Hi. Good to see you.
Would you mind taking a walk? We won’t be long. Well… maybe a few minutes. I’m getting old, and old people do love to ramble. Well, some old people. Me, anyway.
Ever been to New Orleans? I hadn’t, before this. Quite a town. I didn’t have half the time and funds I needed to do it justice, but I got a decent glimpse. I enjoyed it.
I can’t really share that much of NOLA with you from eighteen photos, but… well, let’s give it a shot.
Oh — Netroots Nation 2018? Well, yeah. Kind of a big deal! We’ll talk about that, too.
I was able to go to NN18 through the kindness of strangers — perhaps most notably our own WaterCarrier4Diogenes (real name and gender not given as I do not have their permission to reveal it). WC4D was willing to share their room at the host hotel with me, a kindness without which I would definitely not have been able to afford the stay. Other gracious hosts also made this possible — you know who you are, and I hope you know you have my heartfelt and lasting gratitude.
The drive down to NOLA was an eight-hour belt. Not terribly monotonous, and broken up at one point by a lovely ten-minute interlude with two beautiful Australian Shepherds who I encountered at a gas station (sorry, no pics!). I was happy to arrive, pack in a decent meal, stow my gear, and collapse gratefully into a surprisingly comfortable bed (I brought my own pillow, which helped). I admit I was rather goggle-eyed at the cost of hotel parking, but I guess that’s the norm any more.
Waking next morning found me gummy-eyed and hungry. The host hotel is located near the end of a long main road, within easy walking distance of the Ernest T. Morial Convention Center where the event was held. Almost right across the road from the Convention Center was a side street where one can find the Two Chicks Cafe, an eatery Google gave high marks. I figured what the heck.
The fare was yummy, and — at $15 for the plate shown — not unbearably expensive. A bit stiff for breakfast maybe, but I was ground zero in a touristy part of town. You kind of expect it. I did stick with just water to drink after learning that a glass of good ol’ orange juice would run me five dollars. At least the food was (really) good, and not that spicy — more just a tease of it. (I didn’t ask them to go all-out).
Strolling in to the Convention Center in time for the opening address, I was struck by the sense of energy in the air. Several booths still weren’t set up, but an engaging hand-drawn mural, set on free-standing whiteboards about waist-high (for my long-drink-o-water arse, which stands about six foot on a good day) painted a vibrant picture of the various liberal tides which flow through our current political reality, and which animated the event itself. I really wish I’d gotten some photos of those boards — sorry, dear reader, that I didn’t. If others did, and they read this diary, I hope they’ll post them here. Setup was still visibly in progress, but faces were smiling. There was a sense of joyful busy-ness. Good things were happening.
Forgive me that I’m not going to dwell on any of the Keynotes, Plenaries, or main-room addresses of NN18 (you can catch some of the magic here). I stood far in the back, near the doors, and didn’t get any photos (though the forest of hands with cameras and cell phones at each of these speeches should ensure there are plenty to go around). They were all energetic and enjoyable. With this being my second Netroots (again, thanks to those who made it possible), I was a bit less moved by these big speeches than I was at my first — because there was a bit of sameness. That’s not to say it isn’t inspiring to see people like Senator Elizabeth Warren, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, and Angel Kyodo Williams drop some fire and light from the big stage — it is. It really is. But those are big, bright, resplendent moments — fireworks displays and megawatt spotlights. They belong to everyone, not just me, and my dinky little Samsung phone couldn’t take pictures to do them justice. The big addresses set a powerful tone for each Netroots, help all the attendees feel connected and involved. Maybe you could say the big speeches help start a fire — but it’s several thousand individual hands that bring the fire’s light into smaller spaces, and (if we’re lucky) carry the embers home to keep it burning.
I will talk more about NN18, but first — New Orleans. Remember New Orleans? The song’s about New Orleans. (Actually, it’s about Alice… oh wait.)
