Be a good stranger

Welcome to New Orleans. You must have a lot of questions — I know you do, because I’m one of those people who ends up answering them, and most of them I answer happily. I want to share my city with you; I want you to fall in love with it, come back and visit again, and talk about it positively to people when you’re back home or elsewhere. One of my favorite things is when people say, “You’re all so warm and welcoming here. I love it.” They say that a lot, and every time, I get a little tear (I do!) and thank them.

Some questions, though, shouldn’t be asked, or at least not so carelessly.

You might have heard there was a really, really bad hurricane and an even worse levee failure here in 2005. It made the papers. Everyone knew it was happening (except a President, but whatever). The place was about 80% flooded — pictures of it can be easily accessed online.

“Were you here when Katrina hit? Was this spot flooded? Was it awful?” They always lean in, like a friend would. But a friend wouldn’t ask such questions. A friend would know that if someone *was* here then, they might not want to talk about it because it was “awful” and likely the worst experience the askee went through.

I was not here then. I was lucky enough to watch the horrible unfolding of events and worry about my people who were here from afar. I did say that — once — out loud to a lady, and maybe she realized the inappropriateness of her questions, because she didn’t press.

Many people do press, though. The people of New Orleans are not part of some grand theatre experiment — despite efforts to make it so on the part of some politicians and a few on the tourist board, we are not Disneyland yet. We live here, we work here, and many people suffered because they were here. Their suffering should not be a point of interest on someone’s vacation to be discussed over casual meals.

It is unfair to pin someone at work (or anywhere, but especially at work, where our famous warmth also is expected to not crack under pressure or we might get fired) and start asking questions about the single greatest collective trauma the population has undergone, the effects of which are still being felt — structurally and personally.

Your curiosity is soul-killing.

Let’s put the shoe on the other foot. I work in a tourist area. I love meeting people from all over the planet. I am not, in the middle of a transaction, going to look at someone’s license or passport and ask someone from Aurora, Colorado if they were “in that theatre”, nor someone from Japan if they can see the glow of Fukushima. That would be ghoulish. The very idea of it just makes me sad. As it should.

Please, read a book (there are many — One Dead In Attic, by Chris Rose, and Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans, edited by David and Bruce Routledge are two good ones to start with), watch a documentary (Harry Shearer and Spike Lee did some rather good work on this subject, both their projects are available on Amazon, possibly on Netflix as well sometimes). You can also take tours from people trained to discuss it and who probably won’t be blindsided by sudden memories they didn’t want to think about that day.

Have some mercy.

Christie M. Schaefer

Written by

Worker, writer, comma-happy glitter-lover.

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