Might as well share this story about the first post-Katrina Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
Armed with sharp tongues and images such as the blue tarps that still protect broken roofs across the city, the clubs that stage Mardi Gras parades are targeting Hurricane Katrina and the politicians they blame for the chaotic response to the catastrophe.
One display in the Krewe du Vieux parade Saturday asked France to buy Louisiana back, suggesting the state might get better treatment than it has from the American government.
Dressed as a pink flamingo and accompanying a cart fashioned to resemble a FEMA trailer, Sally Durkin of Mississippi said the satire is helping to heal the city.
“There’s so much despair around it all,” she said. “Sometimes you have to just take it on the chin and have some humor about it, or we all go crazy.”
Still, in the midst of revelry and satire, even the city known as the Big Easy has a serious side.
The Zulu Social Aid & Pleasure Club, a 90-year-old historically black group that holds one of the city’s most beloved Mardi Gras parades, lit 10 candles at a service in honor of club members who have died since the storm. They lit an eleventh candle to honor the hundreds of people killed by Katrina.
Can’t keep good people down.
The Zulu parade took the form of a jazz funeral, for the first time in its 90-year history. About half their members lost their homes. Krewe de Vieux’s theme was “C’est Levee.”
“It is hard living here now. We need to have our opportunity to release,” said Keith Twitchell, one of the organizers of Saturday’s Krewe du Vieux parade. “If you don’t laugh, you’re dead. There’s a lot to cry about here.”
Mardi Gras expert Arthur Hardy said the satire serves as a coping mechanism.
Masked riders in the parades have long used the opportunity to mock the ruling class and government officials, said . The tradition goes back to 1873, when the Mistick Krewe of Comus themed its parade “The Missing Links to Darwin’s Origin of the Species” and portrayed Union Gen. Ulysses S. Grant as a tobacco grub.
“It’s almost like you laugh to keep from crying. It’s a chance to say ‘This can’t keep us down.’ … We’re going to laugh at it and throw something back at it,” he said.
Even groups that are typically less tongue-in-cheek are taking swipes at the storm and politicians this year.
The Krewe of Carrollton, which holds its parade on February 19, chose “Blue Roof Blues” — a reference to the tarps protecting damaged and leaky roofs.
The Krewe of Mid-City will use blue tarps along the bottom of its floats — in part out of necessity because of flooding at its warehouse.
The Mid-City parade, scheduled for February 26, will have floats called “New Orleans Culture” — that’s culture as in mold — and “I drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was gone,” a bitter twist on the line from Don McLean’s “American Pie.”
Gotta love black humor.
You may or may not remember that when I asked about steel-toed boots, I’d tell you what they were for once I made some arrangements.
I’m volunteering for post-hurricane cleanup in St. Bernard Parish, where 100 percent of the homes there suffered damage. I signed up with Habitat for Humanity shortly after the storm, but they had told me that it would likely be months before I got notified of any opportunities (they’re doing a big build of pre-built homes). I got some notices, but couldn’t make any of them, but the St. Bernard Parish opportunity came along at a good time — I’m at a point in my work that I can easily take a week off, and the week off won’t do me much harm, lost-income-wise (I don’t have paid vacation time). The project is actually through St. Bernard Parish, not Habitat, but Habitat agreed to reach out to its volunteer base.
So, basically, I’ll be clearing debris for a week come March 5. I won’t have much time to get into New Orleans, though I’ll probably get a chance to at least go for beignets before I leave. I’ll be sure to get some pictures and do a little posting from there, since the tent city has internet.