I didn’t have time for a nice lunch after the opening address, but I did want to eat something, and I’d been told that beignets at Cafe du Monde were simply a must. The original, main location of CdM is legendarily busy, so I was very fortunate that the Outlet Collection at Riverwalk, a walk-through mall adjacent to the Convention Center, has a small CdM side site. As you see above, I misjudged the size of the beignets badly! I had thought two orders would be a light snack. It was easily enough calories for a meal. Junk calories, every last one, but OH! So yummy. The beignets themselves are chewy and doughy, not quite crispy but with plenty of texture. They’d be delicious (at least to me) even without the blizzard of powdered sugar, but they’re even more delightful with. And if you want the whole entire experience — trust me on this — dip those things in your coffee. Seriously. Just dip ‘em. I got the Cafe au Lait, but I’m told that their chicory coffee is even better for it. I can imagine that, but only just.
I don’t have any photos of the walk between our host hotel and the Convention Center. If you look at the top photo, you can get some sense of it. The tall Hilton hotel on the far right, partially obscured by the lower glass-front building, was our hotel. I was standing on the entrance portico of the Convention Center for the photo. The shot makes it look like more distance than it is — really a five- or six-minute walk for anyone able to walk at moderate speed (though I should keep firmly in mind that not everyone can!).
For that walk, NOLA looks like a mostly modern, normal touristy city. Storefronts pepper the streetside, with everything from upscale food to corner drustores and ice-cream parlors. Trash receptacles were welcomely regular, though — annoyingly — not as well-used as they should have been. Cans would have a stipple of trash in their immediate radius, with the can itself not half full. I know I’m a silly old idjit, but I did take it on myself to clean up a bit whenever I saw such shameful litter in a pretty city. Not my city, not my problem? Pshaw. Litter, and the carelessness that underlies it, is everyone’s problem. (Yes, I washed my hands afterwards!)
But there’s more to NOLA — to be clear, a whole lot more than I saw. But I saw a little. A sliver.
Would you walk with me for a few moments?
After that shamefully sugary but gastronomically delightful pseudo-lunch, I had just enough time to step out behind the Riverwalk shops. There’s a cruise ship dock back there — yes, cruise ships — and some nice views, too. Have a look around.
Clouds hung low over the river, an imposing reminder that we’re all here for an eyeblink, and Mother Earth ain’t got no time for our foolishness.
I was glad of the empty docks that day — a surging throng of humanity ready to board a cruise ship, or seeing off its temporary inhabitants, would have somehow lessened the beauty of the scene.
If anyone’s noting that the heavy clouds look like rain — you’re right. Let me tell you, a day didn’t pass while I was down there, that we didn’t get a bracing midday rain. I’m told by others who have visited the city more that it’s basically a fixture of NOLA life — the noontime shower. One day it was a persistent drizzle, the next a driving pour — but if you were out on the streets when the sun got high, you better have an umbrella or know where to find an awning, lest you get wet.
After that stroll, it was back to the venue for breakouts that first Thursday. (I’m going to only dwell on two, those which were most impactful for me.)
My big Thursday breakout was the panel on Post-Katrina Disaster Capitalism, which you can watch and read about here. Like all the panels I experienced, this one started a few moments late and ran a few moments over to compensate.
I would be a poor witness to convey all that was covered and discussed at this panel. The message I took away — which I by no means claim to be the root of the experience — was that there are people who are completely and totally okay with directly making profit through the destruction of communities and the immiseration of children. I’m sure that sounds luridly dramatic to some readers; pardon my assertiveness, but it’s not.
I’ve been hearing for years, from local and web-based sources, that charter schools are bloody awful. This was a much more direct explanation of why. Again, I’m poorly suited to capsulize the many messages conveyed; suffice to say, in terms as dry as possible, that the entities (businesses and people) behind the charter school privatization movement were content to destroy the careers of about 7,500 public teachers (majority black, majority women). They were completely fine with establishing a profit-based school operations model, in which if a school didn’t look good on the P&L statements at the end of the fiscal year, it could be slammed shut at a moment’s notice.
I’m sure some readers have children. Think about the planning you put into a school year. You buy textbooks. You check bus route times (if you’re lucky enough to have a bus route through your neighborhood or near it). You schedule how your morning’s going to go, getting your kids where they need to be when they need to be there. How your evening’s going to go, picking them up if you need to and getting them home.
Now — willy nilly — toss it all out the window. Boom. Gone. So sorry — that school will be closed next year. Please select the best school for your child’s needs (Let’s hear it for choice! Right? Right?).
