Different Places, Same Things

Tim Gautreaux’s Floyd’s Girl was an introduction to the Cajun South, a part of Louisiana I was not that eager to investigate besides eating delicious crawfish and dancing. I wasn’t too excited for numerous reasons, often hearing about the negative sides of Cajun culture. That they have strong ties, and strong pride in their Cajun roots, and how they have gone about maintaining this pride generation after generation. Rumor has it that they aren’t very friendly, especially to people like me. You don’t hear very good things about rural Southern Louisiana in liberal California, and I am confident they do not hear many good things about us. I was hesitant of course, worried about resistance and lack of openness to me and my friends. 

As it turned out it would be the exact opposite. Tom Fiddle and his friends opened their doors to us and welcomed us with open arms. Quite literally to think about it, as he personally taught me how to Waltz to a good Cajun song and offered us some of his boudin sausages; opening his home to this diverse group to be engaged with swamp culture. Louisiana Cajun culture was not the ignorant song that we normally hear, but this experience truly highlighted that what Cajuns are about is their love for the community; their intense love to preserve each other and uplift each other just like Gautreaux’s characters in the story that embodies this culture. Maybe a little bit of a dysfunctional community, they had each other’s back and would do anything to support each other. 

The way the Cajun people interacted and protected their youth like a village is not too far off from how the Black community depicted by Ernest Gaines in the 1940s acted. There are so many similarities in our culture, the way we uplift and want the best for each other. We are taught that we are so different from each other, but we are quite the same: looking for ways to preserve our culture and our people. 

And I realized something while spending time with these folks; their fight for freedom, fight to liberate themselves from oppression, and the way they lean into joy and happiness through celebration is so much like the Black community in New Orleans, and all over. I saw a connection between the Black experience and how we have struggled for liberation and a place to call our own, and through it all celebrated our lives through love and joy. The people of Cajun Louisiana have been able to achieve that, and they protect it at all costs. This is something I truly admire about them.

I don’t think it is just that, though. People of the oppressed groups have so much in common with one another; from the fight for freedom to living their lives the way they want them. But as well, as trying to thrive in a world that tells us no. We all have in common that we are marginalized by the majority and live with pride in being ourselves and finding community in that. We are labeled wrongly, stereotyped for not being part of the majority and being proud to defy the norm, creating such a negative image of our liberation and our cultures. I am so like the people of Cajun Louisiana, and they are so much like me. We both fight for a way for our people to thrive and will fight for that.

I had a chance to chat with a lovely friend of Tom’s, who talked about how much this community meant to him. That he loved Cajun Louisiana, because of his friends and his own family he has created with that community. He spoke with so much passion, and with such vigor that if you messed with him, then you are messing with the whole community and that isn’t something you want to face. I know this feeling and identify with it so much; through my love for Black Los Angeles and New Orleans, and the way it has formulated me into the woman I am. I see myself in him, from his passion to his need to protect this community because it has made him, him.

This love for the community is so beautiful.  I found so much of myself in Louisiana and found it repeatedly through the novels we read. 

This was a common theme throughout my journey through Louisiana. From The Awakening, An Interview with a Vampire, Coming Through Slaughter, The Moviegoer, A Lesson Before Dying, and Same Places, Same Things. In each new location from Grand Isle, New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and Lafayette, and in each new book I had the opportunity to read, I was taught about the human desire for community, and when you find it and foster it, this connection grows into the family. I was always taught you can choose your family, and it is not always your blood family. Creating your family and your community is what is so beautiful about life, and maintaining those relationships is what makes life worth living. Having a community makes life worth living.

Community is more than just having people around you, it is what makes people heal. From Hurricane Katrina and the people in New Orleans who couldn’t receive help, to the Appalachia community that was forced down to the swamps of Louisiana. There is so much relating to the oppression of the Black people, to the Vietnamese during the Vietnam War, and to the Trans and Queer people in America fighting their own battles now; we are all the same, looking for community and a place to heal and then, therefore, thrive. We heal when we find community, even when the oppression is so suffocating, that we can’t wake up in the morning, we push forward for the community. 

Repressed groups are often put against each other, making it a world where not all of us can exist, nor exist in peace together. There is so much the Black community can learn from the Cajun people, and the Cajun people from the Black community, if only we could see the similarities between each other. If we weren’t intentionally put against each other, imagine the world we could have? When people can find a common link between each other, and slow down and foster that; what a beautiful thing. 

I applied to this Maymester with ambitions to explore a new world, maybe native to my ancestors, and find myself. I found myself, and much more. I found a much happier me within the community I was able to foster around me, I found strength and leadership through them. Spending a deep 4 weeks with these wonderful people, and with Andrew’s guidance, I discovered a new love for life that was lost years ago to me. I am endlessly grateful. 

When we first landed in Louisiana, I was so excited because I never got the chance to learn about where my family comes from, and found a duality when not being able to merge my identities and feelings. Right when I got off the plane for the first time and heard the bellows of Jazz music and the joy in the second line parade, I felt a sense of true self. I found myself. I found myself along with more knowledge, more love, and more family. I am leaving here with so much more understanding about myself, and so much more love for myself and life. Like Grant and his experiences in Bayonne, I was confronted with my duality of self and how to merge those two. I found that merging those two is through the community I formed and that uplifts me, the sound of music coming from the French Quarter, the loving friends I made, and the love that is given so freely in New Orleans.

At this moment I am incredibly happy. But I am also scared, I am scared to lose this sense of self that I gained here. I talked to so many people and became friendly and more ambitious, kinder and more caring. Louisiana and Andrew have changed me so deeply, and I love who I am today. I found self-love in Louisiana. If anything, Gautreaux and the Cajun people of Louisiana have taught me something, although it is a different place at home, I can absolutely do the same things I found in New Orleans.

From the beauty of the constantly changing environment in Louisiana, and the pain and strife in the long and recent history, to the celebration and love and life, I’ve learned to be grateful for endings because rebirth is coming. Thank you, Louisiana, for everything.

Andrew, thank you for everything. I could not thank you more for your kindness and insights. I am leaving this trip so much different than I came on, and I am endlessly grateful for being able to absorb your knowledge and wisdom. You once said I was the heartbeat of this course (which made me cry) but thank you for allowing me to be. Without you, I do not think I would have been so brave for so many challenging moments or been encouraged to speak up, or just be authentically me. I have grown so much because of your lessons and guidance. Thank you for changing me and challenging me, and allowing for this experience to change me. Through your words, actions, and everything really, I learned to embrace myself and gained a beautiful group of friends while doing so. For that, I am so thankful. Words cannot express how honored and grateful I am to have had this time with you. Thank you.

Also, I am in the best shape of my life due to this trip? Please get a workout plan started.

The Lessons Taught by Gaines

Blog Post #5: - Back in New Orleans - Finished reading A Lesson Before Dying

There are many lessons you can learn in life. You can learn them from almost anything and in all parts of the world, even small towns in Louisiana. I would have to say that my favorite book that we have read on this trip is A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest Gaines. This book was such an incredible read and it was even better to combine us reading the book along with us seeing the town Bayonne was based off of, New Roads.

Intertwining the book and Ernest’s life made the bookpacking experience so much more special. The first place we got to visit was the courthouse in New Roads to see the jail cells and although they were the old ones that they don’t use anymore, they still showed so much. They held and showed so much history and as the woman who was showing us around told us about how everything was run and what was in each cell back then, I started to piece together how everything would have looked in the past. I even started to picture Jefferson in one of the cells talking to Grant, I pictured Grant walking through the metal cell door. Then I started to hear some of the conversions they both had that I read in the book. There was this unusual feeling that came over me as I was walking through the cells, and I don’t think I could have ever felt this feeling anywhere else. It had to be at that moment, in that cell, and while also reading the book for everything to hit me that way. 

The next day we went to see Ernest Gaines’ house. At first it looked like a simple but beautiful house behind a huge perfectly cut green lawn with the letters “E” and “G” on the front gates. It seemed like such a normal house until I was told the history of it. It was very interesting to learn that the house was a plot that is a part of a plantation that still stands today. Ernest bought a plot of land on the plantation that his ancestors used to work on. On the plot with his house, he put a church and an extra smaller house behind his to replicate the houses that slaves lived in back then. Along with that, he fixed up the grave site near his house where slaves used be buried because he knew that his aunt and possibly other slaves were in there somewhere under unmarked graves. Today many of his family members, including himself are buried there. 

“Nietzsche said without music, life would be a mistake. To me, without books, life would be a mistake.”

— Ernest J. Gaines

The next day, our last day of learning more about Ernest Gaines and A Lesson Before Dying, we got to visit the Ernest Gaines Center. The coolest part was when we got to read original manuscripts of the book, even some parts that weren’t in the published version. We saw a lot like how he originally wrote the book, his side notes on the manuscript, and which parts of the book were so significant that he wanted to keep. It was like getting a glimpse into his head. 

Although I didn’t know Ernest and I unfortunately didn’t get to meet him, I feel like I know so much about him and I am in awe of everything that he strived to do and has done for his people. When learning about his life, I started to realize that there were a couple of similarities within his life and Grant’s. They both had close relatives that worked on the plantation, they lived on plantations when they were young, and most of all, after leaving the plantation where they grew up, they both came back. It’s like something is bringing both of them back there, as if they’re connected to their homeland. Ernest did spend the rest of his life living there and the fact that he chose to be buried where he grew up says a lot. Not just himself, but his ancestors, his bloodline is connected there and it was truly an honor to be there and see just what he has done with the land he bought. One of the things that I think really stood out to me about A Lesson Before Dying and the way the book was written is that it seems no naturally realistic and I think that is because Gaines lived during that time and experienced some things mentioned in the book. I know that I will read some of his other books later on in the future and I really look forward  to it. 

I walked away learning a lot from this part of the trip. Even though Ernest Gaines is no longer with us, I would say that he himself has taught me a lesson; a lesson on the history of his life, the history of life in New Roads, Louisiana during the 1940s, and that no matter where you are or who you are, you can always gain more knowledge even on things you may have thought you knew a lot about. I think that all of these things were very important for me to learn. May he rest in peace.

Cajun Country

The bayou at Evangeline Oak Park

The last portion of our trip was through Cajun country of Lafayette, LA. Although I’d heard of Cajuns before this trip, I’d never learned about what the word meant. Andrew explained that it was a group of people descended from French Canadian settlers who had been forced out of the north, but as is often the case, the literal definition of their history is nowhere near enough to describe this group. On our first day in Lafayette, we went to see the Evangeline Oak, a tree named for an old romantic legend. It was a massive oak tree in a tiny park, surrounded by thick, muddy bayou waters. In all of the different little towns we visited, the surrounding swamp was always present. It was a reminder, we were out in the middle of nowhere. But it never felt threatening. Instead, it added to the quietness of all of the towns. It made it clear that we were in a place that wasn’t about the stresses of urban environments. 

A live oak covered in Spanish moss at the Jungle Gardens

We got to experience this environment even closer when we visited Avery Island. We stopped briefly in the Tabasco factory shop, a hilarious tribute to and collection of all things Tabasco including jewelry, stuffed animals, stickers, and tiny bottles of hot sauce that were about the size of my thumb. However, the highlight of this place was the Jungle Gardens we then drove into and explored. The Jungle Gardens were a huge park made of swamp, filled with gorgeous live oaks whose branches dripped with Spanish moss. We saw an alligator who made its home in a pond, and a lookout point at “Bird City”, the ruins of some old wooden swamp building that was now the resting place of hundreds and hundreds of majestic white egrets. 

“Bird City”

What was by far the most impactful part of our time in Cajun country, though, was when we went to a Cajun music jam in the tiny town of Arnaudville. We stopped on our way at the supermarket to pick up some food, the gathering being a potluck as well as a music-making session. Then, after driving farther and farther from the more centralized little towns of the area, we pulled into this quaint little village. One of the few non-house buildings was labeled with a sign that said “Tom’s Fiddle and Bow” which was where we were going. We entered the cozy shop’s front room, and were immediately greeted by the melody of violins and accordions. A few people, all in their 60s-80s, sat in the front room, playing music. Past this, a back room housed a small kitchen and a slightly larger group of bluegrass musicians, also all in their 60s-80s, on guitars and mandolins and singing together as they played. And in those first minutes of letting the music wash over me, I had a realization–I’d never before been to a gathering held purely for the purpose of wanting to make music together. There was no audience, no formality, no productivity, no goal. Everyone was there because something inside them made them want to make music and be with people. The shop, unsurprisingly, belonged to a man named Tom, who based his business here of repairing fiddles. Fiddles hung on all of the walls, seeming to declare the space as a home of music. 

Andrew playing violin at the Cajun music jam

The way everyone was immediately so friendly and open toward us felt surprising. Here we were, a group of obvious foreigners to this land, none of us knowing anyone there other than Andrew. It would have been so easy to ignore us or dislike us, but that never seemed to even be a possibility there. The people smiled and talked to us, telling us stories of their lives and what had brought each of them here. I was struck with emotion as the lively music washed over me. Everyone there had whole lifetimes of experiences, many dating back seven or eight decades, having come here to this tiny town from both all over the country and from the immediate area, and here they all were, united as one group because they wanted to make music. As time went on, the bluegrass group got smaller but the Cajun group got bigger. Andrew got a fiddle from Tom and joined in the music making, following along and improvising. There was no written guide for any of it; it was all played from memory and from the heart and from people feeling the music and joining in. 

