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//In 2005 a disaster of unprecedented proportions struck New Orleans // //in the form of Hurricane Katrina. On the five year anniversary, // //I take this opportunity to reflect on my personal feelings about the city. // media type="file" key="MarcusTIB.mp3" align="left"
 * I Believe in New Orleans ** //By: Marcus Richards//

I believe in New Orleans.

I didn’t always. In fact, I don't even feel that qualified to talk about it. I wasn’t one of the wonderful people who selflessly spent their time and money to clean up after hurricane Katrina. I don’t have family there. Despite growing up in Houston, it wasn’t until later experiences that I understood the importance, the beauty, and the soul that defines New Orleans.

I remember my school opening up after the hurricane to take in some of the displaced students. I especially remember how our close-knit football team, after years of freshman and junior varsity football, after two-a-days under the hot southern sun, didn’t question for a second welcoming them as our own. It sounds trite now, but to a dumb high school jock that meant a lot. And I remember how by the end of the winningest season in our school’s history to date, there was no doubt in my mind that we would have been incomplete without those people. We welcomed them in their time of need, and they in turn embraced us, made us stronger.

In 2008, I visited New Orleans for the first time as an adult. I was able to explore the city freely, to experience it as I pleased. Steaming fresh crawfish, toasting strangers in the street, lively music and art bombarding the senses at every corner, I was floored. New Orleans became my favorite city in the world on that trip, but despite the glorious architecture and art and food and people, the old wounds of the city were open and festering for everyone to see. Beautiful buildings that have stood for more than a century were boarded up and abandoned, the sound of sirens and the occasional gunshot peppered the constant roar of the crowd on Bourbon Street, and a sense of defiant desperation pervaded.

None of this made me truly understand New Orleans, though, and what it means. The real reason I believe in New Orleans happened right here in Colorado. I had a job delivering furniture to people’s homes, and as I started to work putting together a table we had delivered, I made small talk with the woman I was delivering to. She told me she was moving in with family she had up here because she had lost her home to Katrina. With my head down tightening screws, I absent mindedly talked about the city, and my experiences with people from there. I looked up after a few moments, and to my surprise the woman was sobbing. It felt as though she had been on the verge of tears for days. As she told me about everyone and everything she missed so dearly, and she hugged me as if she had been waiting so long for someone who understood just a little bit, I did understand. I understood that it was possible to flood someone out of that city but utterly impossible to flood that city out of someone’s soul. New Orleans will survive not because of it’s cultural importance, or because the rest of the nation is suddenly convinced it’s worth saving, but because of the undeniable spirit of it’s people. I believe in New Orleans.