Back in NYC, Remembering NOLA

Ebette, AJ & I were living in the upper 9th Ward and as such, were immersed in the absolute gentrification of that area. As we walked through our neighborhood, we saw endless homes with the infamous spray-painted X, detailing the date the home was checked, and the number of dead people found inside after Katrina. There were a lot of zeros, thankfully. But at the same time, there were so many small cafes and bars and restaurants popping up. It was such a rich neighborhood, but it had a sense of Williamsburg to it. It was becoming overrun with young, white hipsters. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to talk to several long-time residents of NOLA, who all said the same thing: as rich and diverse as the city is, it lost half its population after Katrina. The people returning are not the original residents.

I was conflicted because I fell in love in NOLA. I fell in love with the people, the city, its rich history and culture, as well as with the Innocence Project. The city is dripping with culture and full of people who want to share their stories and have a slow morning conversation with you as you try to break the habit of rushing to work. I could see myself living there, demanding justice. Yet I don't want to add to the gentrification and social injustice. I don't want to start building my life where someone else was forced to abandon theirs.

The most memorable moment of my time in NOLA was during our second weekend. I had wanted to bike down to the lower 9th Ward for a long time, but found myself hesitating. I had reservations about going b/c I didn't want to be a disaster tourist, and because I was scared of what I knew I was going to see. I did not know how to prepare for it and I did not know if I would be able to deal with it. All I knew is that I wanted and needed to see what the neighborhood was really like today, over 3 years post-Katrina.

Ebette, AJ & I biked down to the lower 9th together. It was empty. It was silent. It was so silent. It felt like another country. On the Industrial Canal side, where the levee broke, there were very few homes. Maybe 4 or 5 homes left standing -- barely standing -- over a span of several blocks. It went on like this for as far as I could see. These X's did not have zeros. They had numbers. The first number I saw was 8. Eight people had been left to die. It was a small two-family home. It looked like the family downstairs had sought refuge with the family upstairs. But nobody came for them.

The homes that were there were no longer homes, either. They were just empty structures, destroyed shells of what used to be people's homes. Mostly windowless, some with broken windows. Remnants of what used to be somebody's living room furniture, piled up as garbage, awaiting a pick up that has yet to happen -- over 3 years later.

In that pile of "debris," I saw a small piece of brick. I picked it up, held it, and imagined that it must have been a piece of somebody's home. A solid structure once, containing warmth, love, fights, laughter, tears, family dinners, a place for people to feel safe. A home. I held a chunk of what was left of this home in my hand. It got very hard to breathe. That piece of somebody's life that had been swept up into a pile of "garbage," I took with me. I will never forget.

It was utter destruction. I had a really hard time being there, seeing it all, yet I didn't want to leave. I felt like I shouldn't leave, like there was so much that needed to be done, and since no one was doing anything (with the exception of Brad Pitt's Make it Right New Orleans foundation -- I'm disgusted that our government has abandoned this neighborhood -- these people -- and it takes an actor's money to help them), that I should stay and do it.

I wondered how the government would have responded to the same situation had it happened on the Upper West Side. I know it wouldn't have abandoned those people.

A few days later, back at the Innocence Project office, I heard breaking news about the airliner landing in the Hudson River. Maybe I should have been full of joy that all of those folks had been promptly rescued. But through my relief, my mind kept returning to the same thought: this is what emergency response should be for everyone.

They were rescued within moments. Residents of the lower 9th Ward are still waiting.