A freeform sketch of the Cajun music group all united in music

At a certain point, Andrew encouraged me to join in, after I admitted I played a bit of guitar. I was nervous to join. I didn;t know what I was doing, and I was afraid of ruining the beautiful songs that all of these people were working so hard to play. But I got a guitar from Tom and walked up to the circle. An older lady there looked at me and smiled wide and immediately shifted her chair over to make space for me. I looked to the fingers of the other guitar players to follow along. Although I was new, I had been welcomed in like I was a part of the community. Everyone’s kindness and openness absolutely astounded me. At one point, a man who was clearly well respected, who although he was younger was being looked to by everyone to lead the music, made eye contact with me as I was trying to figure out what to play. He had been incredibly skillfully playing intricate fingering patterns, but he stopped, and began to play the open chords of the music so I could follow along and join in. The warmth of the gesture floored me. He stopped being the leader of the music, he stopped his demonstration of skill and grace, just to help introduce me, a stranger, to the music making. We never said a word to each other; he was playing guitar and singing the entire time we were there. As we all sang and danced together, I felt a happiness and a fullness I hadn’t felt in a long time. 

What Makes Us Country?

When people hear of country, it’s like they picture trucks, rodeos, line-dancing, and red-necks. They picture a hostile unwelcoming environment mirroring the climate of the swamp. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good line-dance and I know every lyric from Jordan Davis to Luke Combs. However, I don’t think that’s what country is about. I think that is a misconstrued idea that has been developed over the years through movies and books. At the end of the day, Country isn’t a style of clothing consisting of boots and a Stetson, it is a lifestyle. Traveling to Baton Rouge and Lafayette after reading the Moviegoer, I was able to see clearly how country was about simplistic living.

For me, I was able to witness on this trip that at the heart of country was community through the small towns we visited. This sense of community in which people treat each other as family. A lifestyle in which it is custom to wave to every person you see and to invite visitors into your home.  In St. Martensville, I witnessed how a client at Subway saw an older citizen walk in and paid for their meal out of respect. In Point Coupee, we saw and heard about how Sheriff Renee knew all the citizens in his parish. In Lafayette, we were invited to Tom’s Jam and were greeted with great hospitality to the point that he taught us to play and dance to Cajun music with his own instruments despite his illness. This kindness even extended to the big bad city, that was unique in the sense that it still had country elements. Every Morning and Afternoon, I was greeted by Todd, Kevin, and Paul; whom would ask about my day. They would spend almost an hour talking to me about how I feel, showing how much, they cared for us as a group despite not knowing us for a long time. Kevin even had bought me a Gatorade once because it was a hot day. All three expressed, how they didn’t really get paid for this, but they did it anyways because it was their pleasure.

It is a lifestyle in which this sense of community is more than enough. People aren’t looking for a luxurious house, they are looking to spend time with their loved one’s dancing and singing on a Sunday afternoon. At Tom’s Jam, I had the opportunity to have two eye-opening conversations about life. The first was with this girl named Janice, and the second was with the photographer. Janice talked to us about how she had this whole successful life in San Francisco, however, she was unhappy with “city life” not allowing her to enjoy the little things that life has to offer. She told us how although Lafayette is completely different, she was happier and felt a sense of belonging. She was happier that she knew her neighbors from down the street, and how people in the community would check in on each other. In terms of my conversation with the photographer, he discussed how he would always do things in life for others, however, through his lifestyle now he was able to finally live describing his adventures as a scuba diver, photographer, and piolet.  He urged us young folks to not get caught up in the haste of things in trying to achieve that luxurious status, saying how by the end we should say that we have nothing to regret. This made me reflect on conversations I had with my parents. My parents grew up in the rural countryside of Guatemala, and in moving to the United States we didn’t have much. Yet, they would always say to me how despite not having much, we were happy because we always had each other. It was something that didn’t resonate until I was alone at college trying to seek that degree. There were moments in which I was unhappy despite pursuing my passion because all I wanted was a hug from my parents

Country is a healthy lifestyle that teaches you the importance of simply having loyalty and family around. I think that as a class group, we got to experience that through this trip. None of us knew each other at the start of this trip, yet that didn’t stop us from caring about one another. Even in the bad moments such as being locked out in the sun, we were content. For one instance, in Grand Isle we had nothing but each other and Alex despite knowing him for merely two days prepared my dinner because my hand was cut.  We also learned on this trip, to talk and be kind to strangers which is something that isn’t taught in the city. In going back, I know that I need to be more country and learn to appreciate my surroundings in my daily life more. Overall, being country shouldn’t be looked down upon rather it should be embraced and incorporated into the haste of city life.

Afterthoughts

I have never visited a place as a “tourist” for this long – almost a month on this trip. Knowing that I will be leaving New Orleans to head back into my ‘normal’ life; that I do not know when, if ever, I will come back to this city, feels uncanny. While I wouldn’t be arrogant enough to say I have become assimilated into the city – returning to the same hotel after our three day stops at Baton Rouge and Lafayette – there was a sense of familiarity to a degree that I had never experienced before. 

I deliberately avoided blogging about Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer, because I felt emotionally and academically detached from it. To put it bluntly, it did nothing for me. Listening to Andrew and others in the group unpack the book underneath the shade of a tree in Audubon Park; drawing universal messages from it about recognizing the importance of the little shared experiences and relationships, I was affected, but I did not feel like it altered my relationship with the book. Returning to New Orleans, however, I constantly find my mind drifting towards The Moviegoer. 

Perhaps it was my attitude at the time of originally reading and discussing the novel. We were immersed in the city – touring, blogging, and writing our papers. It was hard to truly grasp the feeling of “everydayness” when the things I was doing every day were so different – so distant from what I picture as everyday. These last two nights in the city, without any large plans and only one seminar for reflection and self-evaluation, the everydayness finally sunk in. 

Binx talks about needing to “learn something about the theater or the people who operate it, to touch base before going inside.” I always found this fact about him rather interesting – he goes to movies to immerse himself in fictional worlds – a very self-aware form of escapism, but a necessary prerequisite to this is being aware of the space itself. We watched Jazz Fest: A New Orleans Story at Prytania theaters at canal place. While my memories of the movie are vivid, the movie theater itself has blended into the other movie theaters in malls that I have been to. So much of what I remember is the experience of watching a movie, the experience provided to me by the screen, but the space itself escapes me. 

Thinking back on these past few weeks; perhaps, my eyes were too drawn to the metaphoric screen, and not the space itself. Of course, I was detached as I am just watching a movie, but, in a sense, the difference between Binx and I when we visited a movie theater captures the shift in attitude I had. Experiencing a new place through the filter of its literature is something I have never done before. For most of the books, this enhanced my engagement and immersion in their stories, but for The Moviegoer, paradoxically, the filter of literature blocked my ability to emotionally connect with Binx’s solution to his existential angst at the end of the novel. In a way, this is not too different from Binx needing to see past the layer of movies that tint his perspective. 

Initially, after we returned, I was still partly experiencing the city as a moviegoer. Early on, when I visited Arcadian Books and Prints, the owner gave me a map of all the independent used-bookstores in the French Quarter. I visited every one of them except Dauphine Street Books, and the first thing I wanted to do when we were back was visit it to complete that map, which I did do. 

But after this, even though there was a lot of the city I wanted to revisit, new places, museums that I wanted to explore, the everydayness set in. Maybe my mind was preparing itself for what followed the end of this trip. Regardless, reaching the end has finally given The Moviegoer a more definite place in the version of New Orleans that is in my head. I still do not completely connect with it at this stage – the ending feels far too resolved – but I do not feel as detached from the book. 

Eating Louisiana: Last Sunrise to Sunset

As I type, I try to recall all the memories and connections that I made in the Southern state of Louisiana. All the locations we visited, the food and drink we devoured (especially this), and the lessons we learned when weren’t expecting them. In Grand Isle, I was taught the importance of rest and relaxation through the eyes of Kate Chopin’s The Awakening. Creoles like Edna do not let world events dictate their state of mind. Rather, they let themselves and nature take the steering wheel. This island was a great introduction into exploring my own Creole roots as well as grasping what it meant to live outside city lights. As a group, we shared our interests and aspirations over troves of fried (and non-fried) dishes, ranging from okra and fish po’boys at Starfish to jambalaya and meat pies at Jo-Bob’s Gas & Grill. The house-like cabin we stayed in played an immense role in easing conversation. A communal space was what we needed to break the ice and set the foundation for the relations that we nurtured throughout the rest of the Maymester.

“One good meal reminds us of why we want to be alive.”

— Andrew Chater

If you want to satisfy your stomach, eat alone. If you want to take your taste buds farther, I recommend bringing a group to the table. The Big Easy absolutely adores this concept of food-sharing. In Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, Louis, Lestat, and Claudia become almost inseparable during their nights of terror and hunger. From this novel, I was taught to never roam this city’s streets alone and to travel in a group, even if that group decides to split off and you find yourself in that fateful IHOP. Reflecting on these first encounters with the city, I was brought back to a phrase that I encountered while reading in Grand Isle: “si tu savais” (if only you knew). Despite the expertise and rigorous planning of our professor, it would be the moments where things did not go as planned that made the moments memorable, and that first night was no exception.

While in NOLA, I was also given a deeper perspective into life’s meaning via the words of Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer. Sitting in the Audubon Park, our group came to terms with how life is not about strictly following a deep purpose or meeting deadlines and obligations. For me, it is about using time in our own way, to enjoy the things that we like, meet new people, and to grow out of our past perceptions brought on by society’s everlasting weight. And there is no better place to accomplish all these feats than to be amongst the crowd of a Second Line parade on a Sunday afternoon. Watching the Jazz Fest documentary, I got a deeper dive into the cultural background of the people who lived and breathed New Orleans air. Before the film, I never knew about the city’s Cuban influence…although I was getting slight hints each time I saw a Cuban sandwich listed on the menu. Listening to the artists and observing the endless food vendor booths, I would love to check out the festival if I ever get the chance. What’s that phrase again? “Laissez les bons temps rouler” (let the good times roll). I don’t care how many times I hear it; it still holds significance. After this bookpacking venture, I will still find ways to incorporate this style of living into my daily rituals. If you ever decide to venture into this city – alone or with a few companions – just remember: for every dark alley and vice-ridden daiquiri stop, there is a wholesome Thai lady waiting to greet you with a Mai Tai, crispy tofu and okra, and a story.

Downtown Baton Rouge was where I felt I grew the most. In a quiet, almost ghost-like city, I learned about the impact that politics and race have on a community. Political figures like Huey P. Long sought to rally the local populations in the hopes of improving common folks’ lives. Speaking on race, Ernest J. Gaines’s A Lesson Before Dying was both one of my favorite and challenging books to read. In one of my previous blogs, I talked on the importance of community and bringing its inhabitants together in order to alter the racially charged norms of Southern society. During the course of the blog, I made a grave mistake, one that speaks on the issues that plague our American society when talking about race. Using the word “colored” in describing the people of Bayonne, the town that Grant found himself trapped in; it was at this moment I let down my group and completely disregarded the lessons in our seminars. With this terminology, I was dehumanizing the very community that I wanted to bring out of the pages and acknowledge. My conscience as a writer did not match with the words that I typed. One side of me feels that I made this decision to fit with the demands of literary accuracy and historical context. The other side, however, finds the mistake to be part of a learning gap which ties back into society’s inability to fully communicate the idea of racial equality. In all my academic years, never once was I taught the difference in capitalizing the word “black.” After one of our group discussions, I immediately went on my laptop and found an article on this topic from the New York Times. The article illustrated how Black is utilized to represent a shared culture and history, a shared identity; this concept is similar to the capitalization of Asian, Hispanic, and Native American. Today, we have a voice to change societal norms, whereas the Black community in Gaines’s book did not have this luxury, and it pains me to say that I was completely disregarding this important difference; After this Maymester, I will be taking this crucial moment of reflection and proactively – as well as consciously – reforming my writing to reflect my new mindset, to channel Gaines’s vision of a modern society where color is not the deciding factor for one’s way of living and dying.

As we journeyed through these novels, our group profited both physically and spiritually. These past few weeks have been filled with lessons, laughs, and over-cramped stomachs. What I will be lugging back with me are not just the souvenir shirts and extra calories, but the memories with my group mates, my comrades in arms (knives, forks, and all). I want to give a shout-out to Key who lent her voice when no one else dared. I want to also thank our incredible professor and logistics coordinator Andrew not just for the insightful material and local connections that he has relentlessly gathered, but also the personal stories that he was willing to share with us. As I savor these last bites of Louisiana, I think about how I was able to physically plant my feet in the very soil that my family migrated from so many years ago. My final takeaway that I want to share can be applied to all stages in life: keep learning and be open to new things and people; through these transactions that we willingly partake in, one may unexpectedly find happiness.

Trojans chilling near a fountain!

25 days of Louisiana’s best.

Right Back Where We Started From

“He was as curious about her static world as she was about his wandering one.”

- Tim Gautreaux, Same Place, Same Things

Reading Same Place, Same Things I’m reminded of old country music. Old country music. The kind of country that still has its roots in folk songs and has a little bit of the classic twang we associate with country, but it’s a smoother, 50’s pop sound too (I’m absolutely thinking about Patsy Cline). But these songs have a melancholy about them, either in the melodies or in the lyrics that makes them beautiful, but with an uncontrollable sorrow that seeps through mixed with some acceptance of this being the way of life.

