Tell me how we got over Lord
Had a mighty hard time coming on over
You know my soul look back and wonder
How did we make it over
-- "How I Got Over"
I just returned from “The City that Care Forgot,” where I joined thousands (here and here) who rallied and marched for the right of Katrina survivors to return, vote and rebuild their communities.
My visit was filled with wrenching images, none more graphic than the Lower 9th Ward, an eerily silent landscape where time has stood still. A neighborhood that had the highest homeownership rate in New Orleans is now filled with houses ripped from their foundations, rusting cars and mounds of trash. “TFW” (Toxic Flood Water) marks the spot where hope has been abandoned.
But my most indelible image was actually a flashback. As I neared the New Orleans Convention Center on my way to the rally, I saw the faces and heard the cries for help of those who had been left behind without food or water. When some of the survivors tried to cross the Gretna Bridge in search of help, they were blocked by the police.
So, on Saturday we marched across the Crescent City Connection into Gretna. Though I routinely walk miles every day and had eaten a full breakfast, I was drained at the end of the march. The experience made me again look back and wonder how black folks got over.
The resilience of Katrina survivors is rooted in their faith. It is expressed in their unique culture and their gift to the world -- jazz. As Prof. Michael Eric Dyson said: “We took their jazz. We now need to give them justice.”
N.O. justice, no peace.