Think about the kind of complete disruption this would cause. Think about the uncertainty you, and your kid(s) would experience. I mean, come on. Kids are living in developing bodies; past a certain point, they’re swimming in a soup of hormones, trying to get an education in the process. Now toss in the stormy seas of losing probably every personal connection you, as a kid, made in that school. Will any of your friends (or bullies) be in the new school? Will you be able to form a relationship with a new set of teachers? Hell — maybe a kid doesn’t think about this, but I promise you their parents do — can you even use the same textbook? What if the course was part of a multi-year plan? Will everything integrate?
So yeah, the charter school pushers were fine with that. Advocated for it, come to that.
They were also fine with deepening the performance divide between charter and public schools. The panel talks about this in some detail, but I had the great good fortune of speaking with another very knowledgeable source later that night (more on that in a minute). Summatively, charter schools judge a student’s performance, and if their grades aren’t good enough — they’re ousted, typically for trumped-up reasons. “Willful disobedience” and “disruption of the classroom process” are terribly broad terms, and can be (are) wielded as a bludgeon where needed to give charter school administrators “cause” to boot a struggling student.
And where do those struggling kids go? Why, public schools, of course. So — track me on this, okay? — the kids who are doing well are cloistered in an environment where they, most likely, get further accelerated. The charter schools, fat on public (contract) money, are reasonably well supplied and aren’t struggling to meet a budget (they also cheat on budgeting, and milk student parents for money in ways — some illegal — that public schools do not). While the kids who need help most get put into an environment where the school itself desperately needs help. Sparse budgets, underpaid (and too little) staff, slashed allotments for supplies, and so forth. Minority students get sent to public schools. Autistic children get sent to public schools. Disabled children get sent to public schools.
How is this in any way sensible? Reasonable? How is this in any way expected to produce success? To give fair and equal opportunities (not equal outcomes, that’s impossible) to all students?
The better off get… even better off. The ones who need help?
Yeah.
Want to take a guess what the racial populations of those charter schools look like? How about the Public schools? Go ahead. Swing at it.
I haven’t even mentioned that parents with multiple children might have to have each of those children in a different school. Due to the needs of each child. Ms. Ashana Bigard, on the panel, gives a heartbreaking account of what this is like at around 35 minutes in (video at the link above — please make time to watch the whole thing if you can).
There’s just too much for me to cover. I simply ask you to research the topics covered at this panel. I think you’ll agree that the entities pushing for charter takeovers are frankly vile. Perhaps this is best illustrated through a point made by Jeff Bryant, the debate moderator: there are charter advocates who specifically asked, “How can we have something like Katrina happen in our city?”
Think about that. Someone literally wants an upheaval on the level of one of the most disruptive, destructive, costly (in lives, not just lost but forever changed and damaged) natural disasters in America’s modern history just so they can destroy and remake the local public school system in their own twisted vision. Damn the impact on communities. Families. Culture. Forget all that — they just want to extract profit from the public funding bucket. (There’s a heaping helping of racism there too, in many if not most cases.)
Privatization equals profitization, and profitization equals money extraction — the ostensible nature of the enterprise be damned. Never let anyone tell you different. If they try, ask them what they’re selling.
I’ve spent a lot of time on this panel, and we’ve got more to cover, so let me bookend this experience with what happened later that night. It involved friendship and food. (It’s New Orleans, y’all — there is going to be food.)
Several DKos members, including me, gathered for some post-event dining and conversation. I fear I did not make careful enough note of all the attendees; I know Peregrine Kate from the Asheville NC Meet-Up, and True Blue Majority from last year. I met several folks I hadn’t known before, and it is they whom I sadly fail to recall. I’d know their faces instantly; their usernames escape me, and I didn’t trade numbers, emails, or offer to become FB friends. (I’m fairly sure at least one of the attendees avoids Facebook like the darkest of plagues.)
We all shared our day’s experiences. One of the folks I do remember, for she had quite a bit to share about the topic of the panel I’d attended, was Shanikka. (Again, real name not given for privacy’s sake.) She confirmed, from firsthand experience, everything I’d taken away from the panel on Disaster Capitalism; she had her own anecdotes to share, as well. I wish I’d written this diary sooner; had I done, I might have remembered enough of them to share a few. (If Shanikka reads this, I hope she’ll take the opportunity, as I’ll happily edit them into the diary body.) Certainly she confirmed the harsh legal battles surrounding school privatization, and its deleterious effects on communities, families, and students.