And being in Lafayette and going to Tom’s Fiddle and Bow it’s easy to see just how important music is. There’s that line that’s always passed around in musical theater about ‘when you can’t speak, you sing, and when you can’t sing, you dance.’ So, when you’re stuck whether by chance or by choice in rural places, how do you express yourself? If you love, or you hurt, or if you feel and you have no one to tell, don’t you sing? You can sing to people and for people and with people. You can play instruments with people, and you can dance with them, and really, how much better can it get than to connect musically with the people around you?

Our experience at Tom’s shop was enough to show us this and to let us experience it. It was almost magical the way our class, bags of food in hand and city personas squeezing tight into a house already full of people and bursting at the seams with instruments. And there’s music slowly starting up, and before we know it, it’s like we’re being swept away into a utopia where everyone is talking and playing music, listening and dancing.

This isn’t all to pretend that places like these are fantastical utopias of music and laughter and Southern charm. This whole scenario thrives off the back of hundreds of years of enslavement, segregation, and the abuse of disenfranchised people. It’s impossible to see that moments like these are backed by histories of harm.

But through all of this, even with the music playing and the singing and the dancing, it’s the people that matter the most. The people you surround yourself with, and the people you choose to sing with. I enjoyed meeting Rick and Rod and Tom and everyone else, but we’ll drift out of their lives perhaps just a bit slower than we entered them. So, I look at the people I’ve experienced this once-in-a-lifetime trip with and they’re playing music, talking, learning how to dance, and it’s hard not to wish this could last a lifetime. There’s melancholy in that too.

All the books that we’ve read over this trip, they all share that quality: the importance of the people around you. When we read The Awakening, it was just as much about other people as it was about Edna’s finding herself. It took other people in her life to make her realize her own wants and desires, and to pursue those choices whether other people thought they were the right or wrong decision. And like a lot of other people on this trip, I saw myself in Edna too, and I’m glad I started out this journey like that. To emphasize the self and treasure individuality before incorporating yourself into a group, I feel, makes you a more open to understanding and loving the people around you because you stand on your own first to be able to help the people around you.

Interview with a Vampire – well, Andrew’s probably had enough of what I had to say about that book in my essay, but Louis’ everlasting despair all revolves around the fact that he has lost so many people in his life (death?). Anne Rice gives her vampires human qualities so that we can relate to them and view them as more than ‘children of the night’ (say that in Bela Lugosi’s voice!). And what’s more human than loving other people? Louis, as much as he despises Lestat, is devoted to him. Louis’s devotion to Claudia is heartbreaking and he’s, “hopelessly her lover.” People, or vampires, are just as important for living as any physiological needs.

Although I struggled a bit with Coming Through Slaughter, I was more in love with the people that preserve these histories. The beauty with which Ondaatje characterizes Buddy Bolden, preserves his history and helps a movement to recognize his influence on music blossom. And I loved how my classmates loved this book too, how they interacted with Ondaatje’s writing in so much more perceptive and intelligent ways than I could, and through I had a hard time, it was their views that made me realize it’s importance and find the beauty in it despite not understanding.

I know this one wasn’t well liked, but The Moviegoer! This was my silent favorite. How could you put a book about movies in front of me and tell me not to like it? Even though almost no one in this book was likeable, the message it carried made me love it. It’s a romantic’s book that juxtaposes existentialism with the solution of just finding smaller things in life that make you happy. Life doesn’t have one big answer, and it’s okay if life is just going to school, going to work, taking a trip to New Orleans, or watching a movie. Seeing the people around you eat the food they love, buy the things they like, interact with other people, even with just a look. We’ve all worked through problems with each other on this trip, and we’ve all come out better people even without finding some large meaning to life. I’ll love everyone on this trip until the skin on the backs of their hands turn translucent too.

A Lesson Before Dying; if you want a book about people, this one is it. I actually struggled with liking Grant as the main character more than any of the other novels, perhaps because I had committed to loving other people so much with their flaws included that I was face with difficulty trying to justify the way Grant treated the people around him. Even though I never felt that he completely came around like Binx did in embracing the people around him (for a multitude of justifiable reasons), he found his way through life with the help of other people, in an Edna-ish sort of way.

And Same Place, Same Things. I’ve only read a few of the stories from Gautreaux’s collection, God knows I’m probably avoiding it because I don’t want the trip to end. What do I have to look forward to after today? The same life I’ve lived for 19 years already?

But I don’t think that’s the point. It’s never the same life, never the same things. Even the same bench, or table, or rusty fence looks different from day to day. It might seem all the same, but the people in your life can change that. They can help you find beauty, and self, and joy, if you only let them and if you want that change.

We all owe so much to Andrew for giving us this opportunity, letting us meet and find our ways to each other. And we owe so much to each other, for listening, being there, and bringing joy to each other’s lives.

Change is bittersweet – and endings too. But even the same places and same things every day after today will be better because we found each other.

"Everydayness"

“The fact is I am quite happy in a movie, even a bad movie. Other people, so I have read, treasure memorable moments in their lives”

— Walker Percy

More often than not, I catch myself searching for ways to escape the “everydayness” of life. Especially being a fulltime student at USC still, who still lives at home, my schedule tends to become a vicious cycle of “school, eat, study, stress out, repeat.” In fact, one of the main reasons I decided on applying for the New Orleans Maymester was because I saw it as a way to escape the mundanity of everyday life to conquer the city that supposedly never sleeps. In many ways I would say that my mindset resembled that of Binx Bolling from Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer. Binx lives a simple life in his cookie cutter suburb, Gentilly, but soon grows restless over the idea that he must continue “the search” for the meaning of his life, or transcendent happiness. As Binx so dramatically puts it: “What is the nature of the search? you ask. Really it is very simple, at least for a fellow like me; so simple that it is easily overlooked. The search is what anyone would undertake if he were not sunk in the everydayness of his own life. This morning, for example, I felt as if I had come to myself on a strange island. And what does such a castaway do? Why, he pokes around the neighborhood and he doesn't miss a trick. To become aware of the possibility of the search is to be onto something. Not to be onto something is to be in despair.” And, in some ways, I too, was in search of something different and exciting this Maymester, that would change the pace of my normal life in Los Angeles.

Without a doubt, the licentiousness of the Big Easy gave me the fix I needed, both, of indulgence and excitement. However, when the time came for us to step back and unwind in cajun country, I had a difficult time letting go of the city I had grown to know and love so much. I entered the sleepy towns of Baton Rouge, New Roads, and Lafayette, mainly, with the intention of using my free time to finally catch up with some work. To my surprise, the quaintness of the towns and the close-knit communities within them, reminded me of something that stirred a homesickness like no other. The citizens of New Roads, in specific, lived very simple lives, it seemed, that revolved around life on the water, good food, and better company. The people were very inviting, like Sheriff Rene' Thibodeaux and Cheylon Woods, who welcomed us with open arms. The sheriff was gracious enough to introduce us to his colleagues, who were equally as enthusiastic about understanding why a group of students from the opposite end of the country would visit their humble, little town. He also made the effort to secure us a free boat ride after joining us for lunch that same afternoon.

Cheylon spoke to us with the same transparency and familiarity of an older cousin or aunt, when she took us through the Gaines’ estate, cemetery, and archive. I will always remember the way she calmed me down after I had accidentally locked the keys inside the van. After she noticed the distressed look on my face, she made a funny remark about how I must have been the oldest sibling in my family. Confused and preoccupied, I asked her, “Yes…how’d you know?” She giggled with the other girls in the car and told me that only the oldest child would beat themselves up over a silly mistake that she herself had made countless times before. These familial gestures reminded me of how much I missed my family back in Los Angeles, especially my grandmother, who always welcomes me with similar open arms and my sister, who never fails to call me crazy the way Cheylon did. Suddenly, the excitement of running back to New Orleans wasn’t on my mind anymore. I realized that I was taking for granted the nobility, duty, and culture of my own life – which were the aspects that Binx was notorious for underappreciating in his. 

 I think what really gave me a new perspective on my life back home, was the short time we spent in Arnaudville. Andrew had taken us to a small, unsuspecting house on a corner that was called “Tom’s Fiddle & Bow” – which, to my surprise, was a lively hotspot in this sleepy southern town. People were scurrying in and out of the house throughout the time we spent there listening to the traditional cajun music – somehow never failing to intimately know each person they bumped into. We were welcomed by everyone and were encouraged to stuff our faces while sitting back on folding chairs and futons to enjoy the live music. The confusion and informalness of it all gave me vivid memories of the chaotic family parties I have back at home. Then, an older gentleman named Jerry, took the time to sit down with me and advise me on the key to a successful life. He told me extraordinary stories of his life and many careers that he bounced between, from being a diving instructor to a pilot for the military. And at the very end of it he looked me in the eyes and told me, “If you want to know the key to happiness, it’s that you gotta just do what makes you happy.” Although it sounds redundant and possibly incomplete, what he said made perfect sense. He was telling me that he spent his entire life trying to get a big fancy job in a big fancy city but at the end of it all he would change paths because it never made him feel whole. So then he held up his camera to me and said,”Then I found this” – his love for photography. 

I will always remember and cherish the wonderful memories and friendships I have been blessed to create this Maymester. It has changed me as a student, a person, and a friend – for which, I cannot thank the people I have met enough. However, in regards to the endless excitement that I, and many other college students my age crave, as Binx puts it:

Joy and sadness come by turns, I know now. Beauty and bravery make you sad and victory breaks your heart. But life goes on and on we go, spinning along the coast in a violet light. We pull into a bay and have a drink under the stars. It is not a bad thing to settle for the Little Way, not the big search for the big happiness but the sad little happiness of drinks and kisses, a good little car and a warm deep thigh.”

There is beauty in “everydayness” – beauty I love and miss dearly.

To Be Human

The Church on Dr. Gaines’ Property, where Grant teaches students in “St Raphael”

“‘Do you know what a myth is, Jefferson?’ I asked him. ‘A myth is an old lie that people believe in. White people believe that they’re better than anyone else on earth—and that’s a myth. The last thing they ever want is to see a black man stand, and think, and show that common humanity that is in us all. It would destroy their myth. They would no longer have justification for having made us slaves and keeping us in the condition we are in. As long as none of us stand, they’re safe. They’re safe with me. They’re safe with Reverend Ambrose. I don’t want them to feel safe with you anymore.’”

— Grant Wiggins, to Jefferson

As we pulled up to the small town of New Road on that warm and sticky Wednesday afternoon, I felt a sense of awe at the eerie quietness and haunted beauty that the area exuded. Seeing the place where Ernest Gaines (the author of the next novel in our bookpacking adventure, A Lesson Before Dying) set this deeply personal and moving piece was uncanny. Never had I really felt so connected to this idea of bookpacking, as I saw firsthand how walking and experiencing where a novel is set just added so much richness and dimensionality to the pages of the book I’d read a few days earlier in the car.

From the very beginning, Gaines portrays a deeply unjust South of the 1940s in which a young black man, Jefferson, is jailed and sentenced to death. Jefferson had been involved as an innocent bystander in a horrible shootout, and faced trial while his defense attorney, who was meant to represent Jefferson in court, argued unsuccessfully that Jefferson should deserve mercy and not be found guilty because he is more like a hog than a man, and incapable of committing such a crime. The novel details the relationship between a defeated Jefferson who no longer sees himself as human, and the local schoolteacher, Grant Wiggins, who is charged by his own aunt and Jefferson’s godmother to teach Jefferson how to be a man before his execution. While the story is fictional, Gaines largely based it off of his hometown of New Roads (“Bayonne”) in the novel, which is located in the Point Coupée Parish (“St. Raphael”), and so naturally, us bookpackers made a journey to visit the locations in which the book took place.

As we walked up the steps of the Point Coupée Sheriff’s Office, we were warmly welcomed by the parish’s sheriff, Rene' Thibodeaux, before we could even enter the building. His warm, enthusiastic presence made us feel right at home, and he wasted no time bringing us into his office, introducing us to the Chief of Police and the Mayor of New Roads, sharing his story and asking us about our time in Louisiana, what we studied as USC students, what we wanted to do in the future, and a whole other slew of friendly questions. It was both a heartwarming experience, being welcomed with such open arms, and yet there was a slight discomfort, as the reason we were at the sheriff’s office was to visit the old jail cells, no longer in use, but in which Ernest Gaines portrays Jefferson within in his book.

I’ve never been to visit a jail cell before, and while I’ve seen it in movies and imagined it while reading news articles and books, nothing quite compares to standing in the warm, stagnant air of a prison, its dark metal bars and peeling ceiling entrapping me. We laughed nervously as Tammy wheeled the jail cell doors shut, but as soon as the doors shut, I already felt entrapped by such a tight, small space that left me with a few classmates in a cell with literally nowhere to go until the doors opened again. After just a few minutes in the cells, I had to step outside into the larger corridor again. My head was aching from the small space, and my limbs felt tight, and in that moment, I glimpsed the smallest of uncomfortableness that prisoners must go through, being confined to such a small space. It robbed me of my thoughts, my clarity, and I had to escape that cell to regain it. That’s the element of humanity, of thought, that I felt I momentarily lost my grasp on in that cell, and it's that struggle of defining the human experience and what it means to be a human that Gaines is having Grant teach the incarcerated Jefferson.

It’s odd walking through that jail cell, no longer in use, because it feels like history, a memory. If only that were the case. Andrew had reminded us in our seminar just that morning of Angola and the thousands of inmates there, the frightening statistics about the U.S. and how our proportion of prisoners far outweigh the population proportion we have compared to the world. It’s frustrating how slowly things move, how little progress we seem to have made in terms of racial equity, justice for wrongly incarcerated individuals, how far we’ve come and then how far we’ve yet to go to truly allow for equality and justice.

