I have never used political correctness as an inhibitor of things I find amusing. Over my long years I have found much rough fodder for laughter, and over these last long months I must admit crudity of subject matter has not once kept me from howling out loud.
But now, as a citizen of New Orleans, I am discouraged from smiling.
That is the word sent south this past week from the scions of our federal government in the hurricane-safe city of Washington DC. If we want dollars from the US Treasury to help us purchase our tickets out of reconstruction hell, we should exclude all thoughts of celebrating. Joyous abandon is out.
Also by Jim Gabour on OpenDemocracy:
"New Orleans Diary" (February, 2006) Dispatches of daily life from the hurricane-struck city
We should abandon Carnival.
Grim-faced bureaucrats, senators and representatives have paraded themselves in air-conditioned buses past our destroyed homes and businesses for six months now, have stepped off their vehicles momentarily, and in front of pre-positioned microphones and lenses have declared us something-in-the-neighbourhood-of-a-disaster.
This qualification because some of the more fiscally-responsible lawmakers who stood amidst the rubble of 400,000 damaged residential structures and 200,000 completely unsalvageable homes still hold reservations as to the severity of our loss.
To underline the stern conditions of our bail-out, they have declared that if we are going to get taxpayers' money, we should not be celebrating.
This said on the cusp of the 150th anniversary of the first Mardi Gras parade.
Photograph John d'Addario
The mystique and lure of Carnival bores deeply into the soul of the native New Orleanian. Jean Baptiste Le Moyne, Sieur de Bienville, the founder and first governor of the Louisiana Territory, is said to have made his preliminary approach to the outskirts of what would become the city on Mardi Gras Day 1699, promptly naming the sluggish snake-infested creek that emerged from the nearby swamps as Bayou Mardi Gras. He then immediately headed for higher ground.
Bienville lacked a great party sensibility, but he at least understood the need for the acknowledgement of a necessary holiday.
Over three centuries later, on 11 February 2006 the Krewe de Vieux proclaimed "C'est Levee!" as its theme and rolled through Bywater, the Faubourg Marigny and the Vieux Carré neighborhoods with two thousand liquid-enhanced costumers marching amidst dozens of mule-drawn floats, all satirizing the humourless bureaucrats in control of their fates. One float entitled "Buy Us Back, Chirac!" once again reminded the world of our origins in a far less serious culture. I think we all agree these days, that even rule via Paris would be preferable to our current situation.
I laughed a great deal that night and did not feel guilty. I seldom feel guilt about happiness.
Of course I did not personally receive a cheque from FEMA.
openDemocracy writers examine the fallout of hurricane Katrina (September 2005):
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Though you have to admire the attitude of some people who did. A friend of mine, a long-time bartender at Tujague's which coincidentally was founded in 1856, the same year as the first Mardi Gras parade recently took a portion of the proceeds of a FEMA payment for the complete destruction of her family home, and purchased C-cup breasts, which were attached to her body with much skill and taste. The new appendages accompanied her to Tujague's last week and were showcased for approval among us regulars. Quite a pleasant surprise, to look up from my bourbon and see such an exhibit. But again, I felt no guilt. In case any of you are coming to town, the new-found twins are expected to be on frequent display during the upcoming Carnival weekend.
Coincidentally, that is what Mardi Gras has come to be known for, the collegiate flesh and bead exchange on Bourbon Street. I suppose that's what the conservative politicians really think we are all doing down here this season. We should be out chopping away mould and raising sheetrock, scraping contaminated mud off our drives and flushing sewer lines, and instead we are debauching.
You know, after six months of the former, I am completely enamoured with the prospect of five days of the debauch option. With a moratorium on good taste.
The strip clubs on Bourbon Street, which have been flourishing with the numbers of relief workers, soldiers and carpetbaggers all these last months, are beginning to show a decline in patronage as the numbers of naked revellers on the streets increases. Why pay to be in a dark club, when there is this great free ongoing show outside?
I must admit that the inventiveness of those preferring nudity without incarceration has grown in recent years, especially as large numbers of talented airbrush artists have descended on the city. I have already made my first sighting, in the French Market yesterday. While unsuccessfully searching for fresh fruit unsuccessfully because for the first time since 1791 there is no fresh produce in the market I looked up and spied a young couple, male and female, shopping for beads. They were wearing socks and shoes. Though, due to the most amazing trompe l'oeil clothing that they had sprayed in a millimetre-thick layer of colour on their skins, I had to look twice, even thrice, to notice that they were truly naked.
Jim Gabour (right) with his brother
© Jim Gabour
"Mardi Gras Mambo, babies." All I could say.
Then I smiled.
This because I have once again taken a political/philosophical position for this carnival. We all do, those who mask religiously, in one way or another.
Simultaneously I am doing my bit to clean up the city as part of my carnival costuming.
I have been gathering lengths of the bright fluorescent "Caution" tape I have found littering the sites of demolished structures. As a further ironic indicator of the influx of migrant reconstruction workers, the tape is actually bilingual it reads "Caution/Cuidado", the words printed in large black capital letters along its length.
Cuidado. I worry that irony may also not be allowed under the federal order. "Be serious," they have warned.
The logistics of a simple Mardi Gras costume: I am hot-gluing hundreds of feet of the Caution tape to an old raincoat, and converting a used orange rubber street-marker cone into a hat festooned with small orange gas-line marker flags. I have a small battery operated fan that I will carry in hand.
My theme: "Throw Caution to the Winds".
This attitude in place, I suspect my imminent arrest by the Gaiety Police may well be certain.
And come Tuesday eve, I may call upon you to furnish bail.
Mardi Gras Mambo, babies.