Little enough else rises to memory about that delightful evening except the food — which was superb. I had a spicy shrimp Poboy — bread was a little chewy, I should have asked them to toast it. The dishes were all sumptuous enough to allow sharing unless one was very hungry, so both TBM and Shanikka graciously shared their Red Beans n’ Rice with me. And oh my goodness was that some deliciousness. Stick-to-the-ribs kind of delicious, but you weren’t counting calories while you were eating it.
About the bread pudding, I can only say — go there and try it. I might have been comatose after eating had the conversation (which covered many other topics) not been so involving.
The last thing I can remember about our dinner was TBM finding amusement in me “thinking out loud” (doing wing chun hand patterns between meal courses). I'm a firm believer that males (like me) are, often if not usually, inherently silly, and often better off simply admitting it and rolling with it. YMMV.
After sleep, it was back to the Convention Center for a second day of events and panels. Late (as I usually am), I figured out that food was provided in the common area if you knew the times to arrive. Lucky for me — I needed to save where I could.
A reception marching band came through the convention center around midday, making plenty of noise and dropping right joyful jams. I didn’t get video, though I’m sure you could find some, somewhere.
The second impactful panel, for me at least, was Race-Class: How to Build a Truly Multiracial Movement for Racial Justice and Shared Prosperity for All. As you can see, there’s not a video at the link, and I’m unable to find one. There were several more panelists than the link shows, including a professor who was, I believe, responsible for much of the statistical and documentation work covered by the panel.
The core of the material was an extensive study on the effectiveness of political messaging, specifically around wording that surfaces and centers racial division as opposed to “colorblind” messages. This discussion was very cerebral and less immediately involving than the panel on post-Katrina vulture capitalism. I wish I could summarize it more effectively. Among its many messages, my core take-away was that racially aware political advertising gains more traction with a broader audience than do sanitized (see also: whitewashed) ads. Also — and this was a good reality check — “the base” of Democratic voters isn’t intellectually and emotionally aligned with the activist wing. I was quite surprised to hear we panel attendees referred to as “activists.” I think of myself as a moderately good trooper for liberal causes, that’s it. I’m not out in the streets getting arrested for good cause every month, or every year, or — well, ever. I’m just not. I’ve marched with activists, but I never counted myself in their number.
Another big message was that people don’t like to be told that their behavior is racist. Big surprise there. Addressing that challenge in a positive way, through the messaging under discussion, was some portion of the discussion flow as well.
I am concerned that I’m not conveying the meat of this second panel well, and I hope other attendees will chime in (again, I’ll edit the diary body with contributions). Another specific of the discussion was that liberal messaging absolutely needs to stay away from trying to play to a further-right audience (a sentiment I have little doubt many here will readily echo). Not just because it drives off our own base, and not just because the far reaches of conservative voters really did test as unreachable with any of the tested messages that skewed even slightly liberal — but because those middle-sitters who are persuadable are much more receptive to political messaging that confronts the issue of race directly rather than messaging which intentionally elides it.
All this said, there was one significant pain point in the presentation that several attendees noticed — all the tested messages which spoke specifically to race always mentioned whites first. Shanikka — who also attended this panel — spoke directly to the moderator about it during audience Q&A, and the effect it had on black (and other minority) listeners. I think I remember that Professor Haney, the moderator, answered that the study’s staff were aware of the framing, but hadn’t sufficiently tested mentioning the races in alternate orders to comment on the statistical effect of doing so. I was very glad someone pointed out this disparity.
I wish I had more to offer about this second panel. Again, I plead the haziness of memory that has become more distant, and is troubled by a personal trauma between now and then. It was good material, and I was glad I attended. Successful reclamation of the dominant political narrative needs study and testing. This was definitely heartening evidence that smart people are doing smart-people stuff in that direction. I have hope that the results will filter out, and bear fruit. I wish I had faith — faith that it would work, and faith that the message will find fertile ground in time to make a difference.
Again, anyone who attended this second panel is encouraged to provide supporting material in the comments. ASAP, I’ll edit it into the diary, credit given where due.