“The same people wore the same old clothes and sat in the same places. Next year it would be the same, and the year after that, the same again. Vivian said things were changing. But where were they changing?”

— Grant Wiggins, "A Lesson Before Dying"

I’d like to end my blogs here in Louisiana with a beautiful quote that Andrew quoted from Faulkner’s “Requiem for a Nun” that he ended my last seminar with. I think it’s fitting considering our course in literature and history in the South, and it builds on the experiences we have had to force us to realize the world we live in today.

“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”

— William Faulkner

Thank you for taking this journey alongside me and my fellow bookpackers. I hope we have been able to share a little slice of Louisiana through these blogs, both the fun and exuberant and the melancholy and injustice that have shaped our trip here. Thank you Andrew, for such a wonderful and unique experience. It's been an honor journaling and blogging as we've bookpacked across this state, and I'm so grateful for this experience and being able to learn, live, laugh, and grow alongside so many friends and peers this past month. Thank you, to those who have kept up with these rambling blog posts, and farewell—for now.

Unveiling the mask of fiction

Although Ernest Gaines’ A Lesson Before Dying is categorized as a work of fiction – it is set in the fictional town of Bayonne and the characters’ names are made-up – the tangible details of Dr. Gaines’ description of Black life in a segregated town in Louisiana feel strikingly real. Cheylon, the head archivist of the Ernest J. Gaines’ Center at the University of Louisiana, Lafayette, who guided us through the center and Dr. Gaines’ house, discussed the role of fiction in Dr. Gaines’ writing. The veil of fiction allows us to refer to real people and places, while maintaining a distance that allows us to analyze the behavior of people and the sociopolitical structures they operate within without directly naming them. Visiting the locations that the novel is set in, and that Dr. Gaines grew up in, I hoped to keep in mind this thin veil of fiction. 

The town of Bayonne is the fictional representation of the town of New Roads. Dr. Gaines describes the segregation within the town geographically being divided with the white people’s church, movie theater, and elementary school being located ‘uptown,’ and the same institutions for Black people being located in the ‘back of the town.’ Driving into New Roads, we pass rows of pretty houses facing the false-river. This was ‘uptown’. Andrew also drove us into the back of the town; the further away we got from the river-bank, the greater the economic disparity in the houses. While there are no explicit signs that mark spaces as ‘white-only,’  this economic disparity maps onto the segregation of Black communities through processes like redlining. Moreover, the plantations that made the parish wealthy still exist; they are now mechanized commercial farms, but the economic structures that made the white population of the town money are still intact.

We visited the New Roads courthouse. This was where Jefferson, a young Black teenager, falsely accused of murdering the owner of a liquor store, was sentenced to death by electrocution in A Lesson Before Dying. Jefferson was based on Willie Francis, who was sentenced to death at the age of 16, accused for the murder of a pharmacy store owner, who, Cheylon said, molested him. Unlike Jefferson, Willie faced electrocution twice, because the first attempt failed. The cruelty and injustice of these experiences occupied the back of my mind during our cheerful encounter with the parish’s Sheriff René Thibodeaux, and as Tammy, the Deputy Sheriff guided us through the empty halls of the new courtroom. The cruelty and injustice were brought to the forefront as we took the caged elevator up to the old prison cells. 

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During our visit to the courthouse and old prison-cells, I had a copy of the text pulled out to compare Dr. Gaines’ description of the setting to what I was seeing. There were certainly some differences. The book says that “a statue of a Confederate soldier” stood outside the courthouse door. Instead, outside the New Roads courthouse, we see the statue of General Lejeune, a member of the marine corps and World-War-1 hero, and a newly erected statue of the former Louisiana Chief of Justice, Catherine Kimball – the first woman to be elected from her district. While there was no confederate statue, its intended effect in the novel – to symbolize the courthouse’s intimidation and white-supremacy, was felt. 

The cell was roughly six by ten, with a metal bunk covered by a thin mattress and a woolen army blanket; a toilet without seat or toilet paper; a washbowl, brownish from residue and grime; a small metal shelf upon which was a pan, a tin cup, and a tablespoon. A single light bulb hung over the center of the cell

The depiction of the inside of the cell, in contrast with the outside of the courthouse, vividly described what I was seeing as I walked through the dark corridors of the old jail-cells. The stairs, “made of steel;” the “heavy steel door;” the grime on the open toilet seat and washbowl; the single lightbulb; I could imagine Grant Wiggins (the school-teacher protagonist of A Lesson Before Dying) walking through the corridors to visit Jefferson. 

I could feel the multitude of lives that had left their traces on the walls; the presence of the incarcerated Black men, like Jefferson and Willie Francis, despite their physical absence. All that was left were scattered piles of prison-records. The cells were repurposed as storage. Interview transcripts, records of judicial proceedings, old tape-recordings, and evidence for crimes lay scattered on the floors of the cells. A jumbled archive of all the people who once occupied the cells. 

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Opposite the door was a barred window, which looked out onto a sycamore tree behind the courthouse. I could see the sunlight on the upper leaves. 

This was a key detail in A Lesson Before Dying that was missing from my experience surveying the prison cells. Unlike the novel, the barred windows that I saw were coupled with a sheet of opaque glass. I could not see any trees outside these windows; rather, I could not see anything through them. Although it seems to be a fictitious detail, the image of the  ‘sycamore tree’ is of great importance in the novel; Gaines keeps coming back to it. 

The sycamore tree reminds me of Miss Jane Pittman’s oak that we visited. The tremendous tree, according to Cheylon, is an important figure in The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman because it has seen history, and carries the memories of the community into the future. The sycamore tree in A Lesson Before Dying has witnessed all the lives that have passed in the prison cells, peering at them through the gaps in the barred window.

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The plantation cemetery, where my ancestors had been buried for the past century. The cemetery had lots of trees in it, pecans and oaks, and it was weedy too, and since there were so few gravestone

Dr. Gaines is buried with the rest of his family in a green, shaded patch of land amidst the sugar fields. Although there are a set of marked gravestones now, Cheylon talked about the number of unmarked graves in this area, many of which had been plowed over and converted into more sugar fields. I was reminded once again of the importance of the trees in Dr. Gaines’ writing, and the memories they possessed. The ‘big house’ and the quarters that Dr. Gaines’ aunt used to live in are visible in the distance from the cemetery. Cheylon told us that the property is still owned by the same family that owned it when Dr. Gaines was born. Dr. Gaines and his wife, Dianne, had to fight to hold onto this land, preserving the memories of both the marked and unmarked Black lives that had been buried here. 

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The Gaines house too is an impressive project of preservation and reclamation. It is built on land that used to be the property of white slave-owners. Behind the house is a large sugar-bowl that, on plantations, was involved in the dangerous process of boiling sugar-cane. It marks the injury and pain of the enslaved people and tenant laborers who used to work on the plantation, but it has been repurposed as the centerpiece of the house’s yard. At one point, it was even the home to Koi fish. 

Further behind the house is a small church building, that is modeled after the type of church that Dr. Gaines studied in, and Grant taught in. In the book, this building is marred by poor ventilation and a lack of schooling resources. It is a constant reminder of the “vicious circle” of inequity faced by Black people growing up in the town.  

At the same time, it is a site of learning. Cheylon told us that, when Dr. Gaines was still alive, he used this building to teach students creative writing and literature. The reclaiming of these sites of oppression make them a beacon of potential. At the same time, they remind me of the continuing systems of exploitation. The big house still stands, neighboring Dr. Gaines’ home, but it is decaying and on the verge of falling apart. 

“I could not imagine this place, this house, existing without the two of them here.”

— Ernest J. Gaines

(Note: the “two of them” are Aunt Emma and Tante Lou who used to work in Henri Pichot’s house)

Cajun Pride

I was waiting in line at the Tabasco Factory gift shop when I was deciding what to get my roommate as a gift. We have a tradition of getting each other dumb presents whenever we travel. I picked up these ridiculous tobacco sunglasses that were clearly meant for a child. I immediately thought: these are perfect for Saphia! I was explaining to those of us in line about our little tradition. She was born and raised in Houston, Texas but could not be further from a Texan. She comes from a very traditional Muslim family, and it has always been a running joke between us how she was raised in this very conservative Southern culture.  Given that I also could not be further from a Texan, she brought me back a “Don’t Mess With Texas” t-shirt when she came home from Spring Break. I was using this as an example/justification for buying the overpriced sunglasses when I heard the cashier make a snarky noise. She looked at me funny and with a little judgement after telling this story. At the time, I really didn’t think anything of it. Then, just a few hours later, I started reading Floyd’s Girl by Tim Gautreaux.

At the center of this story is the clear tension and divide between Texans and the Cajun people of Louisiana. They see Texas as a wild and uncivilized desert where the people are completely reckless. Cajuns seem to be prideful in their culture. The characters in Floyd’s Girl see themselves as men and women of God. They see themselves as much more civilized and stronger compared to these wild Texans. Even the plot of the story itself is centered around these Texans acting uncivilized. Floyd is a proud Cajun man whose daughter Lizette has been taken by his wife’s husband to come live with them in Texas. As Floyd runs after these men to get his daughter, readers witness how violent this man from Texas becomes not only with Floyd and the other Cajun men, but Lizette too. Others from the community regardless of their age or ability ran to help Floyd get his daughter to safety. Our time in Cajun Louisiana showed me less of the Texan vs. Cajun feud , but focused more on the pride that the Cajun people have in their culture.

“She knew Texans had some kind of God, but they didn’t take him too seriously, didn’t celebrate him with feast days and days of penance, didn’t even kneel down in their churches on Sunday”

— Same Places, Same Things, Tim Gautreaux

One of our first experiences with authentic Cajun culture was at the Tante Marie Café in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. Andrew had explained that this was a local gathering point where people can come together to enjoy food and listen to music. The band consisted of a group of men and women playing the guitar, fiddle, violin, etc. They also had one man who occasionally would sing. This music completely uplifted the room. Even though people weren’t overtly dancing, I could sense the happiness and carefreeness in the room brought by the music. However, I think the biggest sense of Cajun Pride I’ve experienced thus far is in the food. Cajun food is so flavorful. It takes the most mundane dish, adds so many seasonings and spices to it creating a culinary masterpiece. Because so much of the culture is centered around food, it has created a sense of community. I saw large tables grow in number, and people bounced from table to table to talk to one another. I got this same sense in Floyd’s Girl through the character of Mrs. Boudreaux. When she first learns that Lizette has been taken to Texas, her first thoughts are if she will be able to eat good Cajun food. Her very first fear was that Lizette wouldn’t be able to get turtle soup piquante, gumbo, okra, or crawfish. Food is so embedded in the culture here. The Cajun people have taken basic dishes and turned them into something completely different, and that makes them proud. You can get this sense throughout the restaurant when people were gratified seeing how their food attracted a full house for lunch. Mrs. Boudreaux’s first fear was about Lizette not having Cajun food because this would cause her to lose part of her Cajun soul. By sitting in the Tante Marie, I could feel how jams like this are the heart and soul of Cajun Louisiana. They bring people together to celebrate their culture and each other’s company. Food is absolutely essential to the Cajun culture.

Our food at the Tante Marie Cafe!

“Living without her food would be like losing God”

— Same Places, Same Things, Tim Gautreaux

Music is also a huge part of Cajun culture, and something that they take great pride in. On our last day in Cajun Louisiana, we had the opportunity to take part in a traditional jam at Tom’s Fiddle and Bow Shop in Arnaudville, Louisiana. It is a quaint town where everyone seems to know each other. However, it is different from many of the other rural towns we’ve visited on our trip. Arnaudville’s beauty is not physical, but its beauty comes from the people themselves. At Tom’s jam, we saw a community come together over its shared love of music. They were so excited to have us come visit and show a group of outsiders how special their talents are. I could see in the way that Tom and the other musicians talked to us how proud they were of preserving the culture of Cajun music. As we listened in on the jam, I struck up a conversation with Janice Landry, Ray Landry’s wife. Ray and Janice own a shop in Lafayette where they have weekly jams on the weekends. She was so proud of her husband and spoke so highly of his music. Janice showed me photos from their most recent jam and was so excited to point out to me how many musicians turned out. She is so prideful in her husband for all his efforts to spread and preserve Cajun music, and rightfully so. After only talking for a few moments, she asked to friend me on Facebook so I could continue to see future jams. Her Facebook feed is full of advertising and adoring over her husband’s music. My new Facebook friend’s enthusiasm made me eager to keep up with their lives and listen to videos of Ray’s music. It seems so cliché, but Tom’s jam was absolutely one of the highlights of the trip. I loved how full of life and prideful everyone was about their culture and wanting to share it with us. We weren’t just observers, but part of the jam itself. I look back so fondly on our hours spent in Arnaudville.

“Who would give up French music and rock and roll for country?”

— Same Places, Same Things, Tim Gautreaux

I kept thinking back on Floyd’s Girl during our time at Tom’s Fiddle and Bow Shop. When Floyd talks about his wife, he can’t even fathom why she would leave Louisiana and all its culture for the wild west of Texas. Cajuns take such pride in their music and food that celebrating anything else is unfathomable. How can you leave such a strong community? He is eager to bring his daughter back not just to have her in his life, but to keep her intact with her Cajun roots. Floyd even sets aside a part of his small salary to give his daughter music lessons. Every aspect of Cajun culture is around today because of the pride that these people have for their roots. The Cajun culture runs deep, and I am so grateful that I got to experience this firsthand.

