of a truly magical day. The warm‑up party, the Sainte Anne parade itself with brass bands in tow, the Brazilian drum krewes, the hundreds of naked bodies— it is all perfect.

Inspired, I think, by my stripper friend GiO’s costume of a few years earlier, dozens of comely women, and men, show up wearing high heels, or Converse All-Stars, and a coat of paint. Elderly as I may be, I find the chroma-coated forms particularly dazzling, and contemplate cold showers before finishing the parade route.

But after a mid‑afternoon bowl of venison gumbo back at home, I re-costume and return to the streets. I have in mind to visit a number of friends who are conducting tourist‑viewing parties from their upper‑floor balconies, and am also looking forward to showing off the costume in new venues. I carry some further necessary liquid fortification with me in a large plastic cup, imprinted with the commemorative insignia of the Krewe du Vieux, another early (three weeks prior to The Day) marching club with which I am affiliated.

My first destination, the five hundred block of St Louis street, requires that I pass through Jackson Square, usually the habitat of jugglers and fire‑eaters, face painters and palm readers, portrait artists and tuba players.

But I’d forgotten. All Hell has broken loose. This day the Square is again crowded with Christians.

***
It seems that in the last ten years, a Baptist seminary in Dallas has taken on Mardi Gras in New Orleans as its primary missionary foray for the entire year. I suppose they intend to grab the sinners where they congregate. So, two busloads of misinformed, disoriented, self‑righteous, and overwhelmingly obnoxious zealots show up each year the Saturday before Carnival. They rally on the outskirts of the Quarter, driving each other into religious frenzies, then march into the Vieux Carré dragging huge wooden crosses. The contemporary Burden of the Cross is facilitated by the addition of mechanical rollers to the artifacts’ bottom legs.

The preachers carry multiple megaphones and pockets full of rechargeable batteries and miniature Bibles. They have over the last half decade become the biggest litterers of Carnival, dropping thousands of leaflets on every street. Through the weekend they walk residential neighborhoods at all hours, chanting and preaching: “Fornicators! Drunkards! Sodomites! You’re all going to burn in hell for what you do this day!” Subtlety is not their strong card. I imagine that there is nothing quite as pleasant as having your child awakened at 7am by the loud prospect of eternal damnation. With a Texas accent.

This year on Sunday they stand in front of the centuries-old St. Louis Cathedral with megaphones blaring during services, carrying a ten-foot-high banner that says “Catholics are doomed to Hell.” Mass goes on as planned, and no one was sent to the nether regions. Others of their sort carry equally tall banners with lists of groups of people the carrier is sure will be doomed. One I see condemns “sports nuts” to hell. No Catholics and no sports nuts? I think Heaven will surely be devoid of any New Orleanians, if these people are right.

They are not.

They have come to the wrong place at the wrong time.

The “missionaries” are not welcome tourists on many fronts. The standard saying is that “they come to town with the Ten Commandments and a ten-dollar bill, and don’t break either one.”

***
As I cross in front of St Louis Cathedral on Mardi Gras afternoon, I notice that their act has not changed much over these last years.

A very large— well over six feet tall— Jesus stands under a twelve‑foot cross, preaching to the masses through a wireless headset microphone. With one hand he balances his cruciform burden, and with the other he gestures vehemently to the assembled masses. Jesus is in character, long hair and beard, white robes, sandals, crown of thorns, fake blood and nail wounds. He is howling, his cowboy-accented words amplified through two large outdoor speakers imbedded, one in each arm, in the ends of the cross’ horizontal bar. His amp is set at a blaringly loud volume, overwhelming every sound under the revered church’s tower.

At this point he seems to be babbling in tongues, under some divine spell. He points at the sky and invokes some sort of forceful intervention into the festivities around him. There is a wild look in his eye. I suspect he might be looking for moneychangers in the temple.

Alas, he is. As I pass, he spots my outfit. The connection is immediately made. Governmental or no, Satan is close at hand. His eyes come alight even further. He runs toward me dragging his cross, grabs my favorite commemorative cup from my hands and holds it high above his head, still wailing in tongues, before he draws back and tosses it at the sky. Two of his henchmen— part of the Texas apostle contingent, I suspect— nod and voice their approval of both the banishment of the demon whiskey and the defeat of the feathered and poop-covered devil that undoubtedly has arisen that very morning from one of the above-ground graves that dot this corrupt and off-kilter city. Jesus has done his duty, and they are proud.

I am not quite so elated as the smiling Baptists.

