Okay then.
Dec. 8th, 2005 10:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
infrogmationTo those who indignantly ask "How can you plan to have a Mardi Gras?"
How about we agree not to have Mardi Gras this year, if the rest of the country agrees not to have Christmas.
Fair enough?
Many people don't understand that Mardi Gras will come when the calendar says it does no matter what we do or don't do-- and as long as there is at least one New Orleanian who wishes to observe Mardi Gras, there will be a New Orleans Mardi Gras. The only question is how big the celebration will be.
Good article from the Picayune:
Triumph over sorrow is our M.O.
by Jarvis Deberry
"come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed." -- Lucille Clifton
We are alive.
Ask us how our thoughts could turn to celebration after we've suffered so much, how we could think about Mardi Gras even as we continue to suffer, and that's the only answer we can provide.
We are alive.
Yes, we've lost things. We've lost homes. Big ones, little ones, shotguns, camelbacks, cottages, mansions. We've lost neighborhoods. Rich ones, poor ones, mixed ones. Loud ones, quiet ones. We've lost schools and congregations. We've lost jobs. We've lost our sense of community, our sense of security, and some of us may feel that we've lost or are losing whatever grip we had on our sanity.
We've lost people. Not just random people, either, but loved ones: mamas and daddies, marrains and parrains, our neighbors, our classmates, grandparents. So many grandparents.
You ask, who in their right minds would think of this as a time to plan a celebration.
We would.
We who had death lapping at our ankles. We who had to crane our necks for the next breath. We who hacked our way out of our attics. We who returned to homes that were moldy and muddy, homes that had fallen down, homes that had been washed off their foundations and had moved on down the street.
It might not make sense to you. Perhaps you hear our plans and ask, "How could you?" Try to understand. This is what we do. This is who we are. Defiance defines us. And at this time and in this place nothing needs to be more assiduously defied than death itself.
We know how to do that. We created the jazz funeral. Not out of disrespect for the deceased, but out of a need to celebrate the life that was lived and a determination to press forward joyfully, no matter how hard life's trials.
Jazz wouldn't have been jazz without the drum. And the drum that sparked its evolution would never have been played if the Africans who were brought here in bondage hadn't decided that they had traditions worth carrying forward. I can imagine that at least one person who was brought over in the hold of a ship felt it inappropriate to drum, to sing, to dance in Congo Square.
But imagine this city, imagine this nation, imagine this world if those original Afro-New Orleanians had let their sorrow -- the sorrow over never seeing home or any of their loved ones ever again -- completely rob them of the cultures they cherished. New Orleans would never have become the city we all loved.
And it won't be that lovable city again if we don't fight for our traditions. At a town hall meeting held in Atlanta Saturday, a woman asked Mayor Ray Nagin, "How can we be having Mardi Gras and we aren't even there?" Others say it disrepects the dead. They say it gives outsiders the impression that everything in New Orleans is OK. I say it gives them proof that we aren't dead.
The argument that Feb. 28 is too soon to celebrate assumes that one day our sorrow will expire. It won't. As long as we can remember the people who died, our collective sadness will linger.
Mardi Gras won't abolish that sorrow, no more than the happy music played during second lines obliterates the memory of the departed. But it will announce to the world that that which tried to kill this city did not succeed.
We know what has happened to us. A celebration won't mean we've forgotten. It will let the world know not only that we aren't dead but that we have no intentions of dying.
. . . . . . .
Jarvis DeBerry is an editorial writer. He can be reached at (504) 826-3355
Source article
How about we agree not to have Mardi Gras this year, if the rest of the country agrees not to have Christmas.
Fair enough?
Many people don't understand that Mardi Gras will come when the calendar says it does no matter what we do or don't do-- and as long as there is at least one New Orleanian who wishes to observe Mardi Gras, there will be a New Orleans Mardi Gras. The only question is how big the celebration will be.
Good article from the Picayune:
Triumph over sorrow is our M.O.
by Jarvis Deberry
"come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed." -- Lucille Clifton
We are alive.
Ask us how our thoughts could turn to celebration after we've suffered so much, how we could think about Mardi Gras even as we continue to suffer, and that's the only answer we can provide.
We are alive.
Yes, we've lost things. We've lost homes. Big ones, little ones, shotguns, camelbacks, cottages, mansions. We've lost neighborhoods. Rich ones, poor ones, mixed ones. Loud ones, quiet ones. We've lost schools and congregations. We've lost jobs. We've lost our sense of community, our sense of security, and some of us may feel that we've lost or are losing whatever grip we had on our sanity.
We've lost people. Not just random people, either, but loved ones: mamas and daddies, marrains and parrains, our neighbors, our classmates, grandparents. So many grandparents.
You ask, who in their right minds would think of this as a time to plan a celebration.
We would.
We who had death lapping at our ankles. We who had to crane our necks for the next breath. We who hacked our way out of our attics. We who returned to homes that were moldy and muddy, homes that had fallen down, homes that had been washed off their foundations and had moved on down the street.
It might not make sense to you. Perhaps you hear our plans and ask, "How could you?" Try to understand. This is what we do. This is who we are. Defiance defines us. And at this time and in this place nothing needs to be more assiduously defied than death itself.
We know how to do that. We created the jazz funeral. Not out of disrespect for the deceased, but out of a need to celebrate the life that was lived and a determination to press forward joyfully, no matter how hard life's trials.
Jazz wouldn't have been jazz without the drum. And the drum that sparked its evolution would never have been played if the Africans who were brought here in bondage hadn't decided that they had traditions worth carrying forward. I can imagine that at least one person who was brought over in the hold of a ship felt it inappropriate to drum, to sing, to dance in Congo Square.
But imagine this city, imagine this nation, imagine this world if those original Afro-New Orleanians had let their sorrow -- the sorrow over never seeing home or any of their loved ones ever again -- completely rob them of the cultures they cherished. New Orleans would never have become the city we all loved.
And it won't be that lovable city again if we don't fight for our traditions. At a town hall meeting held in Atlanta Saturday, a woman asked Mayor Ray Nagin, "How can we be having Mardi Gras and we aren't even there?" Others say it disrepects the dead. They say it gives outsiders the impression that everything in New Orleans is OK. I say it gives them proof that we aren't dead.
The argument that Feb. 28 is too soon to celebrate assumes that one day our sorrow will expire. It won't. As long as we can remember the people who died, our collective sadness will linger.
Mardi Gras won't abolish that sorrow, no more than the happy music played during second lines obliterates the memory of the departed. But it will announce to the world that that which tried to kill this city did not succeed.
We know what has happened to us. A celebration won't mean we've forgotten. It will let the world know not only that we aren't dead but that we have no intentions of dying.
. . . . . . .
Jarvis DeBerry is an editorial writer. He can be reached at (504) 826-3355
Source article
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-12-08 05:06 pm (UTC)1) You can sit in your pile of rubble, cry, bitch, moan and wonder why this happened to you.
2) You can aknowledge it as a setback, and take strides to set your life back to normal.
Having Mardi Gras is a step to taking our city back. It's a vital part of New orleans history, and something the city is internationally known for.
New Orleans is just damaged. It's not dead. We shouldn't act like it is.