Tom’s Fiddle and Bow Shop!

Chasing Cajun Spirit

Cajun…what do we mean when we say this word? Are we referring to the blue-collar population that is peppered across the sweet and spicy state of Louisiana? Or, are we referring to a spirit through which we can master the fiddle and eat an entire roll of boudin in one sitting? Technically we are referring to both, but let’s stick with the latter for now! The spirit was sought after viciously by me and the gang as we spent our remaining days in Lafayette. To set the mood, we read short stories from Tim Gautreaux’s Same Place, Same Things. One of the stories that gripped my attention from the first to the last page was “Floyd’s Girl,” which was about a girl named Lizette who gets kidnapped by her mother’s Texan boyfriend. While this may not be the boyfriend’s first time venturing into the state, Louisiana natives like T-Jean’s grandmère still see him as just another foreigner, a “cou rouge” (red neck) intruding on their territory. During this great chase, the spirit of the Cajun people is brought to focus through musical lore as well as through typical Southern food staples.

Speaking of Southern food staples, me and the gang stopped by a restaurant / café in Beaux Bridge named Tante Marie. We were there on account of two main objectives. Along with being served some scrumptious breakfast / lunch, we tuned our ears to the lively jam session that was situated right near the entrance. Looking closely at one of the signs, there appeared to be a live band rotated into this spot every Sunday. The band consisted of several fiddlers, a guitar, and accordion. This was my first introduction to the Cajun rhythm; the spirit carried me on through the boudin-filled pastries and uplifted my soul. If only I brought my spare harmonica with me. When listening to the strings and the strums of the instruments, I could see why Gautreaux may have incorporated musical lore into his stories. In capturing the Cajun spirit, Gautreaux was trying to offer more than just a genuine Southern setting to his common reader; he wanted his local community to bask in the nostalgia, to be fully aware of class and culture distinctions. As the fiddles moaned their final whine for the day, our group got back on the road to continue the chase.

Our best attempt at recreating the chase scene from “Floyd’s Girl”

“I feel like I’m two different people.”

— Tim Gautreaux, "Waiting for the Evening News"

After our scenic drive through rural country, we arrived at Tom’s cozy cottage house where we met several of his band companions. Inside, the house embodied a communal framework: family photographs and local recreational activities decorated the walls, a fridge littered with business cards and stickers. Tom, a Massachusetts native, was not only responsible for guiding the bow onto the fiddle, but also for repairing the instrument. This was craftmanship that went well beyond the ability to play in front of a crowd; Tom took a stake in maintaining the fiddles’ conditions so that the music may live on through another set of hands. Rows upon rows of fiddles took on the majority of the ceiling space. Even with their own unique identities, they collectively sung Cajun pride in harmony. Listening to the melody, I was confused as to where to plant my feet. On one end of the house, my ear begged me to stay with the band playing with the mandolins, fiddles, and guitars. At the front entrance, a second band entranced my other ear to loiter around and admire the roaring accordion. Bluegrass, an Appalachian genre of music, flowed in and out of the hands of these musicians. The technique for both band groups was simple: improvisation. Similar to free-style jazz, you had no strict codes to follow…only a heart and a passion. At this moment, I questioned whether we were merely Californian trespassers, invading the space of these fine rural folk to hear their musical talent. Seeing Andrew on fiddle and Emery strumming the guitar, I was convinced that we were in fact not just spectators from another planet; we were people of the same world, enchanted by the same spirit.

With the fiddles and mandolins dying down a bit, I had the chance to strike up some conversation with one of the band members named Diane. Diane was from Baton Rouge, born and raised, but with relatives living outside of the state. She told me how her nephew was chasing after his dream of acting in California. However, the nephew settled for a job in the real estate game; he now has a wife and kid to support. Within our conversation, me and Diane glanced over New Orleans’s ethnic history as well as our food interests. One of the dishes that raised her eyebrows was my mentioning of the muffuletta (if I have not yet bored you to death with this glossy sandwich, then I have done my job). She knew about Central Grocery, but for her this was an overrated establishment and she had her local favorite spots to depend on, with fresher meat quality and plumper, crustier bread. A stout gentleman emerged from the door frame and came over to us; Diane introduced me to her husband Bob. Though Bob I was introduced to the dancing element of the music, a Cajun two-step if you will. The instructions were clear and effortless: a shuffle here and there with a spontaneous twirl. After our conversation on fiddle basics, I said my goodbyes to the couple and reconvened with the gang. In this cottage house, I became two people: one who was used to sitting in hours-long traffic and one who could not stop eating boudin and crackers to save his life. For this concept, I have to thank Gautreaux’s “Waiting for the Evening News,” a short story that revolves around Jesse McNeil, a chemical train operator who loses control of his locomotive and his own alcoholic self. The story also taught me that we can’t always control how the world perceives us; but the people we choose to interact with will always have a foot on our influences. It was enriching to have this be our last experience with the rural South, surrounded by the Cajun spirit in all its glory, tune, and taste.

As Life Goes On

Blog Post #4: In Baton Rouge - Finished The Moviegoer and now currently reading A Lesson Before Dying

How often do you think about the meaning of life? Does it constantly run through your mind, or do you hardly think of it at all? In the past, and even still sometimes today, I have always had this bad habit of constantly thinking about the meaning of life and just how my life should be lived to the point where it would stress me out. For days on end, I found myself stressing about the life I want to live or the life that I felt I should be living, instead of just…living. The overwhelming emotions I feel in relation to life itself still plague my mind at certain times, usually when I’m alone with my thoughts, laying in bed before I go to sleep. Although with that being said, I’ve gotten a lot better at not letting it all get to me. I hope what I am trying to explain is making sense because as I sit here writing, everything sounds right in my head. Maybe you could understand what I am saying because you have also felt this way before, or maybe you don’t, and that’s totally fine too. 

Everyone interprets the term “meaning of life” so differently and I think that it depends on how they see their life going or even what they find so significant to live a life they love. In accordance to stressing about a life I wanted to possibly live I also found myself always wanting to be this perfect image of myself that I created in my head. I felt like I had to become this person I wanted to be, not just externally, but physically and mentally as well. I would tell myself “when I become that Maya, things will be great. My life will be great and I will be perfect”, but of course I could never get to the accomplishment of becoming that person or living the life I had created in my head because I had set this unrealistic standard that was impossible to reach. And you want to know what the funny thing is? If you were to ask me now what that life that I had desperately wanted looked like, I couldn’t tell you what it was I wanted to achieve, I just wanted to feel right in life. I wanted this content feeling of how things were going for me and I just never felt that and I honestly never thought I would or even come close. As the days went on, as the months and years went on and I was still consumed by this immense feeling of not amounting to everything I wanted and thought I needed in myself and in my life, the days blurred and everyday just became the same. It was a never ending cycle and I wanted to get beyond that. It wasn’t until I started to look at everything from a different point of view. What exactly was I trying to achieve? And most of all what exactly was I doing to make things better for myself? Of course I wasn't doing enough.

The book Moviegoer was a book that I had a hard time understanding until I got through most of it and finished reading it all. I feel like this book was one of those ones where you had to get through the whole story to understand everything, as if the beginning and middle made sense once you got to the end. Although Binx and my own experience were different in many ways, I felt like I resonated with some of what happened to him. I think that people always interpret and  take very different ideas from certain books they read and I felt that this was one of those books where it was just so easy for that to happen. When we were lying on the grass under a shaded tree having our discussion about the book and as we were all speaking and saying what we took from the book and what we thought it was about, some people mentioned relationships and religion and although I did connect those things to the book, I really resonated with “the search”. What I took from the book was Binx’s journey to becoming content with his life and just accepting what was possibly meant for him. For so much of the book it seemed like he was trying to be like the people in the movies he saw, and he was being pressured by his aunt to follow a certain path in his life when she told him to go to medical school. In the end it seemed like he fell into what felt right for him, and everything worked out. I’m not saying his and I’s experiences are the same by any means, but I feel like to me a part of my own self reflection and realizations are similar in some way. I realized that I was living in this bubble of constant unrealistic standards, and this constant stress that I felt to live a certain way was my search and I needed to get beyond my “everydayness” of life. Being stuck in that bubble and toxic cycle made me forget to appreciate life as it is and this trip is teaching me a lot without me even noticing.  

Not in a million years did I think that I would have the opportunity to experience such an amazing trip for a class. Applying to go on a trip out of a state that I have never really left before was already a terrifying big step. Now that I am here I would say that I’ve probably done more new things on this trip alone than in my whole life. It almost makes me sad, just how little I have done in my twenty one years of being on this earth. I’m eating new foods I’ve never tried before, I’ve been on a boat for the very first time, and most importantly I’m making new friends with strangers. Usually it’s so hard for me to get to know people and make friends, so I try not to do it often, but I did this time and I’m happy. I’m appreciating and loving the way it smells outside after it rains, the warm wind whipping past my skin, and the beautiful nature that I am able to capture through pictures as the trip goes on. Although I was doing better at not stressing about my life before coming out here to Louisiana, I truly do think that this trip will leave me with a shifted mindset. That I’ll return home going through life differently. This is so much to unpack and even though all of this isn’t what I took from the Moviegoer and Binx’s life, the book and his story did elicit a lot of these thoughts. 

Today, I’m learning not to stress about my life and the things that I can’t control. I’m learning not to rush things, to just let life be beautiful and eventful. I’m learning to be happy with things as they are now and to be present. And most importantly, I’m learning to appreciate life in general because I only have this one. I can’t waste it on living in the bubble of my “everydayness”. Today I am just…living.

A Reminder from Dr. Gaines

We are on the last legs of our bookpacking through Louisiana, finding ourselves in New Roads, a small town in Pointe Coupee Parish. New Roads has the charm of a small Southern town, picturesque against the False River, and everything seems like a movie. Everyone is super kind, and the town has the cutest small diners and shops, happy and sweet residents, and even the classic charismatic and approachable Sheriff. When we first arrived, we looked at the city courthouse, where we were met, with movie written dialogue, Sheriff René Thibodeaux, who is the epitome of southern hospitality. The sheriff greeted us with eagerness to know more about us and what we were doing in Pointe Coupee, and when we talked a little more he was so excited. We were invited inside to meet the Chief of Police, Kevin McDonald, and the Mayor of New Roads, Cornell Dukes after having a small conversation with the Sheriff, leading to another much more engaging and inspiring conversation; both telling us all a lot about their careers and their connections to Dr. Gaines. It was inspiring to see two Black city council members in a small Southern town like this, Mayor Dukes having a personal connection with Dr. Gaines’ niece and wanting to know more about what led us down to Pointe Coupee Parish and our experiences with Dr. Gaines’ novel. Sheriff Thibodeaux talked a lot about himself with his charismatic charm, and how he didn’t get the chance to meet Dr. Gaines until he was in college outside of Pointe Coupee Parish. The cute Southern charm was all there, and I soaked it all up until we were led by Tamy, one of the workers of the Courthouse, to the top floor of the Courthouse.

Outside the New Roads’ Courthouse.

Tamy led us into a small, dark elevator where we entered a new dimension; confronted with the Pointe Coupee Parish that Dr. Gaines knew. Tamy gave us a tour of the jailhouse that was used during the 1940s, it was dark and stuffy, lacking windows and fresh air flow. Grant, the main character of Dr. Gaines’ novel, spends a lot of time in Dr. Gaines’ fictional space of the jailhouse. Grant is attempting to convince Jefferson, an 18-year-old man sentenced to death, that he is more than a hog and that he is a real man, before his death sentence date. Being inside these unused jail cells and trying to imagine what Jefferson would have experienced was difficult, I could not imagine what Black and brown bodies go through in incarceration. The tiny cells, now filled with storage boxes of old cases that took place in Pointe Coupee Parish, along with the stuffy air, made me feel a bit nauseous. I couldn’t help but walk around and think about all the lives lost in the scattered boxes, the boxes filling up these tiny, inhumane cells. These cells were intentionally created for inmates to feel suffocated and like animals, created to feel cold, hard, and lack privacy. They now hold the lives of individuals lost, carelessly strewn about, and collecting dust. In our carceral state, we want to punish people who break laws, but how do we protect the people the laws are fundamentally made against? How do we explain the inequalities of Black and Brown bodies in the prison system today?

“it look like the lord just work for wite folks”

New Roads is the real setting of Dr. Gaines’ A Lesson Before Dying fictional town of Bayonne. Taking place in this 1948 town, it is not so much different from what is currently taking place all over America. I was enchanted by the sweetness of New Roads, but talking to Cheylon Wood, an archivist for the Gaines Center at the University of Louisiana Lafayette, I quickly remembered where we are in the world, and how these towns were a part of horror for my ancestors. This is what Bayonne, or New Roads, meant to Dr. Gaines, just as much as Los Angeles has shaped me. Not only was this where he grew up as a child, but his family was sharecroppers on the land. Gaines based his character Jefferson on a true story of a young man named Willie Francis, an 18-year-old who was executed twice. These true stories, and being in the location of them, were the most authentic form of bookpacking I have experienced thus far, Grant’s social gravity being something I relate too, and can feel in the air of New Roads.

Old Sugar Cane processing bowl that has been transformed into a pond at Dr. Gaines’ house. Dr. Gaines’ house sits on the same land that this family was enslaved on, and then continued to be enslaved through sharecropping.

