Happy Mardi Gras!
waxjunky
1,850 Posts
I know the festivities fell off this year, and the outlook is still miserable for many. I had the pleasure of spending the first half of 2005 in New Orleans, where I met some incredible people.It's all bittersweet, but the Mardi Gras spirit needs to perservere at all costs. My prayers go out to the city, to those who left, to those who stayed, and above all, to those who died...
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I also got to witness Mardi Gras last year and am itching to revisit the city. Maybe in '07???
peace to the region,
M
How I would love to attend my favorite West Bank parades: Choctaw and Poseidon.
How I would love to march to a wicked drum cadence as I clutch my cornet in anticipation for the next song my school band is about to play.
How I would love to munch on some King Cake after a steaming bowl of crawfish etouffee and a cold can of Dixie.
How I would love to undo the damage of the hurricane and the FEMA-forced depopulation of New Orleans.
My brother-in-law, an electrician, just went through New Orleans in an attempt to reestablish his business there as the city rebuilds. Unfortunately codes have yet to be set up so that debris can be hauled away, let alone any plans for rebuilding. Meanwhile thousands of laborers are sitting around doing nothing as they wait for jobs to present themselves. In other words, there is a systematic roadblock being placed in the way of progress as deadlines approach for the bulldozing of homes far and wide.
Bottom line: Hurricanes ain't shit compared to imperialists.
But hey, it's Fat Tuesday...time to work our problems out through music, dance, and celebration.
great post...cheers to you...
Algiers in the house:
West Jeff High School (Harvey) represent:
John Ehret High School (Marrero) represent:
Just go Benson:
Onward through the fog:
Feel like funkin' it up:
We're coming home:
Didn't know you were from LA, HC. You ever go to Shoal Creek Saloon and catch a Saints game?
Yes, sir. A friend of mine helped put together the helmet on the roof:
Oh yeah, the helmet. Signraerholygrail.
Coolness. I'm from Monroe, and thus cursed to Bleed Black n Gold.
I'm from Algiers/Gretna/Harvey aka the West Bank aka the wrong side of the bridge and I'm also cursed.
http://www.statesman.com/news/mplayer/m/2721
Indian tradition marches on:
http://www.nola.com/news/t-p/frontpage/index.ssf?/base/news-5/114119722817810.xml
In the heart of the Lower 9th Ward, in the now-lifeless streets of the neighborhood torn asunder, the sacred Mardi Gras Indian hymn "My Indian Red" wafted over the hallowed stomping ground of the Red Hawk Hunters on Tuesday.
Tambourines rattled, occasionally booming beneath the hands of tribesmen -- black men masked as Native American warriors -- who were draped in lavish greens, blues and whites. Their feathers and plumes danced and shook upon a backdrop of flood debris: crumbled homes, abandoned vehicles coated in the grime of receded floodwaters and the other assorted detritus Hurricane Katrina left in its wake.
Decimated primarily black neighborhoods in New Orleans were once home to hundreds of such warriors, but after Katrina, many are now far from their flooded homes and are unsure whether they'll ever return to the city, much less mask on Mardi Gras.
But in the Lower 9th Ward, Uptown and downtown around the Treme neighborhood Tuesday, Mardi Gras Indians from cross-city tribes made a clear statement: The back of the city's black tribal community is weary but not yet broken.
"God's people will always stand strong," said Nelson Burke, big chief of the Red Hawk Hunters. Nelson led his tribe in soulful chants and cries, surrounded by his spy boy, flag boy and wild man just yards from where the levee broke, causing the flooding that drowned so many.
Walk through history
The tribe's members masked harder than ever, one onlooker said Tuesday. And they danced in the footsteps of those who came before them. And they chanted, the sun bouncing from bejeweled patterns and story boards embroidered into their suits. The history in jeweled landscapes across their chests and backs, legs and arms told the tale of the "red man" fighting off the "white man" on his own land.
History teaches that black Mardi Gras Indians mask to honor the Native American communities that accepted runaway slaves into their tribes, said Cherice Nelson, Mardi Gras Indians historian and council queen of the Guardians of the Flame tribe. They honor the people who never allowed the white man to enslave them. Long ago, Nelson said, white people wouldn't dare go onto Native American land to retrieve slaves.
"My Indian Red" and its hundred-year-old rhythms is more of a prayer than a song, a call and response pitched to God to ensure that those who mask as Indians on Mardi Gras return home safely, according to the Indians' history. In times long past, old scores were settled on Mardi Gras, man to man and often bloody.
But now the song means so much more, some said Tuesday. It embodies all that the Indians stand for, tribesmen said, all the past and present warriors who use the spirit of their African, Native American and African-American ancestors to see them through the tough times -- through the storms.