But somehow I am calmed by the attack. From previous confrontation with creatures of this ilk, I know what my response must be. I am directed. I go to the bar of the Cafe Banquette and ask for their largest go‑cup, a 40‑ounce plastic container, to be filled with ice water. When I explain its purpose, the bartender not only gives it to me for free, but buys me a drink, on the house. The day before, the uninvited preachers had called his wife a brazen harlot when, dropping him off for work, she had refused one of their leaflets.

I carry the water back into the Square, where I hear the ersatz Jesus now speaking in English, preaching love and truth and forgiveness. As the Fates would have it, his back is to me. I walk up alongside, and pour the icy water slowly over his head.

The result is instantaneous.

He yells: “Mo‑ther‑FUCK‑er!” very loudly, and this invocation is carried with some force by his speaker system throughout the Square. There is a split second of silence before tittering and guffaws begin to rain down like so much happy confetti. JC spins, his right fist balled tightly and flying hard in a wide arc at my face. However, he is off‑balance, what with holding his cross upright, and it takes very little effort for me to lean backward out of harm’s way, and slap the blessed savior firmly in the solar plexus.

He already has “Son of a…” out before his disciples jerk the microphone from his head. His electronics tangled in his crown of thorns, Jesus almost falls over with the force of his removal from the airwaves. This makes him even madder. His face is totally crimson now, his beatific eyes are veined and bursting from his head. It takes both of his biblical associates to restrain him. Love and forgiveness are forgotten in a cascade of righteous fury. The crowd that his act had held a few minutes earlier is now trying to become invisible, inching their way backwards, talking to each other, disguising any previous interest in salvation on the spot.

JC finally sees what had happened, forces his anger down, and shakes off his companions. He stands without help, though he is still trembling with violent emotion, and begins wringing ice water from his beard.

I back away, keeping an eye on him. The man seems so untrustworthy.

I get to the point where I have to turn, and do so, fully expecting to be attacked as soon as the man’s wits regroup. Thankfully, they do not.

I am a dozen paces away when I hear the unamplified remark, aimed in my direction. Since I know the man ultimately devoid of irony, I immediately feel he has given me an unconscious gift, when he says, quite loudly in my direction these words: “Christ, what an asshole!”

***
Really.

——
Epilogue: The New Orleans City Council, in direct reaction to the religious protests at Southern Decadence and at Mardi Gras, has just enacted a law banning use of megaphones and loudspeakers within the confines of the French Quarter year-round. The new ordinance was in place on 19 January, but could not be strictly enforced this Carnival until decibel meters arrive. The devices, which will be on the streets within the next few weeks, will allow New Orleans police officers legal proof of offender transgressions and subject them to fines and physical banishment from the Quarter.

——
Jim Gabour is a film producer, writer and director. He was twice selected the featured director of the year at Amsterdam’s International Broadcasters Conference and recently received a Grammy nomination for his documentary on composer Terence Blanchard. He lives on the Web here. On the planet, he lives in New Orleans, where he is artist-in-residence and professor of video technology at Loyola University.

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Windfall

Thursday, December 13th, 2007

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Dead, they were all dead.

Spring 2006 was marked in New Orleans by the appearance, in patios and yards everywhere, of thick carpets composed of unmoving migratory butterflies, jeweled dragonflies, moths and honeybees.

In its zeal to stifle the clouds of aggressive disease-riddled carrion flies and mosquitoes, the government (which government, we don’t know, as they all seem to have dominion over New Orleans these days) had adopted wholesale nighttime aerosol bombing from crop-dusting planes and daytime fogging from truck-mounted fumigators. Residents appreciated the reduction of biting insects, but simultaneously mourned the quick loss of the first gay fluttering colors seen in the City in months. More seriously, for those of us who grow things, was the sudden removal of pollinators for flowering trees and plants.

Backyard fruit and vegetable crops never had a chance that spring.

The natural predators of the insects, the myriad of lizards and frogs native to our swampy City, were also in large part destroyed by the insecticides.

Those of us who took pride in growing a portion of our own food, and doted on the simple beauty of our environment, once again felt betrayed, on yet another level.

***
Eighteen months later we are recuperating. This fall the butterflies are back, the bees buzzing about, and the first few baby frogs have appeared around the fringes of backyard fountains and ponds.

Frogs! Who would believe that I would care about frogs? But these are no common amphibians. Hyla avivoca, The Bird-Voiced Treefrog, is native to New Orleans, and in recent years state legislators with no better things to do (this hurricane recovery business having become tiresome) have officially crowned avivoca as “The State Frog”. I have no idea what responsibility that title carries, and it seems neither do the frogs, as I have seen no tadpoles bearing gilded inscriptions, nor hopping amphibians beribboned with multi-colored medals to denote their governmental distinction. At least not yet.