After another sweet lunch with the city council, where a local reporter interviewed me, I was introduced to Cheyon Woods. Cheyon’s soft reminders that we were, indeed, in the South, brought my focus back into view. We talked about the South, compared to Central Los Angeles, where I grew up and talked about Blackness and Louisiana and how Louisiana has changed, reverting to old ways. A well-educated woman, when telling her about how people were eager to meet us in New Roads, she reminded us that this “southern hospitality” was also a means of keeping track of us and what we were really in New Roads for. I thought back to the sly comment that was made by Sheriff Thibodeaux, that he never met Dr. Gaines until he was “Hollywood”. Although it is Southern Hospitality, there is an underlying covert form of constant conformity for the Black community, silently suffocating the Black people and visitors. This “southern hospitality” is a way of maintaining social order, and maintaining a sense of chivalry in public, while systematic racism and institutionalized racism continue in private.

Mass incarceration directly correlates to this way of policing, or monitoring, Black and other diverse communities. This mass monitoring of the Black community is what Grant in the novel is trying to escape from; an oppressive society that thwarts his goals and what he really wants out of this life. But he is ultimately stuck, confined to the plantation, and teaching these children. Cheyon’s reminder that we are in the South disrupted my ignorant bliss, but it reminded me of what the South and these small towns represent to people, good or bad. Even if this isn’t the intent, our systems and history ultimately prevent it from not being that way.

Yeah, some people will say that they have a Black Mayor and a Black Chief of Police, but that doesn’t mean that things are equal. This doesn’t mean that the Mayor and Chief aren’t operating under these same oppressive systems we see in Grant’s life and Sheriff Paul in the novel. I am confident that Mayor Dukes and Chief McDonald had to work harder and smart than everyone around them. What got Mayor Dukes and Chief McDonald into their positions in the community, and the people that supported them and surrounded them with love and encouragement when things got rough, or who supported them through college and raised them to be leaders.

Dr. Gaines’ A Lesson Before Dying, and my trip through New Roads have been one of the most influential parts of this trip for me. Dr. Gaines not only inspired me but reminded me why I wanted to go to Law School and why I continue to work so hard every day, but reminded me of my Blackness and dutifulness to uplift my community. I needed this reminder, invigorating me to work hard and be educated. I remembered that I am more than an individual, and I must uplift my community as well, in any capacity I can. Los Angeles has intensely shaped who I am as a person because I am uplifted by my community; as Cheylon said, I didn’t get here without it. I was reminded of the importance of how I developed into who I am, and what led me to the law and advocacy in the first place. I lost my passion for liberating my community and found myself so depressed the last few years in a predominately white space, without the ability to remember what this was all for. This reminder of who I am comes at the expense of reading and hearing real accounts of what my ancestors may have succumbed to. I feel relentlessly angry, knowing that Chief’s monitoring of me got bypassed as kindness, remembering this history; remembering Pointe Coupee used to be home to several plantations, but relentlessly as these forms of racism continue to thrive in different forms today. As they continue to thrive, it is my duty as a privilege person to come back and liberate my community.

“I want you to show them the difference between what they think you are and what you can be.”

Community means more than just my direct community in Los Angeles. It is the bigger picture, it is for all of the Black community. I am here to support the people that look down on me as a “sellout” and do not understand, but also the people who are looking for me to be a leader, and the people who do not know at all. It is uplifting for all the people who have come before me, and who are coming after me. Dr. Gaines, even beyond the grave, has a great impact on the people who learn about him, and who he is. I am forever grateful for this reminder.

"To lie with those who have no mark”

The grave of the amazing Ernest J. Gaines.

Between Faith and a Hard Place

“I could never stay angry long over anything. But I could never believe in anything, either, for very long.”

- Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

Christianity has an oppressive grip on the world. The normalization of Christian symbols, praying, converting, shouting from rooftops about God’s grace is so normal we don’t even bat an eye when we see it. We’re comfortable with it. (For some perspective on how ingrained it is into the fabric of our mentality and country whether you’re a believer or not, Penny Lane has an amazing documentary called Hail Satan? about a not-so-long-ago religious movement/political campaign in the U.S.)

At this point in our Bookpacking journey, we’ve finished Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer and Ernest Gaines’ A Lesson Before Dying. Both our characters in their respective novels struggle with faith. Why is faith, if it’s so infallible, something that people struggle with so much?

“I had heard the same carols all my life, seen the same little play, with the same mistakes in grammar. The minister had offered the same prayer as always, Christmas or Sunday. The same people wore the same old clothes and sat in the same places. Next year it would be the same, and the year after that, the same again.”

- Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

Do you even need faith?

When we visited the Katrina exhibit at The Presbytere, I left the Mardi Gras exhibit early to spend more time by myself downstairs in the exhibit to read and absorb. It’s all good and well to reside in academia where we analyze monotheistic religions with ‘God’ at the center, to scrutinize what we might categorize as people’s blind faith in this gracious daddy in the sky that gives the ‘Word of God’ to men alone and rules with his big, yet nonexistent phallus. But when we see natural disasters in the world, when we sit with them and reside in their aftermath, how can you expect to survive without the faith this country has been prescribing to its citizens for centuries? There is so much destruction and pain in disasters like these, there comes a point at which there’s nothing to do but find something, anything, to believe in, which by default becomes the white, Christian god.

I mean, you leave the Presbytere exhibit and immediately you’re faced with wrought iron gates protecting the pure white walls of the St. Louis Cathedral and its imposing and beautiful architecture. I’m not sure there’s a person who wouldn’t find comfort in a sight like that, even if they weren’t Christian. We go to Algiers, a quaint little town, and the largest building is the church with the clock tower, with room enough to fit the whole population of the town in it, tolling every hour with the time of day to remind people where all sources of knowledge and life come from.

But the cathedral, the churches we come across at every streetcorner, they’re old. The roots of the architecture, mentality, logic; they’re all archaic and unchanging.

Why leave things the way they are? Why try to keep up big, extravagant mansions that deteriorate naturally and are built from the money made off the backs of enslaved people? Why be so afraid of changing the image of a god that all of us struggle to identify with?

I don’t think that Binx ‘settled’ down with his faith at the end of The Moviegoer – and for what it’s worth, I don’t think any of the characters at the end of A Lesson Before Dying do either. Both Binx and Grant struggle throughout, their faith in the prototypical, Catholic vision of God is never completely unshakeable. But by the end of each of their character arcs, they find something, or a combination of things that let them feel peace with things, including their faiths.

“A myth is an old lie that people believe in. White people believe that they’re better than anyone else on this Earth – and that’s a myth. The last thing they ever want is to see a black man stand, and think, and show that common humanity that is in us all.”

- Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

If the god you believe in is so personal, how can they not be a part of you? How can you ask someone to believe in a god that does not reflect them? How can a character like Grant find comfort in an image of a god that white men have identified with for centuries as a Black man? Your god can be anything – it doesn’t really matter. Because at the end of the day, it is and always has been a personal thing and it becomes about finding balance: taking what you want out of what you’ve been given to believe and finding out the rest for yourself. And like we’ve found with so many things on this trip, a balance is key. A reclaiming, but also an acceptance. A celebration, but mourning. Passion and excitement for life, but letting things happen and relaxing too.

At the end of the day, or at the end of your life, it seems it doesn’t really matter who you pray to. Like we saw in Grant and in Binx, they weren’t changed by some miraculous fulfillment of faith, but their awareness to the people around them. As offensive as it might be to say, God is imaginary. Oftentimes, it’s almost like a lie that helps people get through life, and it’s fine because it’s what’s needed. But sharing this trip with people I’ve come to love so dearly in such a short time, I think I’m more changed and affected by the sheer beauty of the souls of the people around me than the supposed unwavering faith we’ve all become accustomed to believe will us last a lifetime.

Remembrance

Memorial Day Remembrance Flags at New Capitol Building

As someone raised in Florida, I was taught growing up to respect our fallen soldiers through a sense of remembrance and pride during patriotic holidays such as Memorial Day. It wasn’t until I got to USC, that I realized there were people in the United States that voluntarily chose to not recognize these holidays. It is something that bothered me deeply and still does because I have close friends in the military. I remember I was once having a conversation with someone about this subject in Los Angeles and asked their reasoning behind boycotting these types of holidays. In response to my question, she said that she “refused to celebrate because of all the damage this country has done”. Questioning her, I said “what about the fallen soldiers who died protecting our freedoms”. She remained firm in her belief saying that it didn’t matter. It was then that I realized that most people in this country view things as either black or white instead of grey.

Traveling throughout the state of Louisiana, I have noticed that there is a strong sense of remembrance. In every city that we have visited, I have found memorials commemorating the citizens who have died while deployed. Even in the small town of St. Martensville, you could find marble pillars dedicated towards the service of the U.S. Navy & Army near the old Evangeline Oak. Seeing these memorials throughout and simultaneously reading the Moviegoer, I had present in my mind the trauma our soldiers faced. This trauma that was never ending even after they returned home, as we read through the life of Binx whom despite returning displayed PTSD. For me it is sad that this noble line of work cannot be recognized because it is viewed as political since historic individuals such as Andrew Jackson or Robert Lee have committed atrocities.

Overall, we witnessed through A Lesson Before Dying, how the past can be inescapable. I think this is an issue that currently plagues the south. I remember how people in Los Angeles were disgusted to learn that I voluntarily chose to vacation in places such as Tennessee and that I was interested in visiting Louisiana including the countryside rather than just the party city of New Orleans. People would tell me that these places were racist and that as a result they weren’t beautiful. However, based off my experience, I think the opposite is true.  In comparison to the hostile city life in Los Angeles, I think that the people of the south are much more approachable. They are learning from their history and learning to embrace diversity and inclusion. In Louisiana, we have experienced that “Southern hospitality” or kindness and warmth throughout our stay. A prime example is how we were able to meet the Sheriff and Mayor of Pointe Coupee.  We had just pulled up to the courthouse to explore the jail cells when the sheriff stepped out of his meeting to greet us, giving each of us an individual handshake. He later made some calls and booked us a party boat on the False River despite just meeting him that day.  Personally, after living in Los Angeles for four years, I have never experienced this kind of hospitality. Yet, it is interesting to note that many of my classmates felt bothered because when meeting these fine people, we were in a room with a Blue Lives Matter Flag. In Los Angeles, these banners symbolize racism. In Pointe Coupee however, these flags were worn by black people and stand for community policing as in befriending the neighborhood sworn to protect which is a different take on the matter.

I feel that if anyone from California would of saw those banners first without meeting the people of Pointe Coupee, would have immediately written them off as bad people because of this ideal established from history that the south is this bad place. I think it’s interesting that even one of the administrators that we met mentioned how “Hollywood doesn’t portray southerners in this way”.  I think we are at a unique point in time in which the South is not only recognizing Injustice but facing responsibility and trying to change the narrative.  We witnessed it in New Orleans, in which we saw the empty pillar where Robert Lee once stood. We also witnessed it as the Whitney Plantation, which was one of the most touching experiences on this trip.

Whitney Plantation Memorial

What was unique about the Whitney Plantation was that it was refurbished to commemorate the lives of the enslaved people of the Louisiana area. It didn’t hide the history, but acknowledge the crimes committed.  It showed the slave quarters and cages in which enslaved people were auctioned in. It even had an art exhibition showing the beheading of those who choose to riot against the system. I was deeply moved by the experience, and it gave me that same feeling of remembrance as experienced in memorials. After all, the act of slavery was a war against humanity and deserves more tributes to be dedicated towards it. In debriefing our experience, some of my classmates brought up the fact that there was a couple who took pictures of the beheading memorial installation, questioning why they would do that and how they viewed it as wrong. In my mind, I was wondering why we had to stay silent about the memorial; why was it wrong that we took a picture of this installation if we could use it to educate others about its significance extending its reach. How come for other memorials that was acceptable but for this one it was not?

Video showing exhibition of Huey Long Speech at the Old Capitol Building

For me it is sad to see that patriotic holidays or memorials such as the Whitney are viewed in a political light. In my opinion, it shouldn’t be that way because at the end of the day it is about recognizing and remembering the people affected. For me, I think that is what memorial day is about. I think it is about reflecting, reflecting on our wrongs and our rights. It is equally about remember the enslaved as it is war. I think that’s what I found fascinating in learning about Huey Long’s platform.  The Kingfish was a leader in the Louisiana territory because he was focused on the people and believed that was where the power lied.  In walking through his exhibit at the Old Capital Building in Baton Rouge, I was able to hear one of his speeches in which he touched upon the absurdity of the party system in the United States. Long’s belief mirrored that of which Thomas Jefferson warned about: that our nation would be focused on which party was in power rather than on the people. This speech really resonated because the Kingfish was described as a mixture of Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders, and it was evident why. Through this speech, I realized that we as a nation need to learn to come together and talk about situations rather than focus on if this is a left or right viewpoint because at the end of the day the world is grey and how would we progress if we cannot acknowledge this. We should be proud to be a part of a nation who has made progress, but also just because we are patriotic doesn’t mean we have forgotten that there is still work to be done.

