Thoughts about reconstruction....

I took a drive the other day from Lakeview, which was an area completely flooded by Katrina, down to Lee Circle, then to the Superdome, then to Elysian Fields and headed out to St. Bernard Parish via the 9th Ward, and then took the long way home to really see and process what was going on in the city. It was amazing.
The face of New Orleans has changed tremendously since the last time I was here, and I vividly remember the shock of my first visit in February 2006 and getting chills at the sight of the Superdome. Yet even though we're on the eve of the third anniversary of Katrina, some things haven't changed. In Lakeview there are more unoccupied houses than there are lived in ones, many of which still have the water line from three years ago marking the 8 to 10 foot lake that covered the neighborhood. I went for a run one day through the neighborhood, and was greeted by construction workers putting a Humpty Dumpty of a house back together, and by cars driving by to browse abandoned properties, and every once in a while I would see a resident with a huge smile greeting me as if he hasn't seen a neighbor in days. I always catch myself wondering 'where are these people?' I think of what the neighborhood must have been like before the storm, bustling with people and children and dogs and barbeques and birthday parties. But this was an area with wealth, and yet they're still not back yet. This was only the beginning of my day...
I got in the car and decided to drive to my apartment, but passed it by in order to drive by an esquina that sprouted in a notorously sketchy and dangerous part of town. At the heart of Central City, absent of any typical landmarks that would indicate an esquina, men sit in the median on plastic crates, waiting for work to find them. I don't yet have the courage to stop and ask why they are standing here, in a part of the city where cab drivers don't even go, but maybe one day I will. I continued down to find St. Charles in the Garden District, and drove to Lee Circle, named after Confederate leader Robert E. Lee (I am continously reminded that I am in the South). Two years ago this area used to be an esquina as well, with workers covering the area in the early morning hours, but now it is empty, clean, and void of any markings that men used to camp here for a living. It was shocking to see it cleaned up. Maybe the police pushed them away because the tourists are coming and they don't tend to pick up trabajadores from the window of a street car.
In awe, I continue down the road to the Superdome, which sometimes still gives me chills when I look at it and remember the first image of it I have burned in my head. When I first saw it the roof shingles were missing, and it looked beaten and abandoned and filled with bitter memories. It was hardly a tale for survival. Now it looks like new, but I am not sure if I can ever really see it that way.
I jump on the interstate to find Elysian Fields, a research site from two years ago. I visited almost every morning and loved it. Sometimes there would be more than a hundred Latinos standing there in the mornings, and women would come around selling fresh breakfast burritos to the men who might need their energy for the day. Nunca sabe cuando vas a encontrar trabajo. Now as I drive by there are many men of all different colors sitting in the heat and waiting for a truck to beckon them over. There are black men and white men and brown men, all waiting... It still makes me sad to see them, in a way, knowing that they are a floating proletariat and can only take what is offered them. I will stop here another day, to collect interviews and become a part of the scene, but not today.
I drive down Elysian Fields and take a familiar route to visit my old organization in St. Bernard Parish. For this I must drive through the 9th Ward and over the levee that broke. Yet before the bridge, there are old black men sitting on steps, playing with young black children, neither one minding the heat. There are black women walking along sidewalks carrying bags from shopping in one hand, and holding an umbrella to block the sun in the other. The 9th Ward borders another neighborhood, the Bywater, which is also known for it's crime. I got lost in the Bywater once, and I saw houses that were completely gutted, but still had inhabitants on the steps. I saw boys riding bikes down streets that had no inhabitants, and cars driving to houses that were not yet homes. I was stared down by a group of men sitting on an abandoned house's porch until I continued on my way. But this wasn't a day for the Bywater, this was a day for the 9th Ward. Part of it looked inhabited, and amazingly loved. It looked worn and wrinkly, like an old grandmother with many stories to tell. But as soon as I crossed the bridge that warm old feeling of sadness and love went away. On the other side of the bridge stands a monument to Katrina that was dedicated on the 1 year anniversary. I saw it the day it went up. It was shiny and new, it had flags flowing proudly, and lights to keep it visible at all hours. Now it was dull, flagless, and the rows of houses around it were completely gone. I took pictures of the houses that lined the levee, but now all you can see is the concrete steps that led up to the front door, like headstones for each house that used to be there. I've never gotten used to that sight.
On the way to the St. Bernard Project in Chalmette I pass a Home Depot, and couldn't help but notice a new esquina across the street. One guy with a large truck had "HONDURENO" painted along the back window, displaying proudly to the street, letting any passerby know that these were Latinos, and they were probably willing to work. This esquina didn't exist before, and judging by the small numbers of trabajadores, I doubt it will exist much longer, but time will tell.
The organization has grown tremendously, and the volunteers look as exhausted as ever. I remember building that center and never thinking it would become home for people who wanted to help others, for families that had lost all hope, and for a small puppy found wandering the parish. I am continually amazing by the work that they do, and regretful that I was not able to stay in the area and help them more. St. Bernard was a wreck after the storm. It was completely destroyed. The first woman I worked with was a shrimper and lost her and her husband lost their boat in the storm, and every time I saw her she had a "Friends don't let friends eat imported shrimp" shirt on. I must say that since then, I pay attention to where my seafood comes from. She cried when we put up the first sheet of drywall in her gutted house. Now that I think about it, I would cry too if it were my home.
This entire drive almost made me cry. I never really understood why I loved New Orleans so much. It's not because it's home, or that it feels like home, because in actuality it's a very foreign place. But it's because it's home to so many people. This place has more culture and more history than many parts of the country and I've always had a profound respect for that. These families that grow up here have every desire to come back home. It's not that their stubborn, but that they want to raise their kids and grandkids in a place where they were raised, and who am I to tell them otherwise? Every abandoned house I drove by was a family that couldn't return. It's a little reminder that three years, these people left to God knows where, and nobody knows when they're coming back. The city is poor and the people are poor, a perfect climate for depression.
The trabajadores are another matter. I love teaching English. I love the guys I get to work with, that poke fun at my accent, that are just so excited to learn. The Pastor that has taken them into the church (otherwise they would be homeless) loves them too. In many ways these men have turned him into a social worker and forced him into a role that most clergymen never take. He's not an evangelist anymore (at least not in the stereotypical sense), he's just a lifesaver, finding work and food and clothing for men that came to the area looking for opportunity but were swept up by exploitation. These men just want to raise their children too by providing for them. The pastor and I are just trying to find a way to help them help themselves and their families.
This is the new face of New Orleans - poverty and a willingness to do whatever it takes to be successful. For some that means finding a way to come home, and for others that means finding something to send home. If only I could do this everyday and find a new way to appreciate life. I've become extremely grateful for family, for friends, for education, for strength, for passion, and for the little money that I have.
If you feel like donating to the St. Bernard Project (www.stbernardproject.org) or Monte de los Olivos Church, please let me know and I will send you their contact information.