FRESNO
-- A Chain-Link fence, $5 admission charge, a mini-parade, wet weather,
wind, police decked-out in full riot gear regalia, a police horse
patrol, an arrest for causing a disturbance, nude exhibitionists
walking through the crowd, blocked traffic, and general business
disruptions. It must be celebration of the Mardi Gras Carnival season
in the Tower District.
The Tower Mardi Gras started Tuesday.
It is nothing like the real-thing, however. There was live music
by the Motels and a local lead-in by Malinda Masters.
After that it was about all over but the shouting.
In the authentic century-old tradition,
New Orleans blacks masked as Native Americans walked, danced and
sang down some of that city's grittier streets.
Yesteday, in New Orleans, on street
corners that tourists seldom visit, residents such as Robert Johnson,
36, moved from obscurity into the limelight. Johnson's hot pink,
intricately beaded costume transformed him from a mild-mannered
thrift store security guard into a chief of the Golden Arrows Indian
Gang. As he pranced around searching for rival gangs, passersby
honked their horns and yelled.
"Go ahead. You bad. You know you bad,"
one reveler yelled. The real Mardi Gras is often referred to as
the "Greatest Free Show on Earth," a time when recklessness is the
norm. It is the last big celebration before the beginning of Lent,
the religious season leading up to Easter Sunday, and is largely
responsible for the image of New Orleans as one of the nation's
top party cities.
Thousands of tourists flock New Orleans'
streets in various stages of undress to catch plastic beads and
drink heavily. Traditional Mardi Gras organizations, known as krewes,
parade through the streets for weeks leading up to Mardi Gras. A
day before the revelry ends, blacks in idealized versions of Native
American costumes emerge from some of the city's poorer neighborhoods
to display expensive and impressive outfits of beads and feathers.
They seek crowd approval with mock fights among rival tribes.
These "Indians" in their colorful
costumes--bright red, white, black, yellow and pink--and ritualized
dance and music are a legacy of the city's segregated past. For
a long time, blacks said they risked injury or harassment if they
tried to participate in the mainstream Mardi Gras. And so during
Carnival seasons, they mostly stayed within their own communities.
While no one knows exactly why or
when blacks started masking as Native Americans, the primary reason
given by today's participants is the desire to pay homage to Indians
who sheltered and nurtured runaway slaves. And it was an expression
of protest. Even today, one of the most oft-stated refrains in their
songs is: "I don't [care] what the white man say, I'm gonna have
my fun on this holiday."
"It was our way of expressing a rebellious
attitude toward white folks," said Joe Lee Baker, 60, a former Mardi
Gras Indian chief who now resides in Boston. He returns to watch
younger chiefs like Joe Prier Jr. of the Golden Arrows continue
the tradition. "One of the problems we have today is the young folks
see this as a fun time, whereas in the old days we masked because
it was defiant. There was a white Mardi Gras and a black Mardi Gras."
Trying to get black and whites to
mix more, the New Oleans City Council in 1992 passed an ordinance
requiring all krewes parading on public streets to open their ranks
to people regardless of race, handicap or sexual orientation. At
the time, three older, all-white organizations decided to stop parading
rather than change their membership policies. This history, many
say, led to the separation that continues to some degree today.
But it does not dampen the spirit
of Carnival for blacks. As the various "Indian" tribes assembled
at Washington and LaSalle streets, residents gathered to take pictures
with the ornately costumed men, women and children. When rival tribes
approached each other, the buzz in the crowd grew, as the "spy boys"
from each group reported to the big chief that rivals were nearby.
Whenever two tribes faced each other,
they feigned anger and displayed their colors. Then, each tribal
member greeted each of their counterparts--with one member dubbed
the "wild man" staying by the chief's side in case of danger. All
the while, spectators tapped tambourines, cowbells and their feet,
singing traditional Mardi Gras Indian songs with titles like "Indian
Red" and "Two Way Pocky Way."
The call-and-response songs take you
from a black Baptist Church, to a Caribbean nightclub or a Chicago
blues club. The tribes' accompanying choreography is spiritual,
sensual and euphoric.
"The common link is the musical currents
that came out of Africa," said Alan Colon, an endowed chair in the
African World Studies program at Dillard University here,
who attended the Golden Arrows practice last Sunday.
But Mardi Gras Indians, while central
to black celebrations, were not always embraced by their own communities.
When Baker was growing up, for instance, Mardi Gras day was a day
for settling scores. Rival tribes carried pistols and knives and
confrontation often ended in violence, sometimes death.
But now the violence mostly has given
way to battles over who has the most ornate costumes. On Monday,
the day before Mardi Gras, expensive ostrich feathers were strewn
all over Prier's home as were unsewn pieces of his costume.
When asked the cost of this year's
costume, Prier said that he spent $977 on feathers alone."I'd rather
keep [the total cost] to myself," said Prier, as his wife, Valerie,
looked on.
His second-in-command, Johnson, spent
$6,500 on this year's costume and was clearly enjoying the adulation
of friends and family as he paraded around his neighborhood's streets.
But it appears he may have gone a little overboard this year. While
suits can weigh in excess of 100 pounds, Johnson's tipped the scales
this year at a little more than 200 pounds. He wore the costume
all day in 80-degree weather.
"I'm not going to build it like this
anymore," Johnson said as his brother wiped sweat from his forehead.
Then he went back to being the chief, waiting to battle other rivals.
Letter to the Editor
©2001 Tower District News. All rights reserved.