After sitting a spell, I badly needed a walk — and I also needed to get some thank-you gifts for the wonderful people who tended my animals while I was away. So, to the French Quarter we go. You still good for a walk? This one’s worth it, I promise.
The walk was enjoyable, and not too long. Much of the distance still had paved streets, as you can see on the right of this photo. There were also throngs of people — sidewalks were wide enough, and passerby generally courteous enough, that it wasn’t a big issue, but yeah — you had a lot of folks walking around. I’m told that NOLA isn’t super hospitable in August (the weather, not the people), so I can scarcely imagine what it must be like in milder seasons.
I’m showing these pictures of homeless men for a reason. NOLA seemed prosperous, abounding with wealth even (don’t get me started on the Harrah’s Casino across from our host hotel). And in this maze of money, this fount of fortune, you’ve got people panhandling on corners. People with dogs panhandling on corners. I didn’t ask the first man if he was a veteran, but the minute or so conversation we had gave me that strong impression.
We don’t get to not look at this. We don’t get to not see this. And there’s a lot that I know I didn’t see. Homeless men sit out with their dogs and panhandle. Where were the homeless women? Better sheltered, I sincerely hope. Safe.
Midday brought another brisk shower, this one enough to send stall vendors and bench buskers running for cover. I got brief video of a busker, but think it’s probably too big and cumbersome to include here (I’ve not posted it on YT).
I went on further in. I wish I’d gotten shots of the narrow street on which I found Boutique du Vampyre, a (very) small clothing and costume shop. I found one of my gifts there. I did get shots of another area.
These streets were less traveled by the throngs on the main throughways — possibly due to being further from Bourbon Street? (I didn’t get within a stone’s throw of Bourbon, by advice of present friends.)
Stopping by another shop, I still couldn’t find much for my pet-sitting friends. I settled for a rose petal bath bomb and a shot glass. No photos of or near the second shop, sorry — they had signs to that effect, which I respected. They also had several items with the German Iron Cross image for sale. On seeing these, I became uncomfortable and quickly left.
The quickest way back to the host hotel was just to amble on up by the river itself — it led right back to the hotel strip. Again I was glad to be mostly alone and unhurried.
On the way, I passed something quite arresting, and I felt, for the time, apropos:
The first inscription under the monument title reads: “Dedicated to the courageous men and women who left their homeland seeking freedom, opportunity, and a better life in a new country. March 19, 1995.”
More words are beneath, naming and honoring some of the people who inspired this monument. I apologize that I did not capture them.
Finally, I dragged on back to the hotel, my feet complaining by that point. I still had enjoyed the walk, more for what I saw than what I purchased. I wish I could share more of those sights with you.
Saturday dawned bright but with the promise of rain. I debated staying for the few events and panels still scheduled for that last full day, but decided against it. The promised midmorning rain wished my goodbye.
And so it was back in the car for another eight-hour belt home. The drive back usually feels shorter than the drive there — not this time. I had reasons for desperately wanting to be back home, and every minute seemed to drag. I made it safe, and saw this beautiful image on the way:
I can’t begin to write down all the lessons this Netroots taught me. I hope I retain a few of them. It was, as always, wonderful to see long-distance friends again, to reconnect in ways that online communication just can’t reproduce. To learn more about them, as such things usually go. And meet new friends, too.
The big thing I took away from Netroots Nation 2018 was that there are so many fights to fight, I wonder if any single person can really speak to them all. It definitely underlined the adage “All politics is local.”
At the same time, rubbing elbows with people from so many different states and walks, with different perspectives but shared priorities, was as mind-broadening as it usually is.
I was, and remain, tremendously thankful for the opportunity to visit NOLA and attend this Netroots. One other adage the experience brings to mind is, “In time travel stories, people are terrified of taking any small action for fear of its repercussions on the present. And yet no one considers that taking small actions in the present may have huge ramifications for the future. It works both ways.”
So maybe that’s the lesson of this long walk. Take some time, take in the sights, but take action too. Connect. Listen. Learn. Talk. Remember. Support. Nurture.
And stand. When it matters, stand and be counted. Stand and be heard.
Well, I probably talked your ear off, but I’m pretty much out of words. Hope y’all enjoyed the stroll and description.
Hope we can walk together again sometime. I’ll get more pictures next time (that way I don’t have to talk as much!).
That’s all I got. Thanks for reading.