The legislature goes back in session shortly, and dealing with the City’s recovery is boring hard work. Maybe there will be a week’s debate on which month should hold State Frog Day. The state already has a Frog Festival, the 35th version of which was just celebrated three months ago, over in Cajun territory in Rayne, Louisiana. Cajuns don’t use the proper Parisian grenouille to designate their honoree, however. Their word for these large bullfrogs is probably the best onomatopoeia I have ever heard: ouaouaron, pronounced wah-wah-ROHN. Tell me that doesn’t instantly say frog.

Though the diminutive “state” Bird-Voiced Treefrogs lack their own individual festival, this has not deterred the returning avivoca from their passion, and every night now that the weather has turned cooler and windows are open, the neighborhood drops into sleep to the sweet song and warbles of these talented creatures.

They also eat at night, the frogs, and mosquitoes are slowly disappearing. Of course the singers have been assisted in reducing the blood-sucking insect population by the reemergence of their tailed kin. Chameleons and geckos, salamanders and newts, with spots and stripes and neon colors, have joined forces and now fill every shady spot under every bush and structure on the block. They preen and strut and eat the bad guys.

Another totally new addition to the flora of the Faubourg Marigny neighborhood since Katrina are dozens upon dozens of huge “volunteer” papaya trees, each bearing hundreds of pounds of delectable fruit. They are in every yard. I have heard speculation that the ultimate source was a single tree nurtured by a family near the late, lamented El Palaceño bodega. Though the Cubano family did not return after the storm, their tree and its fruit and seeds were ripped apart by the wind and spread over a dozen square blocks. This year we are reaping the bounty, and with the resurgent and always-abundant native banana plants, we are again eating well from our yards.

In another ironic bit of flora recovery, the “Resurrection” ferns are back. These amazing resilient plants primarily inhabit the limbs of the Live Oak trees that were so badly damaged in Katrina. In their dormant state, when the ferns are stressed, they dry so completely as to be completely invisible, existing as a part of the gray scaly bark of the oaks. When the right living conditions develop, overnight they find a way to come back to life, and coat the trees in a lush green blanket. As they have this past week.

blackie.jpg***
On the fauna side, once-domestic animals, pets abandoned in the face of the evacuation, often on the legally binding orders of the soldiers and police officers who stripped pets from evacuees boarding buses out of the City, have begun to re-approach humans.

For the last four months, three black cats have co-inhabited our backyard. We don’t know if they are from the same feral litter, but feed them morning and night, and each day they have come closer and acted friendlier.

One, a tuxedo whom some call Blackie and I call Foots (he has white spats), now comes to me and will even sit in my lap. He was obviously captured after the storm, castrated and released, as is evidenced by his left ear, which is missing its top third. Force-fixed cats were caught and disfigured in that manner immediately post-K, when every animal was considered feral, rabid and dangerous. The missing ear was to prevent their being picked up again. At least they were not euthanized, which was the case with many of the personal pets confiscated at the Katrina bus boarding sites.

The three cats are often joined at breakfast and dinner by a large raccoon who has taken up residence in the abandoned fire station on the back of the block. We thought him a lone straggler these last months and have watched him grow ever larger, until just the other morning when he arrived for breakfast with two short and fuzzy versions of himself.

The three masked stripers love the papayas and bananas that fill their dish each morning.

The fact that the fruits are once again home grown does not impress them.

clarinet-vert2.jpg

***
One less-positive sign that the effects of our urban trauma have not yet left, however, is an almost metaphorical physical apparition.

It involves parking.

Some years ago, on Loyola Avenue downtown near City Hall, a group of disciplined and creative artists created a multi-storied trompe l’oeil painting of a clarinet. It is quite beautiful, and from a distance looks like… a multi-storied clarinet. The painters even made the reflections in the chrome of the instrument match the buildings and area around it. Unfortunately, a part of that view is a quite banal asphalt parking lot.

That lot, immediately below the clarinet, has somehow been chosen as the official encampment of the Louisiana National Guard, and though they are thankfully not part of the reflection, at the mouthpiece of the instrument sit dozens of desert-camouflaged, bulletproof military Humvees. And dozens more military police cars.

All of which daily drive our streets.

Amidst the returning butterflies.

——
Jim Gabour is a film producer, writer and director. He was twice selected the featured director of the year at Amsterdam’s International Broadcasters Conference and recently received a Grammy nomination for his documentary on composer Terence Blanchard. He lives on the Web here. On the planet, he lives in New Orleans, where he is artist-in-residence and professor of video technology at Loyola University.

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