Turning a blind eye is a severely common practice in today’s world. If it does not affect me, why should I care? I am no exception to this reality. It is easier to not care about a problem than it is to actually act on it. That does not mean it is right. Sarah Broom illustrates this dilemma in her novel The Yellow House following the disaster of Hurricane Katrina. This hurricane destroyed the Broom household, displacing her family for years. It displaced thousands of families in New Orleans East. Even now, much of the black population has not returned to the city since 2005. President Bush encouraged families to make their long-awaited return to the city to turn it back on its feet. But, how? Many of these communities did not have the financial capacity to return home. Furthermore, there was a glaring lack of support for these families. Specifically, people that originated from impoverished, predominantly Black neighborhoods. This depicted the situation in New Orleans East after Katrina. The government funneled aid to the visible parts of the city, like the French Quarter. Sarah Broom’s neighborhood was not included in these plans. This absence of care was unbelievably present when we visited the Ninth Ward and New Orleans East. Empty lots filled the land, signifying the families that never were able to return home. The land of Sarah’s childhood home was sold away since her family could not afford to rebuild it. Her family never returned to 4121 Wilson Avenue.
“This is the place to which I belong, but much of what is great and praised about the city comes at the expense of its native black people, who are, more often than not, underemployed, underpaid, sometimes suffocated by the mythology that hides the city’s dysfunction and hopelessness.”
The signing away of the yellow house illustrated the systemic neglect of these areas by governmental institutions. The Yellow House no longer exists, it has recently been sold to the car junkyard. This neglect is a prime example of turning a blind eye. After Katrina ended and news started shifting to other topics, so did the sense of urgency to support those affected. People in power and the greater public of New Orleans largely disregarded the suffering of low-income families. However, Sarah’s work does not let us forget this. Through The Yellow House, she forces us to confront what happens when society collectively decides that certain problems and people are not worth investing in. She calls us to pay attention, even when it is inconvenient.
Over the past two weeks, I have found myself relaxing in CC’s Coffee House in the French Quarter, the very place where Sarah Broom once worked. I usually order some type of over-priced iced coffee, along with a bagel (cream cheese costs an extra $1.05…ugh). Yesterday, as I sat here mindlessly sipping my iced mocha, I realized I was the exact person the Broom alludes to in The Yellow House: a tourist who only associates New Orleans with the French Quarter. Prior to reading the memoir, I was blissfully unaware of the other neighborhoods, like New Orleans East. I never paid attention to these impoverished communities that live in the shadow of the French Quarter. This realization mirrors the broader issues that Broom discusses. Money pours into transforming the city so that it is appealing to outsiders, while little of that revenue is directed towards rebuilding the areas that define the true identity of New Orleans. So, what does this dilemma say about the city, or us, when the communities that need the most care remain hidden from view?
Resthaven Memorial Park. This is where Sarah’s childhood best friend, Alvin, was buried after his death in a car accident on Chef Menteur Highway. His grave remains unmarked, with no headstone, or physical remembrance to commemorate his life. At the entrance of the cemetery, a massive stone stands to honor the Haydel family. It stands proudly next to a tiny podium that reads, “In memory of the unknown infant and all other victims of Hurricane Betsy, September 19, 1965, that will never be forgotten”. It is unclear if the Haydel name is in relation to the owners behind the Whitney Plantation. Regardless, the symbolic nature of this juxtaposition is striking. The grand memorial directly next to the anonymous victims’ marker relays a deeper story about who gets remembered and who slips into a historical silence. It is an illustration of the racial inequality that is etched into the very landscape of this city. Names like Haydel are preserved while lives of the most vulnerable, like Alive, are completely forgotten.
This imagery instantly transported me to the Whitney Plantation and to the film, 12 Years a Slave. Watching this movie was emotionally taxing, showing intensely gruesome scenes based on a true story from Solomon Northup. I found myself wincing and desiring to look away. But, that is the point. It is supposed to make viewers uncomfortable. History this brutal is not meant to be digestible, it is meant to reveal the realities of our nation's past. At the Whitney Plantation, reading firsthand accounts from enslaved people who lived to see 1865 was haunting. Even after the Emancipation Proclamation, the fight did not end there. Freedom did not equate to equality. The struggle continued, and still does, for Black communities to claim spaces in an unjust world. This was evident while visiting the William Frantz School, where four young black girls had to fight for their spot at school.
Our group visited places most affected by Hurricane Katrina, including the abandoned Six Flags. This land, once known as Jazzland, has been recently bought by Elvin Ross under another company. He took us around the empty lot. While the buildings are completely destroyed from the flooding, Mr. Ross sees potential. He plans to transform the area into a filming lot that doubles as a space for corporate retreats. His vision is ambitious as he plans to develop a multi-purpose filming space, a family recreational area, an eSports area, villas, etc. It was inspiring to witness a New Orleans native be passionate about addressing the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. It felt more so about reclaiming a space repeatedly written off by others. Mr. Ross expressed how he believes finishing Jazzland is important to the surrounding community as it is one of the final steps in rebuilding the city.
While the Yellow House no longer stands and the land is being absorbed into a junkyard, the memories and stories still remain. Sarah Broom’s memoir forces readers to witness the people and places that society often chooses to ignore. From unmarked graves to forgotten neighborhoods, Broom reminds us that memory holds power and that silence is an active choice people make. Thus, we each hold a responsibility to not turn away when atrocities are being performed. We owe it to communities like New Orleans East to never turn a blind eye again.