written by cierra chenier, commissioned by new orleans film society for south summit 2022. read here.
I come from an old place at the bottom of the map, strategically located at the curve of the Mississippi River and surrounded by bayous, swamps, lakes, and wetlands. The resourcefulness and intellect of Indigenous people allowed for this once swampland to exist, developing a portage called Bayou Road that connected Bayou St. John to the river through the highly-elevated land European colonizers deemed the “original city,” now known as the French Quarter. From Indigenous people, the French learned the land, waterways, and crop cultivation techniques necessary for survival.
The beauty in our landscape tells a story in this old place at the bottom of the map. Spanish moss delicately flows on centuries-old oak trees stained with blood on the leaves. Just one year into the city’s colonial history, Black men, women, and children were trafficked from the coast of West Africa to build the city’s foundation. The same river that positioned my city as a major, multi-million dollar port also brought my people downriver en masse during the domestic slave trade. Enslaved people drained the swamps, built the levees, crafted the ironwork, laid the brickwork, cared for the children, worked the sugar, indigo, cotton, and rice fields, cooked the food, and created traditions out of survival that eventually birthed a culture. We have always fought for and redefined our freedom here; from maroon colonies, slave rebellions, to our large, unique population of gens de couleur libres (free people of color).
This old place at the bottom of the map is geographically South. When proximity and culture overlap, we are considered the “northernmost Caribbean city.” Our roots are undoubtedly African, Indigenous, Creole. You hear every bit of the French, you see the Spanish. Our present is intertwined with contributions from Haitian, Cajun/Acadian, Italian, German, Irish, Vietnamese, Mexican, and several other immigrant groups. Hardly “American” to some and yet, we are the very backbone of American culture. I come from New Orleans, the N.O., 504, the place everyone wants a piece of. This is where we move second in line to the beat of our own drum, walk with our dead, and live each day with a joie de vivre (joy of living). We gave the world jazz and exist as the artery from which later art forms and musical genres developed. We follow traditions as old as the city itself, eat good good, talk hard hard, and move through these corners, banquettes (old sidewalks), and faubourgs (suburbs) with a divine aura. Our neighborhoods stand on former plantations and climate change makes way as we still try to recover from the last storm. The afterlives of slavery and racist policies haunt our livelihoods in the forms of mass incarceration, over 150 chemical plants in our surrounding communities, and long overdue concerns of poverty, trauma, and displacement.
See, I come from a place where people hardly go too far, and when they do, it keeps them coming back. I descend from a lineage of those who for some reason, whether by choice or circumstance, stayed where they were rooted. Eight generations and counting on this Louisiana soil sha (cher), I’ve made the conscious decision to do the same. I am a testimony to the survival of a race, community, and city. I view it as a privilege to still live where I’m rooted given centuries of challenges that have threatened our existence here. The hardships endured and sacrifices made by those before me will be avenged through the freedom of their children. Black New Orleans will be free. The question in post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans is: how do we get there?
The exploitation of my home has left me wanting to selfishly cling to every part of what Katrina couldn’t get her hands on; constantly examining what is lost, what is needed, and what can be contributed. As a Black New Orleans writer and historian, I believe in history as the key to liberating minds and planting the seeds needed to liberate us in totality. The James Baldwin quote tells us, “You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read” and as history tells it, we’ve been here before. Fortunately for us, there were people throughout the course of this region’s history who were exactly what the moment needed them to be and made decisions towards freedoms they knew they may not ever live to see. Everyone has a role to play and a responsibility to bear–are you the new ancestor? The new colonizer? Are you contributing to exploitation or emancipation? Are your decisions collective or individual? What are you willing to give up? What side of the line do you stand on? What did freedom mean then? How do we redefine freedom now?
Systems must change. Systems must go. The paradigm must shift. Black New Orleans will be free–from oppressive systems, agents of white supremacy, environmental racism, gentrification, poverty, and pain. I believe this because I have to. How history will remember us will be reflected in what we leave behind. The legacy that I hope to leave is that I was exactly what my city needed me to be at this moment, that history will remember me well because I decided to learn from it. I hope to leave a record, a reflection of the times, and a clear indication of what side of the line I stood on.
I come from an old place at the bottom of the map, where Charles Deslondes purposefully led over 200 enslaved people up the river road, chanting “Freedom or death!” during what would become the largest slave revolt in American history. The 1811 German Coast Uprising began in Louisiana’s St. John the Baptist and St. Charles Parishes (where my familial roots also lie) and was destined for the city of New Orleans. Inspired by the Haitian Revolution, their goal was to capture New Orleans (the seat of the territory’s government), overthrow slavery, and establish a Black republic. They made it as close as Kenner, just minutes outside of the city, before being captured and brutally executed. Although their goal was defeated, their determination for freedom is infinite.
Historically, culturally, and spiritually, New Orleans has functioned as a source, an origin, “the place or thing that something comes from or starts at.” As the country’s once largest slave market, our battle for freedom has always been a constant one. The intent of the 1811 Rebellion identified New Orleans as a catalyst for change, with the assertion that freedom here makes freedom possible elsewhere. I believe that we can and will be just that. My home, and yours, depend on it.
ABOUT CIERRA CHENIER Cierra Chenier is a writer and historian born and raised in New Orleans. Driven by the love for her city and enabled by cultural memory, she created NOIR ‘N NOLA, a digital platform preserving the history, culture, and soul of Black New Orleans. Recognitions and presentations include: Essence Festival ‘Cheers To Her Brunch’, VH1 ‘Growing Up Black: New Orleans’, Fox 8/WVUE ‘Creating Black History’, NOLA Tech 2020 honoree, Carnegie Mellon Race & Inclusion Resource Guide, and Secret Los Angeles’ ’35 Influential Black Voices Shaping American Culture.’ Her work is self-published through NOIR ‘N NOLA and featured in various publications such as Essence Magazine. Chenier serves as a resource for and about Black New Orleans. Through her historical analysis and interpretation, she elevates the past to form necessary connections towards her community’s present and future. cierrachenier.com
This piece was commissioned by the New Orleans Film Society for South Summit 2022. South Summit received critical support from JustFilms, which is part of the Ford Foundation’s Creativity and Free Expression program and is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.
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