I had a minor heart attack when I got to the NOAC event that my office was going to have a table at. I didn't see anyone from our office (which isn't common, and is a larger conversation for another time) when I got there, but I DID see the district attorney himself, Leon Cannizzaro, at the event chatting with a few police officers. Other than me and the guys that made the film they showed at the event (called Shell Shocked, which is actually turning out to be a pretty good commentary on violence in the city), Leon and the cops were the only white people in the park. As if we didn't have enough people getting confused between our office and the DA, we have an official spot at an event where the DA shows up and there's nobody from our office around. It was a little discouraging. Our community outreach directer was there, who I saw later, so it wasn't a COMPLETE no-show. Might as well have been though.
When I was walking back I was drawn to the sound of music down Rocheblave St. Now, I wasn't in what one might call a "safe" part of town. I had walked from Tulane and Broad to Claiborne and Orleans, and then I was walking down Lafitte St back towards Broad to catch the bus. So, I was wandering around the Treme and mid-city around 8PM - not outrageous, but definitely nothing like any of the neighborhoods I've lived in before. When I made it to the event on Rocheblave, I saw that it was being hosted by the Greater Zion Baptist Church, mostly because there were tables with the name plastered to the front, and partially because of the music coming from a stereo positioned in the doorway of the church. One of the deacons walked over to me and introduced himself - in fact, several people introduced themselves to me and everyone was very welcoming. The deacon asked me "do YOU live around here?" He was trying to be genuine, but there was no way that he could hide the incredulity. I can imagine what was going through his head- it didn't really make sense for me to be living there, but it also didn't make any sense that I would be there if I didn't. Not really a high-traffic area, and besides that I was the only white person on the block. Probably within 10 blocks. Actually, it was even more distinct than that. Not only was I the only white person there, but I was one of the only men there at all. If you don't count the deacon, I was probably the only male between the ages of 15 and 35. I wish I were joking.
And that brings me to my issue with the Night Out Against Crime, which is similar to the issue that I had with the Orleans Parish Prison Reform Coalition speak-out sessions against the Department of Justice: the people whose presence is truly needed don't come out. If we believe what everyone says at these events (and in general, really), which is that most of the violence in the city is committed by and against young black males, then how can we do any good when those people aren't part of the movement? All the mothers in the city who have lost their sons to violence can hang out together and commiserate, but until they can bring the remaining sons out to see the hurt that is caused to the community by violence, then we might as well just call it like it is and have support groups instead of community action events. Are the kids that go to church the ones that keep getting shot or getting locked up for gun charges? And if not, then maybe the church should close up shop for a little bit and the congregation should go spend some time outside of the corner stores where people hang out. You have little to no legitimacy when you're not part of that life experience. That's why I'm the wrong person to start the movement, I'm very aware of that. But I'm only slightly more wrong than a grandmother who knows everyone in the neighborhood; because neither of us has ever been told that we have to go shoot the guy who killed our brother so that they don't come after us too. She has a better understanding of the effects of the problem than me because she's probably felt them more acutely, but that doesn't give her the legitimacy needed to change an entire culture. An entire lifestyle.
So what do we end up with? A big gathering with a bunch of kids that are too young to understand what's going on and a bunch of adults whose experiences don't seem relevant to the group that people are most concerned about perpetuating the cycle of violence. We've basically hit every group that CAN'T DO ANYTHING about the problem. To a very limited extent, if you can get the local politicians involved, they can work to improve opportunities and make the system more navigable for the young and under-resourced, and potentially limit violence in that way. But no politician, no matter how powerful, can waive their magic wand and fix the whole problem. There's an entire history that can never be fully resolved, and there's a long way to go before people are willing to give that up. A narrative has been set in motion and so many people have been socialized with that narrative, that the only way to stop the violence is to rewrite history or adopt a new narrative. Neither of those things can happen without the support of the people who buy in to that narrative the most. And those people the ones that are conspicuously absent from most of the community organizing events I've seen so far in the city. Maybe, just maybe, it's going to take more than free hot dogs and a few ads in the Gambit to get somewhere with the highest murder rate in the country.
