Power and Tragedy: New Orleans Dispatch #3

I just wrote yesterday but each day here feels like a week of life experience. Today we joined with the People's Hurricane Relief Network, Common Ground and a number of black power groups for a march on City Hall- or what's left of it anyway. We gathered first in Congo Square- a park with ancient live oaks who were already mature trees when slavery was in effect here and this was the only place in the city where slaves were allowed to gather freely and play their drums. Today, a rocking drum circle like none I've ever seen accompanied a vibrant consortium of black leaders as they gave stirring speeches to a crowd that reached thousands by the time we took the streets towards City Hall.

The march was in support of the Right to Return of the scattered residents of new Orleans, who are overwhelmingly poor and black and who are soon to be kicked out of the temporary housing FEMA has thus far provided. It is clear that were this California destroyed by an earthquake, or New York by another 9-11, there would be no protracted debate about whether or not to rebuild, it would just be done and it would be done quickly with massive federal aid. The cost of a day of war in Iraq would be enough to retrofit all New Orleans levees to withstand a category 5 storm. The people of this richly historic city are rightfully outraged and today they raised strong and eloquent voice to their demands for equality.

Whatever role marches actually play in the success of resistance movements, one undeniable truth is that there is nothing quite like the feeling of claiming the streets of a major city with a full brass band and a flood of people carrying banners and signs chanting in unison. It is enough to make you believe for an extended, suspended moment that we cannot be stopped- that the force of our collective will is greater than all the institutions and arms they have to try and keep us down. Then the march ends and the stark reality creeps back in.

Today that come-down came as an abrupt punch in the stomach to us all. There has been another biodiesel bus down here with a crew of volunteers from Maine. On their way back from Mississippi today the bus flipped on the interstate and the driver was killed. The impact of this tragedy is sending shockwaves through our whole extended network here.

On top of this, our good friend Sprig, who rode on the bus from Oregon to Tucson, was hit by a train last night. She is out of the hospital and is going to be OK, but she lost her memory and has no idea what happened and how and she has potentially serious head and neck injuries. On top of that, a major federal investigation into acts of eco-sabotage resulted in a national sting operation yesterday and has ensnared folks in our community back home. This is deeply unsettling and creates an atmosphere of general anxiety and bleakness.

This place crystallizes one's awareness into a riveted sense of presence, but it also numbs the senses into a surreal soup- like you are in a dream or watching a movie. If it is not perverse to admit it, there is an addictive quality to the atmosphere of constant crisis and need. It offers strong purpose and meaning- I for once can relate to the descriptions of soldiers returning from war who actually want to return to duty because they feel ill suited for daily life and out of synch with the world back home.

There is a magnetism to the gravity of what is taking place here.

Posted by Forrest at December 12, 2005 11:32 AM | Category(s): Gulf Coast Relief: Supporting Resident's Right to Return