Protest New Orleans' Celebration of White Supremacy

"United States troops took over the state government and reinstated the usurpers but the national election November 1876 recognized white supremacy in the South and gave us our state."

These words are carved into the base of a monument celebrating white supremacy, near the heart of downtown New Orleans. The inscription is covered with a new plaque, but the monument remains.

As civil rights lawyer Mary Howell has noted, this is likely the only monument in the US that celebrates the killing of police officers. However, the New Orleans Police Department has never objected to this monument, perhaps because it celebrates the killing of Black police officers by white supremacists.

A local blog describes the history behind the monument. The full history is worth reading, but here are some highlights:

The “Battle” of Liberty Place was essentially a coup in which the White League of New Orleans deposed the state’s Republican governor by force...the White League in New Orleans organized an impromptu army on the morning of September 14, 1874 to seize the government of Louisiana itself. The battle was reminiscent of the Civil War, with units of the White League engaging a defensive, racially integrated State Militia and Metropolitan Police force. Hours into the fighting, the White League was able to flank their opponents and seize the Cabildo (still the seat of government at the time) and Arsenal. The Republican governor elect, William Pitt Kellogg, and General James Longstreet, commander of the militia and police force in the battle, took refuge in the federal customhouse, a building that the White League was rightfully wary of taking by force. Three days later, federal troops arrived in New Orleans and the White League capitulated. As with the Lost Cause movement’s later reinterpretation of General Robert E. Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, the White League found a way to interpret their surrender to federal forces as a moral victory.

The monument was erected in 1891, at a time when the gains of reconstruction had been mostly crushed and white supremacists were in power and celebration. The plaque pictured above was added in 1934.

It was not until the 1970s that the city began a push to hide this ugly history, first with the addition of an explanatory plaque, and finally, via the city's first two Black mayors, attempts to take down the monument.

In 1981, Dutch Morial, the city’s first black mayor, ran into opposition in his attempt to have the monument taken down and instead had it surrounded by tall shrubs and the 1934 addition covered with a slab of granite. In 1989, street repairs and the construction of a shopping center forced the monument’s relocation to a storage facility, where many in city government hoped to keep it indefinitely. However, in 1991 a David Duke supporter grew impatient with the city’s lack of energy in seeing the monument reinstalled. Since federal funds had been used in the street improvements, the law stipulated that the historic monument be returned to a historically accurate location.

The 1991 struggle came at a time when New Orleans Mardi Gras was still officially segregated, before the city council voted to force all white Mardi Gras krewes to integrate. At least two krewes, Momus and Comus, chose to stop parading rather than integrate.

Today the monument stands at the corner of Iberville and Badine Street, just a block from Canal and North Peters. Although the words about white supremacy have been covered, the top of the statue still notes that it commemorates the names of members of the White League. The monument has frequently been the target of graffiti, most recently in 2012, when protestors against police violence spraypainted the names of Justin Sipp, Wendell Allen, and Trayvon Martin.

Mayor Landrieu recently said he "believes it is time to look at the symbols in this city to see if they still have relevance to our future." This Sunday, June 28, at 4:00pm, local activists have called for an action called white people against white supremacy (see link for location info).  As cities across the US are re-examining their confederate histories, perhaps this monument will finally come down once and for all.

Mary Howell and the Fight to Save Charity Hospital and Lower Midcity

Inside the Footprint, a local blog, has been documenting the struggle to save Charity Hospital and prevent the demolition of Lower Midcity for the past two years. As a closing note to the years of struggle, the blog has posted a series of profiles of some of the activists involved. Among those profiled (along with stunning photos) are Brad Ott, Jacques Morial, and several others. Below is an excerpt of one of the profiles, civil rights attorney Mary Howell.
Mary Howell, whose law office stands just a block outside the VA Footprint, was the chief figure who led to my involvement in the LSU/VA issue, drawing me into the broader effort several months after I began this blog.

Mary, who came to know the residents of the VA Footprint especially well after the storm, gave up a great deal of her time, effort, and more to stand up against the "bullying" that was so deeply interwoven into the push to destroy the VA Footprint neighborhood. She was also the prime mover on the effort to save the VA houses from demolition. Regardless of how the effort turned out due to other actors, it cannot be denied that 79 structures were ultimately relocated, avoiding total demolition and marking a sudden, major change in events in the hospitals saga. Mary was also a major presence at many of the VA neighborhood meetings, a relentless advocate for the residents being negatively affected by the project.

BV: What, originally, got you involved in the Charity Hospital/LSU/VA fight?

MH: I went to a neighborhood meeting, and I walked into that meeting. It was held in this sort of gutted out building in the neighborhood. And I looked around the room. And it was filled with predominantly African American, working people, but it was a really diverse group of people. Homeowners, people who struggled to come back, people who struggled to rebuild their homes, people who had formed a really deep community and fellowship - actually unlike anything that existed before the storm. The storm really brought this neighborhood together in a powerful, transformative way.

As I was listening to what was being said about what was getting ready to happen here...I realized they were all going to be annihilated. And that people just really didn't understand what was about to happen. The bulldozers were literally coming through. All these promises were being made about "what a nice process this is going to be" and "how fairly everyone was going to be treated" and I looked around. Many of the people in the room were older - there was a mix of people, including several newcomers - but I looked around at the longtimers who had been here and really struggled hard to come back. A number of them were tired, they were elderly. And I thought, "Oh my god." This is like the kiss of death. They're not just losing their homes, their losing their neighborhood, their community, their safety net, their network - everything.

I've often said, if I could have just sneaked out of there - and pretended that I hadn't seen this, hadn't realized what was happening here - it would have been a relief. Because I went down a major rabbit hole for about three years. I was rebuilding and trying to come back at the same time.

It was awful, what happened here. It was as ugly...a bullying kind of power maneuver...as I've ever seen. And it remains that way.

BV: What do you think of the current state of affairs of the LSU/VA project?

MH: Oh, it's ridiculous. It's terrible. I can count on my hands, my fingers, the number of deaths that I believe are a direct result of the closing of Charity Hospital. And the financial waste of all of this is extraordinary. It's mind-boggling, especially given this economy. But the callous disregard of people's need for quality healthcare and particularly in the mental health area...shutting down that third floor of Charity Hospital. We've had terrible misfortune, a number of deaths as a direct result of that.

The terrible thing about it is that many of the people advocating for this have been doing it under the guise of bringing better healthcare to this city. It's the idea that we'll burn down the village to save the village. They've completely destroyed a community, they've destroyed lives.

You know, the Hippocratic Oath...that first line: First, do no harm? Massive harm has been done here in the name of promoting good healthcare. And it's a lie. This has never been about healthcare and the needs of the community, about what's right or just. It's always been about greed, about money, about power.