Beyond the White Picket Fence

I hate the term “putting yourself in someone else’s shoes”. It’s something that I think we all have heard in English and History classes growing up. This phrase served to allow us to envision how people felt way back then, or at least, that was the intent of it. It is used to make students feel like they have a better understanding of the lives of others living before them. This is such an ignorant mindset. I know that I can’t imagine. I will never understand. Coming on this Bookpacking trip, part of me wondered if that would be the goal: that reading these books in the places they are set would solely be to relate to the characters. However, I have found the experience to be so much more…

 A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest Gaines has been my favorite novel to Bookpacking, and not because of the book itself. I was so appreciative of how much time we spent learning and discussing Ernest Gaines as an author. We first went to the city of New Roads, which is where Ernest Gaines was born and raised. It is a small Southern town that follows the False River. From first glance, it looks picturesque and perfect. New Roads seems like the epitome of the South from its architecture to the people. However, Gaines never focuses on this aspect of Bayonne in the novel. He never describes Bayonne using any descriptive imagery. The only time he tries to define the town of Bayonne is in the beginning of the novel. Gaines talks about a divided town, one that separates people based on their race. He talks about how the church, movie theater, and schools for the white people are uptown, while these same buildings for black people were in the back of the town. Anybody driving through New Roads (like we did initially) only sees uptown. Even to this day, the city of New Roads does not want to acknowledge “the back of town”. They want to leave people who drive by having the buildings uptown as their definition of New Roads. It does feel quite fake at times. Gaines barely talks about the uptown of Bayonne in his book. Most of the places referenced in A Lesson Before Dying take place in this back of town. He changes the spotlight and perspective of New Roads/Bayonne. By reading this book, I didn’t look at New Roads only in the way that it wants us to view it. I didn’t look out the window and look at “uptown” New Roads. I tried to look at Gaines’ Bayonne. Like we have observed in many Southern towns, they want to hide their history and look as though their town is a happy place. Gaines’ novels disrupt this. They remind us to look past these picturesque lakefront houses with the white picket fences. We don’t take these rural towns as they want us to. Gaines writes about a Bayonne that rarely describes its beauty, because sometimes we forget to look past the beauty ourselves.

During our first day in New Roads, we had the opportunity to visit the courthouse and see the old jail cells. When our guide Tammy took us up to where the cells once were, there were boxes full of records everywhere. We had to brush away cobwebs to go through the unorganized files that told so much of the history of this town. I remember Andrew mentioning how somebody could probably dedicate their entire career just to going through the history in these boxes. This then led me to ask Tammy a question. Is there any plan for New Roads to digitize or make these records accessible? She replied by saying that they didn’t have any plans to do so. I was shocked to think that these files were sitting up here just collecting dust. So many stories, so many lives, and so many historic accounts. A lot of the history of New Roads could be found in the reports living in the courthouse. Yet, much of this, again, is history that the town of New Roads doesn’t want to acknowledge as part of their history. They want us to see the stunning outside of the courthouse building, which houses a huge part of the town’s history on the inside. New Roads wants to move forward, when really, so much of it is still stuck in the past. They’ve kept all this hidden away, and most strangers passing through have no idea what that courthouse holds. It appears New Roads did not want to admit anything wrong with their town. A Lesson Before Dying wants to bring forth this history that the town wants to ignore. Gaines does this in such a powerful way. While we were walking around the cell staring at these records, I kept thinking about the scene in A Lesson Before Dying where the entire town can hear the buzzing of the electric chair. They make comments like “my God, the whole town can hear that thing” or “The sound was too horrible. Just too horrible”. The sound forces people to acknowledge what is happening in their town. It made people uncomfortable, and they wanted to forget, but they couldn’t. They had to live with knowing what was about to happen down the street, rather than just pretend it wasn’t happening. It seems like a stretch, but to me it felt like keeping those stories in those cells was the town’s way of not wanting to see itself as anything other than a peaceful and sleepy Southern town.

I think that this was my favorite book to Bookpack because of how much time we spent learning about Ernest Gaines as an author. We visited his home which he built after purchasing the land which he was born and raised on. He has preserved so much history. We first went into a church that Ernest and Diane had restored based on the original building that Ernest was taught in living in the quarter. We were given insight into where Grant taught his students. There weren’t any desks, just a few church pews. Grant’s frustration with his limits as an educator were made apparent. After seeing the classroom, we went to the graveyard. The people buried here included Ernest and his family, as well as many people who worked on the property. They were given proper tombstones that told their names and stories. Enslaved people who worked in the same place were buried in the sugarcane fields where their families don’t know where they lie. Ernest Gaines’ efforts of bringing this history out into the open started to create a new way of seeing New Roads for me. This has always been there, but the tireless work of the Gaines family has brought it to light.

In the beginning of my blog, I mention how I hate the term “putting yourself in someone else’s shoes”. I thought about this a lot when we were in New Roads. The definition of Bookpacking (at least in my eyes) was to have a better understanding of a novel by visiting the places they are set in. I think for many of us, this means trying to relate to or understand the characters. However, I think there are some books where this can lead to ignorance. Standing in those jail cells, I’m sure people tried to think that they understood Jefferson’s character better: that they could put themselves in his shoes by standing behind the bars for maybe 15 seconds. But we can’t. I think it’s ridiculous for somebody’s takeaway from Bookpacking A Lesson Before Dying to be that they understood Jefferson better. I know that I will never understand. Honestly, I struggled to write this blog, because I wasn’t sure how I was connecting my experience reading the book to my time in New Roads. I realized that it had less to do with the novel itself, but more of the legacy that Ernest Gaines left on the town. He brought the “back of town” as he calls it into the spotlight. I looked at New Roads in a new light because of him. This was the first book where I was able to create my own definition of Bookpacking. For me, it is not about “relating” to the characters. Bookpacking for me is understanding the author’s perspective and how they brought the spotlight to communities or areas that are often left out of the conversation. We all have our own way to Bookpack, and I think reading A Lesson Before Dying showed me how I can take away the most from this experience.

A Lesson in Race

As I write this, I am sitting in a coffee house in Lafayette, taking a moment to let the past few days of our trip sink in. We’ve been reading A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J. Gaines and visiting the places that inspired this intensely emotional and deeply moving novel.

A Lesson Before Dying is a powerful book about community, masculinity, racism, and humanity. Reading it while standing in the rooms that inspired the story amplified the book’s impact to whole new levels, and that is the beauty of bookpacking. It is one thing to read about Jefferson’s jail cell, and it is a completely different experience to stand in the Point Coupée jail cells yourself. To see where they used to hang prisoners, where the beds used to be screwed into the wall, the recreational area (if a tiny rooftop under the blistering sun can even be called that), and the filthy sink and toilets.  As I stood in those cement boxes, I couldn’t stop imagining what it must have been like for Jefferson to be imprisoned in such an enclosed space or what it must have been like when Miss Emma, Tante Lou, and Reverend Ambrose attempted to crowd into that space, unable to sit down because there was no room. You stand in that cell and suddenly, it isn’t that surprising that Jefferson saw himself as less than a man. How can anyone feel human in a place that is that dark and unsanitary?

“The cell was roughly six by ten, with a metal bunk covered by a thin mattress and a woolen army blanket; a toilet without seat or toilet paper; a washbowl, brownish from residue and grime; a small metal shelf upon which was a pan, a tin cup, and a tablespoon.”

— Ernest J. Gaines

You imagine how painful it was for Miss Emma to see someone she loved locked up with no way out but death. How did she manage to drag herself to the jail week after week and sit there while Jefferson ignored her and belittled himself? You imagine all these things, try to understand how the book’s characters might have been feeling, but really, there’s no way to grasp it. Unless you’ve been in the exact situation they were in, you won’t be able to get it. We can stand around and ask ourselves how we would feel with the death penalty hanging over our heads, but that can never compare to what Jefferson felt knowing the exact date of his death because it isn’t real for us. We are not going to die at some predetermine date and time for a crime we didn’t commit, but it was real for Jefferson and a multitude of other Black men.

Sadly, our prison system hasn’t changed very much since the 1940s. Today, Black men are still being incarcerated at higher rates than any other group in America, some of which are falsely imprisoned like Jefferson. And the prisons they are locked in continue to treat people like they are barely human, creating an environment of abuse and malnourishment. Weren’t prisons built on the idea of rehabilitating criminals and sending them back into the world as better citizens with regret for the crimes they committed? How can they focus on improvement when they are treated like wild animals? How can they be released as reformed citizens ready to resume normal life when they spend so much time being told they are less than human?

After visiting the jail, we headed to Ernest J. Gaines’ home in New Roads on the plantation where he grew up before moving to California and then returned to later in life. Behind his home sits the plantation church, where children used to go to school and be taught by someone like Grant Wiggins. The church is one open space, very dissimilar to what we picture in our heads when we think of schools now. I can’t even begin to fathom the difficulties of teaching students ranging from Kindergarten to 6th grade in that tiny space. How could any of the kids get the attention they needed to really succeed in their work? How can one teacher cover that many topics and levels in one day? No wonder Grant’s former teacher was so pessimistic about life and education. No wonder Grant is so set on fleeing his hometown for something better.

“He told us that most of us would die violently, and those who did not would be brought down to the level of beasts. ”

— Ernest J. Gaines

But I guess that’s the whole point. The lack of resources and space for learning is exactly how White people oppress Black people. It’s how Jefferson ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. If people are unable to learn how to read, write, and perform arithmetic successfully, then how can they ever move off the plantation? How can they move up in life? Even with an education, Grant remains stuck under the thumb of the White society around him. It’s an endless cycle, and it’s still going on now. We talked about redlining in seminar and the segregated neighborhoods it resulted in. These neighborhoods led to the placement of Black children into certain schools that then receive less funding. Our education system is not equal. Some schools have the resources to provide laptops for every student, and others have one computer lab that hasn’t been updated in years. Can you guess what the demographics of those two campuses probably are?

The list of injustices doesn’t end there. Close to Dr. Gaines’ property lies a cemetery surrounded by farmland. Dr. Gaines is buried there along with members of his family, and others connected to the plantation he grew up on. It is an astonishingly small cemetery considering the size of the plantation and the amount of people who have worked on it. And the reason for that is an erasure of Black existence and history. Cheylon from the Ernest J. Gaines Center had told us that the cemetery we were standing in was also the burial ground for enslaved people. I had assumed the cemetery was so small because the graves of the enslaved people were unmarked. I was shocked and disgusted to learn that we couldn’t see where they were buried because it had been turned into farmland. Dr. Gaines and his wife, Diane, had incorporated the cemetery to keep the remaining land from also being plowed over. Even in death Black people are disrespected and forgotten by the people who benefited from their back bending work. I think that’s why Miss Emma wanted Jefferson to die with dignity and strength. There are White individuals who work so hard to belittle Black people. By standing tall in his final moments and viewing himself as a man worthy of respect, Jefferson was standing up for himself and his people against the White perpetrators.

“I want you to show them the difference between what they think you are and what you can be.”

— Ernest J. Gaines

For me, this has been a lesson in race and the Black experience in America. As an Asian American woman, I will never truly be able to grasp what it means to be Black in this country and the hardships that go along with it, but I empathize with the Black community and hope to be an ally in their unrelenting fight for freedom. I recognize that being Black in America means a long history of oppression and continued discrimination and struggles with our country’s systems, but this book and this trip have really driven that understanding home for me. I am privileged to be able to walk into small towns like Grand Isle and St. Martinville comfortably while we are in Louisiana. I don’t have to worry as much about how people might treat me or look at me. I don’t know if my Black classmates can say the same. The racism runs much deeper here than it does anywhere else, and it’s almost impossible to come here and ignore it.

I want to end this blog by saying I still have a lot to learn about my privilege and how Black people are treated in America, and we, as a country (and honestly the world too), still have a long way to go. When you read A Lesson Before Dying and see places like New Roads, you are able to identify a disappointing amount of similarities between the past and the present. At the Ernest J. Gaines Center, the walls are graced with a variety of awards and honorary degrees from towns and institutions. The question is, when you take a closer look at these places and structures, are they really taking Gaines’ messages and lessons to heart? Are they changed for the better or are they just giving out these awards to make it seem like they recognize the issues in our society?

Why have Faith?

“I lay my body down to sleep,
I pray to God my Soul to keep
And, if I should die before I wake,
I pray to God my Soul to take.”

— Catholic children's prayer

Every single night, for as long as I can remember, these were the last words to leave my mouth before I slept. Mom instilled it in my sister and I that nightly prayer was sacred and our most intimate way of speaking to God. She is an extremely devout Catholic woman, given her progessive lifestyle and morals, and always has been. Therefore, out of our love and respect for her, my sister and I willingly accepted our religious upbringing and the expectations Mom had raised us with. In other words: I was baptized, I accepted Communion, I attended religious education, I received Confirmation, I went to church, and I memorized the prayers. Despite this, I never understood my purpose for doing any of it. I thought I understood why others did it. And as I’ve grown older and more independent, Mom realizes that and respects my choice to stray away from my faith. But, since coming to Louisiana, I wonder to myself: Why have faith?

Catholicism in southern Louisiana is unique, at least in comparison to the catholicism I was raised with. The religious practices here have a strong Afro-American influence, which derives from the fact that southern Louisiana has the largest per capita Black Catholic population in the country. This resonates in Ernest J. Gaines’, A Lesson Before Dying, as faith and Black Creole catholicism are consistent themes that heavily influence the plot all throughout. The  novel begins with the main protagonist, Grant Wiggins, who has a very rocky relationship with organized religion – considering that he comes from an entirely catholic family and primarily catholic community. This characteristic of Grant’s was one of the very few struggles I could relate to because, as I mentioned, my faith has always been sort of a gray area in my life. Grant, specifically, feels this way because he views the scriptures of the Bible as written reminders that black people of society are inferior to white people and must remain submissive. This thought didn’t fully sink in until today, at the Ernest J. Gaines Center, when Cheylon reiterated Andrew’s lecture that the Bible was printed in different copies (white only and blacks only) where the black only copies focused on the glorification of servitude and black inferiority, with promises of Heaven and the afterlife. The most barbaric part was when she mentioned that “this version of the Bible gave them something to look forward to (death)” and reminded them that if they remained docile, “it will all be worth it in the end.” Cheylon even added that Gaines himself had drifted in and out of his relationship with the catholic faith throughout his life. So, given this, and the fact that Gaines and his family were surrounded by a society that did not value the black community nor provide them with a voice – I was initially confused as to why he allowed Grant to reach the acceptance of faith that he did in the end of the novel.