"After all Katrina destroyed, she couldn't destroy our spirit," said Ronald Young, spy boy for the Red Hawk Hunters. Like many Indians who lost everything they owned in the storm, including the materials they use to construct the suits they wear only once a year, Young didn't mask this Mardi Gras. He said he has too much on his plate. So he donated the supplies he was able to salvage to another tribesman so he could mask.
"That's the hardest part about it," Young said. "We work on the suits year round, and when we lost our homes, a lot of us lost everything in them. So it hurts."
Steeped in tradition
Downtown, along St. Bernard Avenue near North Villere Street, members of the Trouble Nation tribe gathered. Some sipped beers while others tweaked their suits or helped younger members hoist massive headdresses on their heads or shoulders.
They marched down North Villere, chanting the solemn words of "My Indian Red." The spy boy stepped blocks ahead of the flag boy and chief, keeping a keen eye out for any other tribes in the neighborhood. There was none in sight. But three blocks over, members of an almost totally unmasked tribe, the Creole Osceolas of the flooded Gentilly neighborhood, marched to their drummers' beat wearing T-shirts proclaiming what tribe they represent.
"We wanted to show our presence," said Creole Osceolas Big Chief Clarence Dalcour. Tuesday was the first Mardi Gras in more than 36 years that he didn't mask. While the future is unclear about how black New Orleans will be reshaped in its post-Katrina social landscape, Dalcour said the people and their traditions are resilient enough to be maintained if not recast.
"Though so many of us lost so much, it means a lot to be able to continue this legacy. The black culture is a creative culture, and it's here to stay," he said.
Uptown, at the corner of Washington Avenue and South Saratoga Street, tradition continued as members of the Creole Wildwest honored the big chief of another tribe, the venerable Bo Dollis of the Wild Magnolias. The Creole Wildwest spy boy, dressed in a suit of turquoise feathers, with red and yellow gems dashed throughout, cleared a path through a small crowd that had gathered around longtime Big Chief Dollis. The spy boy led the way for the Creole Wildwest's Big Chief Walter Cook Jr., introducing the two patriarchs in a commanding voice that silenced the crowd of about 30 onlookers.
"Big chief of the Wild Magnolias," the spy boy's voice boomed. "Big chief of the Creole Wildwest. . . . Old-time chief," the spy boy said, pointing toward Dollis. Dollis sat smiling. His perfectly white grin and matching suit welcomed the younger chief. They shook hands, Dollis never leaving his post. Cook bowed slightly, speaking to the elder official in a tone just above a whisper, then quickly walking away with his spy boy.
"Everybody here needs us to be here," said Queen Rita, Dollis' wife and queen of the Wild Magnolias. "It's what you call tradition. And like those two chiefs meeting here, and one honoring his elder, it's tradition."
Those pictures are wonderful. But it's breaking my heart seeing this pictures man, really, and Im 6000 miles away... I still cannot believe that things went the way they went. But, Im far away here in Germany and I know noting, really.
But I sometimes think that solidarity amongst people MUST be stronger than bureaucracy and all political trick treats. Where are fuckin masses of people on the streets of other US states and cities protesting for you guys there and against lies and politrix in general? For me it's plain miracles how the govs can play the NO people and get away with it. Doesn't no one really gets the idea that himself will be probably the next one to be played if he's not doing something against it and show some solidarity UNTIL some real solutions come across?
Like I said, Im far away and I don't really know nothing about what's really going on there. I don't want to start of that discussion over again eiter, because it was all said here, I know.
I just wanted to say this is "21 century in the biggest and wealthiest fuckin country of the world real life misery & injustice" makes me sick!
PS:
The Heatrock & The Road sampler are a wonderfull, big, huge, things, I loved to see that. If Strutters can do, why can't some fucking big powerfull Idontknowwhatkindof big lobby do it thousend times bigger?
The "You already forgot" picture is amazing. Everyday in the free paper here in NYC, there is a short blurb about extending housing dates for those who had to evacuate. The latest one was about a group of citizens who are suing FEMA in order for them to stay on a docked cruise ship until alternate housing is found for them. Its so hard and depressing to hear about these things, makes me dissapointed in America. How can we afford billion dollar contracts for military companies but not find money to house the poor? I write my congressman every week to restructure budgets to increase social services, I guess I'll have to start writing every day...
It was kinda sad last night knowing that the Flaming Arrows would be left dipping in and out of bars along 6th Street instead of roaming the NOLA streets in search of rival crews. Gene's was certainly a good spot for a lot of us ex-NOLA folks to gather, but just seeing the Arrows (one of whom was masked in his wheelchair) marching over to Long Branch without much of an entourage backing them kinda made my heart sink.
That's where the food helped...