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Times Like These…

Posted on February 7, 2007 by Varg

Making the rounds on other blogs yesterday was a story by the New York Times that examines the cycle of violence and the state of the New Orleans’ criminal justice system, essentially painting it in a none-to-favorable light.

There was nothing groundbreaking in the article for us. But the rest of the country, well, it takes them a little while to catch up when they aren’t saying we deserved it or simply making sick jokes about our entire region

Jordan’s comments in the article are laughable. He states that he often can’t find witnesses when we all know his office can’t even use a phone book.

The article goes on to throw out some statistics that everybody who lives here already knows (12 percent of murders are prosecuted successfully). Then it states witnesses are often afraid to cooperate. Then it states drug dealers kill for the thrill of it.

To someone who didn’t live here and wasn’t keeping up with what’s going on around town, it might be an eye-opening article. I’m happy the Times wrote it and hopefully it will reach the right people who may offer some solutions. But, to be honest, I’m sure the word is out about New Orleans being a mess, now what is going to be done about it?

I have been very happy with the coverage the Times has given to New Orleans since the flood. In the months following, I was in a position where I could read the Lady most days on my lunch break and they continued to cover the recovery long after the networks and other publications moved on to sexier stories.

What has gotten under the skin of some other local bloggers is the insinuation that the Jan. 11 march was motivated by a single instance of black-on-white crime.

We all know it wasn’t that single crime. But the perception remains. And I’m not so sure if it isn’t deserved.

I first felt like marching back in June of 2006. If I heard that the friends and families of those teen-agers were getting a protest together, I would have been there ready and willing. I was ready to march again in August. But again, I heard nothing about an event. If there were such gatherings following these incidents, the news never reached me. If it had, I would have been there. I was as angry then as I was in January. As I was this weekend.

I am actually ready to march against the New Orleans Criminal Justice System anytime the rest of us are. I’m ready right now because I don’t think they are trying hard enough. I will keep wanting to until someone resigns and is replaced by someone of vision and not rhetoric.

Of course, with previous horrific murders, I didn’t ask any of my friends if they wanted to get a march together. I am also not so bold as to lie and say I would have taken it upon myself to organize the protest on Jan. 11 either. I took part because others showed the bravery to lead that I lacked. Though, in fairness to myself, I am sure I would have found it if it were someone on my block, in my neighborhood. That sounds insensitive but, please understand though that we are simply more sensitized and stirred to action when someone close to us is victimized. More on this later.

So when a white woman was killed, the march finally materialized. Wait, that’s not right. Let me rephrase.

So 162 people were killed and a community leader and a band leader was shot in the head and seven police officers were indicted for murder and a Police Chief held a press conference touting the insane murder rate as something fantastic and then eight more people were killed and then a white woman was killed and the march finally materialized.

Though in all fairness, it wasn’t a coincidence that it happened following the death of Helen Hill. One would be quite foolish, and irresponsible, not to connect the two events in some way. But what is left out in doing so is the fact that, had Helen Hill’s murder happened in a random act of violence and not after days and days of bloodshed and oblivious leadership, there probably wouldn’t have been a protest.

To make the march happen, it took equal parts of Helen Hill and years of dysfunction. Without either, it probably would not have occurred.

But a different way of looking at it would be, perhaps the march would not have been organized without the friends of Helen Hill having the bravery to do it. And that is what turns this into a black and white thing.

How many of New Orleans 162 other murder victims were as innocent as Helen Hill and deserved their own marches? I couldn’t say who may or may not have met their demise through wrongful actions or lifestyle choices but it is safe to assume that some of them were as innocent as Helen Hill.

Which of course leads to massive disconnect between the black and white communities in New Orleans. If the same situation that occurred to Helen Hill happened in a different neighborhood, to a different woman, under similar circumstances, would there have been a march? Why or why not?

So when the Times insinuates that the march took place in the wake of a white woman’s murder, they are certainly correct in semantics. And regardless of what the truth is, that is always the way it will be perceived by anyone other than The 5000.

What I believe is the march happened because the friends and neighbors of Helen Hill took a stand and touched a nerve that united all the communities of New Orleans.

And to the friends and families of those out there dying, I’m ready to get together and do it again if you are.

4 thoughts on “Times Like These…”

  1. TM says:
    February 7, 2007 at 8:52 pm

    I just read in the comments on Signal 26 that there is some organizing of citizens to attend the city council meeting next week. Also, go to American Zombie’s comments and put in your 2 cents.

