New Orleans reflection

It seemed too good to be true. When I first saw the announcement in the fall for the alternative spring break trip to New Orleans with the Office of Multicultural Affairs and Hillel, my immediate reaction was that I always wanted to commit to a trip like this. As a writer, I also thought it was a great chance to bring a community that I felt had been forgotten back into the forefront of people’s minds.

From December on, our Mondays were dedicated to talking about the social justice aspect of the trip. Our own identities seemed to be the focus of our discussions, and initially I struggled with how little our conversations had to do with rebuilding New Orleans. Yet over 30 of us gathered each Monday evening and opened up to each other with various activities and exercises. Once the trip grew nearer we began to talk about New Orleans more explicitly, and my skepticism abated—our conversations finally met the expectations that I had come in with.

When we first arrived, from the water marks that were 8 feet high or above on some of the buildings to the spray-painted markings on most houses—telling among other things the number of people found dead there—the shivers going down my spine were uncontrollable. I felt anger, shock, and deep sadness. Compared to the rest of the city that we saw, the Lower Ninth Ward looked like no-man’s land.

After arriving at our worksite, we were divided up and sent on different projects in the community. Sent to sand and paint the front, side, and back railings of a woman’s house, I was a little puzzled by the situation, especially since there seemed to be plenty of houses that needed much more work done to them. I came to help in any way possible, but I had to reflect to myself about whether there was more meaningful community service. As we painted the house, the owner’s mother peeked outside of the house periodically to see how we were doing. Making small talk, I asked her what had socially changed the most in the community, but before I could even get the words out of my mouth, she whispered, “Everything.” I looked up into her eyes and all she could do was shake her head and repeat what she had just said. From that moment on, I was reminded of how easy it is to take the smallest things for granted. We weren’t rebuilding houses—we were rebuilding lives and bringing back a bit of normalcy. People’s lives were forever flipped upside down as a result of the storm—a lesson I will never forget.
True to our commitment to social justice, we spoke with a lawyer from a wage labor clinic, visited a Vietnamese community, and had a speaker come to talk about education in New Orleans and how the racial and social structure played into the education system pre- and post-Katrina. Overall, I think that these experiences were very well incorporated, and helped us to understand holistically the effects of Katrina.

From race to class, politics to economics, every conversation that I had with members of the group was as honest and genuine as anyone can find—especially considering how difficult it is to talk about such sensitive topics and considering the diversity of opinions that we all represented. Yet, somehow we did it, and at the end of our last full day together, it felt like we had created a community and a truly safe space for everyone represented.

I’ve come back from the trip with many fond memories, mosquito bites, and paint-splattered clothes. Yet overall, I feel that because of the hard work that everyone—from the coordinators to the participants—put in, I was a part of something that was necessary and appreciated, not only important for the New Orleans community, but for each of our personal growth. As one person said, the trip was not about a handout, but a hand up, and in order to truly help any community, there must be a level of compassion that comes from making connections with that community on a number of levels. Now I realize why we spent so much time sharing our identities from the beginning—in order to understand and build a safe space you must listen closely, think constantly, and respect indiscriminately. In order to build the type of bond that we built with each other and the New Orleans community, we had to have cared deeply. And we did.

The author is a Columbia College first-year. She is a columnist for Spectator Arts and Entertainment.