Only after many immersions with the Black Creole culture of New Orleans, did I start to piece together the reasoning behind the vitality of faith and religion, not only for the character of Grant, but for the actual Black community. During Grant’s religious awakening, he realizes that Heaven is less about the concept of everlasting life but more about giving black people the strength to overcome their suffering. Gaines was intentionally making an observation about the way faith and religion played an essential role in the lives of those around him in his own community. So, when I saw the murals of a black Jesus Christ and black Virgin Mary painted across the walls of Treme neighborhoods, it became more apparent that they symbolized something more than black pride – they served as reminders of strength. They remind the black community that their hope in the catholic faith is what will allow them to remain resilient amongst the injustice and hardship they face in their daily lives. Also, it gave me a better understanding of why the Divine Ladies choose to set aside their hard earned money to ensure that they’re shared tombs are looked after once they have passed. In actuality, the Divine Ladies don’t do this, solely, with respect for their burial site in mind – but also for the everlasting preservation of their tombs. They believe their strong relationship with their faith, even in death, must be remembered eternally to serve as a constant reminder of hope for their oppressed black community. Everything in the Black catholic culture serves as a reminder of hope that their pain and suffering will someday be rewarded, which is what Gaines strived to depict in this novel.

So, again, when I think to myself about the words I once recited, mechanically, every night; “I pray to God my Soul to keep – I open my eyes to how they speak differently to the black catholic community. I acknowledge my own privileges in life and understand that religion may never speak to me the same way it does for this community  – however, I at least have a clearer answer to my question: Why have faith? 

Without faith, there is no hope. And without hope, life becomes meaningless. Religion provides meaning.

A Lesson on Community

In our attempt to flee the luring neon lights and boisterous crowds of the Big Easy, we briefly made a stop in the Lower Ninth Ward to examine the reconstruction efforts of the town. This town held a special place in my heart; it was where most of my family members from my mom’s side were born and raised. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to learn more about myself and where I came from. As time went on, these interests slowly faded and were replaced with the general obligations of life. Truly, this Maymester has re-ignited a burning desire in me to continue on this historical and personal search for my original community. While the semi-reunion was spiritually lifting, the heart was not in a soft spot. The Ward – and areas just like it –was severely damaged by Hurricane Katrina. What me and the gang were seeing now was just a fraction of the reconstruction process. Part of the rebuilding efforts were made possible by a non-profit called the Make it Right Foundation. The foundation, initiated by Brad Pitt, is responsible for constructing over a hundred houses. While several sources may point out some of the damages brought on by the non-profit (e.g. cheap materials, faulty electrical, plumbing), no one could take away the fact that someone was at least trying to make a difference. At a time when the South’s inhabitants felt left behind, someone was willing to pick up the pieces of debris and hold the hammer. A town rebuilding from the ground, not just through the lavish donations of celebrities, but through the strong will of the locals. Migration did not prove to be the answer, and we will get to that topic a bit later as this significant event in history also holds a special place in my family’s legacy.

The Lower Ninth was the first of many steppingstones for our next novel. Written by Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying is a fictional recreation of the 1940s South when segregation was the new normal and racially driven policy could roam free without check and balance. The story is about a young Black man named Jefferson – in real life, his name was Willie Francis – who gets caught in a liquor store shootout and is unfairly sentenced to death by electrocution. The court system failed Jefferson – and even worse – convincing him that he was lesser than a human being. Emma, Jefferson’s godmother, has one request for her boy on his last day on earth: to stand up and become a man. From her perspective, if Jefferson cannot fulfill this task, then there will not be another soul brave enough to break the cycle of racial oppression that feeds off of their town. In his cell, Jefferson not only holds the key to his sanity but also the burden of the community, that which has been passed down for the past few centuries. And it will take a lot more than the iron bars and fellow inmates for him to reach his destiny.

“I could look at the smoke rising from each chimney or I could look at the rusted tin roof of each house, and I could tell the lives that went on in each one of them.”

— Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

My first days in Baton Rouge left a big impression on me. A quiet, humble, downtown metropolis filled to the brim with national landmarks and accompanied by a voluptuous river which I could see no ending for in either direction. Living all my life in the bustling streets of Los Angeles, I never thought I would ever be saying these words in the same sentence. The place that Jefferson finds himself incarcerated is called Bayonne. Featuring 3500 whites and 2500 Blacks, this town offered an amenity and institution for each race. Ranging from separate churches to separate movie theaters, it was like a tale of two cities enclosed in one. This division paints the picture for what kind of society – or rather societies – that are at the throats of each other. On one side, we have a dignified and courteous white society that has been blessed with exceptional educational institutions and a sufficient number of recreational establishments and facilities. And on the other, a Black community which must live off the sweat of their labor and cannot afford just the right amount of ice cream. Bayonne is a representation of just how impactful skin color can be on the wellbeing of an individual during these decades, and how those long-term side effects have bled into modern day society. After settling into our hotel, me and some of the group went on a mini scavenging hunt in search of some goods to devour for the long night ahead of us. Food options were scarce and to be desired, but this was not what we came here for. Rather, the gang and I sought to feed our very souls with the greetings and kindness of the hospitable town folk.

Look, an oversized chimney!

Matherne’s Market

We stopped by Matherne’s Market, where the sushi was still fresh and a bank vault was itching to be opened. (If you don’t believe me, just ask Dwayne Johnson). At the checkout aisle, the cashier lady bombarded me with “sir’s.” In my counterattack, I referred to her as “mam.” Before going on this trip, I was told by my friends that this was a custom that Southerners could not live without. According to Google, these name placements are shown to be a sign of respect and political address. I didn’t buy this for a single second, and neither does my mom who always hated hearing those words in her early childhood days. For me, these two words – while they do invite courteous behavior – can also bring in a form of classification. Essentially, you are forced into a category from which you must uphold or else risk losing status or dignity with that person you are conversing with. As witnessed by Grant – a teacher and friend of Jefferson – it digs into your very identity. In order to “play his part” with the sheriff of the town, Grant must always address Guidry with “sir” or else risk being looked at as an undesired Black. This moment really frustrated me because you can’t be anything but what that other person tells you to be, and I don’t plan on bringing this formality back to my own hometown. The cashier lady was super nice, but the language her city stuck to did not give off welcoming intentions.

“You’ll leave your church and just become – nothing?”

— Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

Over the course of Jefferson’s mental journey, he is battling the very faith that promises to bring people together. Gaines has placed religion as a central piece to the book; in Downtown Baton Rouge, religious monuments are not shied away from the public. I cannot tell you the history or even the names behind the churches and chapels our group crossed paths with, but I can say that they did stick out from the corporate offices. From Gaines’s eyes, religion is an other-worldly power that can rally the Black community at a time in history when education and illiteracy rates were at their lowest. For Tante Lou, Grant’s aunt, being Catholic means everything for a lady of quality, it is mixed into one’s identity. In her discussion with Vivian, Grant’s girlfriend, Lou is displeased after hearing about Vivian’s possible church transfer. Even if you take your religious practice elsewhere, your faith will not be impacted the same as it was with the presence of your community. For Vivian, moving out of town with Grant could mean the possibility of breaking away with her Catholic roots and losing her faith over time.

While there is some peace to be found in the religious garbs, being Catholic in this book is seen as a double-edged sword. On one end, Grant paints religion with this kind and merciful image through the viewing of Emma. Emma, who has lost her godson (Jefferson) to the discriminatory court system, finds a new “Master” to worship. God is the new leader for whom she will take the commands and guidance in the hope that it will spiritually bring back her boy. On the other end, people like Reverend Ambrose are using religion to deliberately lie to followers in the hopes that it will bring them joy and comfort. In fact, Ambrose explicitly tells Grant that he needs Jefferson to kneel before he can stand, fearing that the boy’s soul will be lost in hell. This action is not only meant to bring comfort to Jefferson, but also comfort to those like Emma who are looking for a way to relieve the pain that they endure from their white counterparts. Although there are good motives behind the lie, there are moments when religion can be abused for the sole purpose of benefitting a single party. In other words, slave owners can further exploit slaves by promising a heaven for their persistent hard labor. As seen by Jefferson, there is no racial union on the subject of God. The Lord only serves the interests of white folk and ignores the Black community in times of need. Visiting the Gaines’s estate near the False River was a truly unique experience; we were able to look inside a small church originally built in the 1930s, where Gaines used to receive lessons as a kid. Going into the church and observing the wooden benches which also served as student desks…I was brought back into the story, thinking about Grant’s teaching situation; a man – similar to Gaines – with a wavering faith, but still educating the next contributing members of the community while under the house of God…powerful.

Every man a king, but no man wears the crown

〰️

Every man a king, but no man wears the crown 〰️

On a Tuesday, me and the gang went to visit the Louisiana State Capitol (the new one, not the old). The structure was built with just two years, a deadline unheard of in the political sphere of construction. This feat was made possible by the ambitions of one of the most inspirational political leaders of the South’s time: Huey P. Long. You can also call him Kingfish if that floats your ferry. Serving as Louisiana’s state Governor, Huey worked for his community, and the people willingly gave him the power and votes needed for immense reform such as building more roads and expanding medical and educational institutions. To put this in perspective, the Great Depression was rampant among the 1930s. The South’s people at this time found itself in this state of economic abandonment. And Huey – receiving the governor position in 1928 – was there to hold up the torch, to become a champion of the common man who could lead the community back on the route of progress. During his quest to crush the elites of his state, Huey introduced Share Our Wealth, a program designed to lower personal fortunes and give those impoverished Americans a monetary boost via annual grants. Regardless of the accomplishments brought on by the Long Administration, the change would not be enough to keep some of the Black communities in the South. A new life was sought after, preferably one with more palm trees and beaches as far as the West Coast stretched.

With the weakening rate of employment and desire for financial advancement, The Great Migration marked a turning point for African Americans across the South. This transition from rural to urban city living was not just predicated on changing economic circumstances, but to escape the divided racial landscape of the South. Grant is never shy in telling Vivian about his wish to leave for California, where his parents are staying. However, there is one ironic element that is keeping them from making the escape: family. Vivian has to think about her children and how they would be losing the values and people they are growing up with in the quarter. For Grant, he is only fixated on advancing his career, even if that new job promises to better the lives of his family. Additionally, if the two leave now, they jeopardize the love and connection with other members of their community like Emma and Tante Lou. After migrating out of the Lower Ninth, my relatives also looked to California as the beacon of change, well, two beacons. The first one was located southwest of Downtown Los Angeles in a city called Crenshaw, while the other – a little more well-known – was Oakland. Crenshaw was a town in which I could easily visit my aunts and uncles and still feel a connection with the Creole underbelly of Louisiana. Originally a Japanese community after World War II (this is very evident in some of the exterior of the homes if you ever decide to stop by), this neighborhood now boasted a strong Black population. Despite the immediate benefits of the Great Migration, there would still be hurdles for minority groups to face, two of the largest being redlining and eventually gentrification. Between these two evils, redlining was special in that it pushes people out of a potential home via discriminatory practices, resulting in a chain reaction of issues that can range from literacy rates to even crime rates. Through these harsh realities, a community of brave Black souls, young and old, from all corners of the deep South found a way to thrive in another foreign land, together as if they were family members coming back to a reunion.

“I had heard the same carols all my life, seen the same little play, with the same mistakes in grammar…. Next year it would be the same and the year after that, the same again. Vivian said things were changing. But where were they changing?”

— Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

The lesson on community is at its climax during the last hours of Jefferson. During these final breaths, Jefferson is not only receiving gifts from his godmother, but also from various neighbors (e.g. pecans from school children and the radio bought using several monetary donations). As mentioned in our seminar, it can be quite hard to accept that receipt of love from others. Slowly, through the vision of Emma’s cooking, Jefferson accepts her gumbo and accepts his place back in the neighborhood. These gifts of giving can be viewed at as Jefferson’s own fair trial by peers, a trial which he never received during his prior sentencing. As depicted by Grant, this was a court system which relied on “Twelve white men [saying] a black man must die, and another white man [setting] the date and time without consulting one black person.” Despite this, the quarter recognizes Jefferson for who he really is: a man of their community. He is not a hog that gets force-fed the cruel power of white town members; he is a human being who represents the change in mindset that Gaines wants for Southern society.

Our group was honored to visit the cells and courthouse at Point Coupée (New Roads) Parish. In the courthouse, we met several significant figures of the local town, including the mayor and Sheriff Thibodeaux. Their views on community policing really struck me; this small conservative town understood the importance of this concept, and yet progressive cities like Los Angeles will struggle with its implementation.

The last parts of the tour involved visiting the courthouse and jail. In these cells, I thought about how Jefferson was feeling, how he got to his mental state…but also how he prevailed when all there was to see were iron bars and ice-cold floors. Was it his renewal in faith that brought his spirit back? Or rather, was it the loving members of his community who reminded him of what his true identity was before the corrupt policing system? As the past lingers, a community’s inhabitants must continue to stand up if they seek to protect their future for the next generations. Racism is one of those things that cannot be whisked away through the stroke of a chalk piece on a board. It has to be confronted, but not alone.