I was initially introduced to New Orleans's black and poor neighborhoods in 1991 by way of a consulting planning assignment. The neighborhoods I got to know then are the same neighborhoods that suffered the most severe flooding as a result of hurricanes Katrina and Rita. Now, I have been asked to plan for the recovery of the Lower Ninth Ward.
Stray from the Mississippi River corridor (the French Quarter, the convention center, the Garden District, the St. Charles Boulevard, Audubon Zoo, Tulane University, Uptown, or neighborhoods that surround the University of New Orleans) and you are likely to find weary and run-down neighborhoods. The poor neighborhoods of New Orleans are in as bad shape if not worse than those in Gary, Newark, or even Detroit.
Many of the poor neighborhoods that flooded, Lower Nine among them, have suffered from disinvestment and struggled with severe social problems for decades. Before the hurricanes of 2005, all kinds of infrastructure, streets, sidewalks, overhead and underground utilities, were worn-out, some beyond repair—had any money for repair been available. School buildings and other community facilities reeked figuratively and literally from years of neglect. Few tourists ever see this New Orleans.
I vividly recall being shocked by the deterioration and desperation that hung in the air, mimicking the mid-summer New Orleans humidity. Living conditions at many public housing projects and the neighborhoods around them were appalling. I felt a sense of shame and disgust for society (and myself as a fortunate member of that society) that such conditions could be tolerated. It seemed a cruel joke that one of the worst projects carried the name, Desire.
Crime was out of hand with multiple murders many nights. City government was broke and had little capacity to carry out policy. Nothing seemed to get fixed. Public safety personnel were grossly underpaid. (New Orleans Fire Department firefighters still earn but $8.50 per hour.) My impression then was that New Orleans was more like a Third World city than an American city. Yet, Mardi Gras and Jazz Fest graciously enabled denial and distraction from the city's problems and tensions.
Approximately 80 percent of the city flooded; however, areas along the Mississippi River corridor—the French Quarter, the Upper Garden District and the Tulane /Uptown area—remained “dry.” The terms “upper” and “lower” in New Orleans refer to elevation. Historically, wealthy parts of the city occupied the high ground while first slaves and subsequently the poor and disenfranchised were relegated to the low ground. The water was in excess of 12 feet in some of the lower neighborhoods such as the Lower Ninth Ward.
Lower Nine remains largely empty. Block after block of abandoned houses, most filled with detritus of rotted possessions that once told the story of a life. The personal belongings left behind were the small treasures we all keep close to bless our memories and our connection to family and kin. Little things, but they define who we are, who we belong to, who we love, and who we miss.
In severely flooded neighborhoods, including the Lower Ninth Ward, mold, the handmaiden of flooding, in Louisiana has rendered 90 percent of the flood damaged structures unsalvageable. Estimates are that only 10 percent of residential dwellings that remained standing in Lower Nine can be saved and they are scattered about the Lower Nine, not clustered in any particular area. The inundated flood zones will never return to what they were a year ago. There is much to grieve.
Most distressing to me is the rending of the social bonds that gave sweetness to life in an otherwise problematic city. New Orleans may have been poor, but it was connected through generations by a special culture of closely interwoven networks of intimates. Extended families, a major support for those in the Lower Nine community, are split up. Lifelong friends and their families are also gone.
My sadness for the losses suffered by so many families and the destruction of such a unique place in America approaches the unbearable because I know, along with many others, that this calamity was avoidable. In 2002, I prepared an economic and community development program for a mayoral candidate's campaign. Our first recommendation was to improve the city's hurricane protection. Anyone who was even slightly conscious knew that the levees would fail in a big storm.
Jacques Gourguechon, A.I.C.P, is a city planning consultant from Chicago and a student associate of APsaA.
Barbara Bush made an outrageous gaffe, when touring the Houston Astrodome filled with recently evacuated refugees, by suggesting that “those people” (largely displaced African-American residents of New Orleans) were better off to be out of New Orleans where life was so dismal anyway. While grossly insensitive for a former first lady and mother of the current president to say, it is fair to ask a year later, was she right?
The answer is playing out now and will continue to be revealed over the next five years. Along with a New Orleans based colleague, I have been asked to undertake a program to help the residents of the Lower Ninth Ward create a plan and program for recovery.
The City of New Orleans had a population of 454,000 before hurricanes Katrina and Rita ripped through and the levees failed. It now has a population of 187,500 according to the Louisiana Recovery Authority. About 266,000 New Orleaians remain scattered across the nation. Many have found jobs and housing and their kids have entered public school systems. These American refugees will tell us if Mrs. Bush was on to something.
There is little to induce people to return as of last fall. Essential services are only slowly coming back; many remain woefully inadequate. Except for demolition and reconstruction, there are few jobs. The tourist industry is valiantly working to return, but Bourbon Street was empty the evening I spent in the French Quarter last August.
Recovery becomes a strange word when applied to an entire city. Can New Orleans recover? Without greater hurricane protection than is being proposed at the moment, should the lowest areas of the city (such as the Lower Ninth Ward) be abandoned? How can the residents of Lower Nine participate in such a momentous decision when so many remain in distant cities, continue to struggle with trauma and personal loss or both? Fortunately, a few amazingly resilient people have emerged as leaders. But, after more than a year advocating for their homes and their neighbors in the diaspora, these people are just plain tired.
Along with physical rebuilding, economic recovery will also be necessary. To return to Lower Nine, its people need good jobs that will support a family. How will job training be delivered in a recovery environment? Will their neighborhood be safe? When will medical care be available?
But, most difficult will be to replace the social networks that have been so important. What can we do to create an environment that will make it possible for the people not just to rebuild, but to replace the breakup of multi-generational families, lifelong friendships, and the support and love of fellow congregants—bonds that made the Lower Ninth Ward home despite the problems and poverty? These are the foundations of a way of life and a culture that has enriched us all. And I keep wondering, can a neighborhood be expected to engage in planning in a meaningful way if it has not yet fully grieved its losses?