We Are Not OK

The Old Milne Home for Boys

Franklin Avenue, New Orleans

Twenty-two months Post-Katrina

I am not ok. The most visible of my symptoms is that I'm getting entirely resentful of the essential ignorance of the tourists (and, as a corollary, the people that they report back to in Real America) about the state of New Orleans. Since I live in the French Quarter, I am face to face with tourists all the time. Used to be, I had no trouble with that. These days, however, in passing tourist conversation, I cannot detect that anyone is even the slightest bit upset by the condition of the city... Near as I can tell, not only are they not bothered by it, they don't seem to even notice. They're getting their gumbo and their Huge Ass Beers and that makes New Orleans OK, right?

Nope.

I would encourage them to drive in Violet, count the houses off slabs that still straddle roadways; to drive in Chalmette, and count the number of strip malls that still sit empty, wind whistling through blown out storefronts; to drive through Lakeview and count the number of orange X marks left on the houses; to drive through mid-city, and count the brand new piles of debris that people are just now pulling out of their long-destroyed homes; to simply absorb the emptiness, still the most prevalent aspect of our city... Do this and take that image back to Suburbia, USA.

This is a problem, this misperception of our recovery, and it has the potential to cripple any remaining efforts. I just don't know where to even begin to address it. I want... no... need to yell from the blue-tarped rooftops...

We are not ok!