Dear Black Masking Indians of New Orleans,

I miss you.

I hope you are healthy and sewing your works of art.

I first learned about you by listening to the soundtrack from Treme. Jocomo Fee Na Nay, Brother John and other songs planted in my brain and opened a new world. I bought Michael Smith’s book, Mardi Gras Indians, read about your history on-line and planned a trip for Mardi Gras, 2015 to see you.

Since you do not publish a formal parade time and route, we headed for the small park under the Interstate. We heard that you often pass that way. We waited a long time. The more we stood around, the more time we had to look at the murals on the bridge pilings that captured the history of what had happened to the area to construct the Interstate. We learned that this spot had been a thriving, historically black-owned business area. It had been lined with oak trees instead of pavement. It was an economic and social center. Building the Interstate reinforced racial divisions in the city.

I anticipated that seeing you under the Interstate, in your spectacular feathers and beads, would have more significance than I had realized. Your vibrance bears witness to so much history. I planned to ask you for portraits as part of a story about how concrete and the rumble of traffic could not silence you. But we never saw you there.

Getting hungry and a little cold, we tried the Backstreet Cultural Museum next. We enjoyed the collection of suits the day before and appreciated the care that Sylvester “Hawk” Francis had given to sharing your traditions and helping us learn. Someone in the milling crowd said we missed a few of you by 30-minutes (curses that snack break). Disappointed and swept up in other parades taking place, we committed to come back to New Orleans a month later to see you on Super Sunday. I knew we could find you at noon in A.L. Davis Park on the third Sunday in March.

Masking

We got to the park early and sat on the bleachers along the baseball diamond for a while before we wised up and started walking around the neighborhood, enticed by the smell of food trucks. In the parking lot of Soul’s Seafood Market, we got our first view of you in person. I did not understand why the parking lot was littered with gorgeous suits lying on the ground. How could all that work and investment be scattered around a parking lot? I had only seen your suits in the Museum. They looked fragile and forgotten on the pavement. Then you started getting dressed and I had a better sense of who was a spectator and who was masking.

We got to watch you put on layers of intricately beaded jackets and skirts. We saw the detail in the boots and the weight of the headdress. You were helping each other, holding hair out of the way, and adjusting suits to stay clear of staining face paint. The parking lot was mobbed with spectators, but it still felt intimate, as if we were all invited backstage before the show. While you put life into the suits, sewing and wearing them, it also appeared that the suits put life into you. You transformed from part of the crowd into Spyboys, Flagboys, Wildmen, Queens and Big Chiefs.

It was hard to know where to look next in the visual feast of feathers, sequins, beads, and jewels. Watching the St Joseph’s Day parade, it felt like the entire community took part in the action. The parade stopped for hugs. People called out to see your full suit, with arms raised and headdresses hoisted, and bibs lifted to see the full design on all the layers of beading. There were dance routines and chanting. Wild Men electrified the crowd with antics. Queens embodied power and gravitas. Big Chiefs set the pace and decided when the full tribe performed. Every generation had a part.

Capturing this warrior cry in 2015 and in 2016

We loved seeing you so much, we came back for St Joseph’s Day the next year. By coming back, we experienced how you come up with new themes, beaded stories, and construction every year. That second year we saw tribes getting ready in their front yards. Seeing you at home felt even more intimate than the backstage feel of Soul’s Seafood parking lot. It is generous that you share your masking and let us witness how you put life in the suits. It makes it clear that behind this art there are homes and families who work all year in the creation of these themes and tapestries.

What if all fights were fought with needle and thread?

You have style inside and out. You walk the walk when it comes to the philosophy to “turn the other cheek” and have refused to accept limits. From a historical relationship with Native Americans against oppression, to your exclusion from “official” Mardi Gras events and the beneficial network of the social organizations, to systemic acts of racism (like the location of the Interstate plowing down an important economic and social neighborhood), you responded with this art.

For some unclear reason, the United States does not participate in UNESCO’s awards for “intangible cultural heritage of humanity.” As a country, we only support physical locations and monuments, like the Grand Canyon and Statue of Liberty. Other Country’s broaden the definition to also nominate unique cultural expressions, for example, the human pyramids in Spain and the Day of the Dead in Mexico.

Someday, I hope that the United States embraces the concept of “intangible” wonders and recognizes unique traditions handed down over generations. When that happens, you should be at the top of our nomination list. Here is a draft pitch:

The improbable fact of creating beauty out of oppression and fusing African and Native American imagery into intricate beadwork is like nothing else on the planet.
You beat the odds of your collaboration surviving the devastation and displacement caused by Hurricane Katrina. This makes your success even more incredible.
Finally, the fact that the community continues to invest in the painstakingly detailed work of building new suits every year, in an age of instant everything, demonstrates how deeply meaningful these acts of creation are across age groups.

You have created a living art. Thank you for what you do. I hope to see you and your suits in action soon.

Note: if you would like prints of any of these pictures, or have feedback for me, please contact me. I would love to hear from you.

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