I am in New Orleans for a couple of days on business and I got a tour of the city today that I bet most people don't get. A friend of mine who grew up here (he lives in Baton Rouge now) picked me up at my hotel this afternoon and drove me around his old neighborhood. After that we went through the 9th Ward and then to the more popular tourist areas. The picture I got is one of extreme divergence; hope vs hopelessness; rebirth and neglect; vitality as opposed to poverty.
"Jack" is African American and he grew up in a government housing project which has since been torn down. We drove by the site and he showed me the tree that the balcony of his family's apartment used to overlook. Across the street from that balcony is a store where some of his old pals still hang out doing nothing in particular. Jack told me that, as a youth, he had seen several shootings in front of that store. It was almost an off-hand remark, as if he were telling me that he used to buy ice cream there when he could scrounge the spare change. We drove up and down a lot of streets there--places where I wouldn't have been safe if I were alone. The tour commentary consisted of things like "That's where my father-in-law lives", "That's the church I grew up in", "That's where my wife lived", "This is the street where I sold most of the drugs I used to sell", "This is the corner where I was talking to one of my boys when a guy came out of that house right there and started shooting at me". I asked him what he did when the guy was shooting at him and he said, "I ran my ass off, man" and kind of chuckled.
Damn.
Most of the houses still have the large spray-painted "X" on the front with the numbers and letters in the quadrants showing that they had been searched and whether or not any bodies had been found. Most of them were in various states of disrepair--shingles missing, doors askew, windows boarded on some. Most of them needed paint or siding repair. Most of them have people living in them regardles of their condition.
The 9th Ward was worse--much worse. Many of the houses that were there are simply gone; pushed to the ground and loaded on trucks for the landfills; not worth the cost of repair; never to be rebuilt. One thing that Jack told me that seemed to him to be most tragic about the missing homes--missing families--is that the homes they lost represented, in many cases, their family history. They were literally handed down from one generation to the next. Extended families living together, expanding in one direction and shrinking from the other as new children were born and the old folks died off. That's gone now, carried away by floods, bulldozers and dump trucks. He showed me where his grandmother's house used to be. Now there are only weeds and scrub brush. We went by Fats Domino's house, still intact, still in the hood. I was surprised that it didn't really stand out from the others except that it was painted a subdued yellow and had the letters "FD" in black about a foot high on the front gable. It is slightly larger than the other homes on the block, but not opulant by any standards. Perhaps a testament to his committment to his roots, and to the fact that celebrities are much better compensated than they were when he had his hayday.
We talked a lot about what it was like for him growing up in that situation and how he got out of it. He said he never took drugs, ever. But he also didn't blanch about selling them to support his family; always carrying a pistol for protection against the junkies and other dealers. He always worked regular jobs too, once he was old enough. And it was always about being able to make something better for his mom. He was finally able to move her out of the projects into a house several blocks away, but after a couple of years she wanted to move back because all of her friends were still in the housing.
His work ethic was part of what got him out of there, but it seems like part of it was also almost accidental (providential?). A chance meeting while he worked at a gas station got him a better job that turned into a career that made enough money to get him a better life. His brothers and sisters all got out too. They have jobs and careers and families and none of them live in the poverty they grew up in. I've never met her, and Jack didn't say so (I forgot to ask), but I bet his momma had a lot to do with it. How could all those kids succeed where so many others had failed if it were otherwise?
What's funny (not funny haha, but funny 'damn') is that even though he's from there, his history is there, he says he feels scared now when he goes back and talks to some of his old friends and visits some of the old places. He's succeeded where others haven't and there's a tension because of it. There's a sense that he's in danger from those who would want what he's got in his pockets or in his truck. There's also the possibility that someone with a long memory might still hold a grudge and decide to act upon it. Maybe it's true--we can never go home.
We went from the 9th Ward the short distance to the heart of the city, where all the tourists go. We saw Jackson Square, Bourbon Street, the French Quarter, Convention Center, Riverwalk, French Market. We went past giant hotels and the world's largest land-based casino--Harrah's. I bet you had no idea that it was in New Orleans--me neither. In all of those places we saw what is possible when civic powers put their minds, talents and money to the task of recovery. And we also saw what is of value to us in this country in contrast to what is not, even when it's located only a few short blocks away.
Poverty is not about race or geography. It's about what we decide is morally acceptable. It cannot be solved by governments alone, but it cannot be solved without significant committment from them either. The answers are not simple and the solutions will not be quick, but we are commanded by our God to help those in need. As the rich get richer off of the blood of the poor and the shrinking middle class we are in grave danger ("we" meaning us Christians) of coming under the judgment of that God.
Poor children need a quality education, adequate food, health care. Poor working moms need help with child care; both in terms of having an adequate supply and the money to afford it. Families need access to counseling and other benefits that will help them to stay whole and stable. And there must be jobs, real jobs, jobs that pay a living wage and provide fulfillment and self esteem.
All of you ultra-conservative scoffers can mark this down. God has laid out quite plainly the moral responsibility of those who have to assist those who do not. There are 2000 verses that refer to justice for the poor and disadvantaged. We will not be exempt from them when we stand before God. Don't believe me? Read Matthew 25, especially starting around verse 30. Please do not be condemned by the hypocrisy that Jesus so deeply loathes.
Pray for the poor. Pray for peace. More to follow.
Mike
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