  2. da po' boy says:
    February 7, 2007 at 11:25 pm

    But a different way of looking at it would be, perhaps the march would not have been organized without the friends of Helen Hill having the bravery to do it.

    Great point.

    I think “the friends of Helen Hill” would have had the bravery to march if it were a different friend with a different skin color killed in the same neighborhood under similar circumstances.

    Sadly, I don’t think my friends would have marched if it had been me. Of course, that probably says more about me than my friends.

  3. ashley says:
    February 8, 2007 at 1:58 am

    I’m always ready to march. It does piss me off to no end that Dinerral’s death wasn’t the catalyst, and it did take a white woman to be the “tipping point”; but I’m with you, I was ready in June.

    Enough bad PR will actually have an impact on these mooks. We need to keep marching until something substantial happens.

  4. jeffrey says:
    February 8, 2007 at 9:51 am

    One of the more disappointing aspects of the coverage of the big march is that it wasn’t the first protest of this nature. Do you remember when all of those “Enough!” signs began appearing all over Central City? They were part of an anti-crime march organized by ministers back in October. Remember this guy who went on a hunger strike in December? The problem is not so much that white people are only outraged when a white woman is the victim.. it’s that white people’s outrage is what precipitates a national media event. The story now being told is that there was no outcry before Helen Hill’s death. This is patently untrue.. and I think that’s part of what you are expressing here.

    The other part of your complaint has to do with the fact that citizens are moved to protest not just the violence but also the cynical lazy incompetence of city leaders. That’s a difficult thing for national media to get right because it tends to get covered in a way that reflects badly on all of us.

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3 Noble Truths

Know yourself. Know the Universe. Know yourself in the Universe.

Rev. Varg’s Artist Statement

Rejoice!

I say that a lot. I sign many pieces with it. I do this because I believe our lives are a true happenstance. A brilliant occurence from nothingness. We are so rare. We are so unlikely. And simply being born isn’t enough. From there we must survive, endure. So each morning, after our Sun departs and is reborn again. Please, for the sake of your ancestors and the Universe in general, hoist that cup of joe up and say, “Rejoice.”

Ours is a soulful existence. No matter how many McMansions, polyester fabrics, auto-tunes, modified foods and social networks we surround ourselves with, we are all still native, passionate beings made of ancient matter. We are organic and we have soul.

Wood also has a warm, soulful quality. Wood has a memory. It retains smells, traumas, events. It even has a calendar. This is why I have chosen it as my medium, for its old soul. I like to think the wood in my work is in its third incarnation. First a tree, then a home and now art. If you have a room that needs a little soul, get a piece. A room can never have enough soul.

My inspiration and subject matter comes from many sources, among them: Humanism, old ballads, trickster tales, flora and fauna, science, myths and folklore, stringed instruments, brass bands, amber spirits, lady vocalists, general relativity and quantum mechanics. Some of my pieces are there just to make a short, simple statement about what’s important in life. Some are more diffuse and abstract in meaning. A personal drama, an enduring line from a poem or novel, a poignant song lyric, the legacy of an important person, a fleeting thought … these are the subjects of my art.

I use hearts often because they are a very abstract way of depicting the human soul without also employing the very subjective human form. The symbolic heart is an apt representation for a person’s experience and essence. A body can immediatly conjure happiness, sorrow, youth, age, anger, bliss. These emotions can get in the way. Sometimes it’s simply about the experience.

I am the son of a sailor and a social worker, the grandson of a gypsy, a dancer and a nurse. I spent my youth moving from port city to port city, watching a lot of road go by and reading World Book Encyclopedia. After my parents settled down on the Gulf Coast, I was a miscreant youth, destroying cars and taking the wrongs things too seriously and the right things not serious enough. Eventually I began replacing my imagination with experience.

I will use any salvaged wood but prefer swamp cypress and longleaf heartwood pine.

I despise waste. Particularly the waste of organic matter. Trees are magnificent. They were here before we arrived and they’ll be around after we are gone. I’m making an effort to save as much wood as possible. Creating art is fun too. But beyond communicating with folks, but beyond making money ad providing for myself, beyond rescuing flooded parts, beyond reveling in the ethereal aroma of heartpine that hasn’t seen the light of day in 400 years, beyond all that, I am trying to make a simple comment on waste.

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