(Edit) Solution journalism spring 2022: Scars can be colorful

Looking down the Claiborne Corridor and its painted columns (Photo by: Ben Patterson)

Scars that hide in plain sight are some of the most painful wounds for someone to bear. Others look at them, yet choose to say nothing in fear of potentially sharing the burden of healing something that’s already irremovable. They go unnoticed even though, below the layers of newly calloused skin and dried blood, lies a story of pain and suffering that will never truly disappear. The Tremé, one of New Orleans most sacred neighborhoods, has dealt with the same burden for over half a century.

From above, the I-10 highway connects the central areas of New Orleans to the outer parts of the main city. Residents from the north shore shovel to and from downtown New Orleans using this aged road system. The highway’s main stretch, supplying commuters with a spectacular view of the skyline upon entrance into the city, follows the same path as North Claiborne Avenue. This street has been the central hub for some of the oldest districts in New Orleans, such as the 7th Ward and the Tremé. As drivers pass the various neighborhoods, which rest below the elevated expressway, they fail to look down at the damage their daily commute has inflicted on the community.

Underneath the expansive stretch of scorching asphalt and weathered dividers, a shadowed corridor of concrete and brick pillars line up for miles. During sunset, bits of light protrude through its many columns, revealing a forest of brick trees and concrete shrubbery. Murals of New Orleans’ artists, local street venders, and tents are scattered underneath this expansive hallway of intimidating supports and empty space. This underpass, known as the Claiborne Corridor, is a dark spin on what North Claiborne used to be.

Before the highway’s construction in 1966, the North Claiborne section of Tremé was a commercial

Claiborne Avenue in 1966, pre-renovation

and cultural hub for over 100 black families and businesses. Vibrant trees and vegetation had once flourished where concrete pillars now ominously reign over abandoned houses and torn down buildings. Under the shade of large, healthy oak trees, families would meet for celebrations and picnics, kids would run around, vendors would sell food and merchandise, and bands would play some of the best music in the city. The neutral ground, where the highway presently stands, was once the center of cultural and artistic expression for the New Orleans community.

In an effort to develop the city of New Orleans for future growth, officials proposed I-10 as a vein for both tourists and residents living on the outer banks of the city to fully connect with downtown New Orleans. This, however, was at the expense of the North Claiborne neutral ground and many other black neighborhoods which stood in the way of its construction. Residents had opposed the plan but did not have the sufficient representation needed to overturn it. After the completion of I-10, nearly 500 homes were taken down, and, out of the hundreds of black owned businesses that had once flourished along the street, only about 44 remained. The highway physically cut the Tremé in two. This not only divided the community but also sent the neighborhood into economic decline due to the reduction of commercial traffic. Because of its lowered communal income, government officials nominated the Tremé as an opportunity zone which favored wealthy private investors and gentrification while inevitably displacing hundreds of families that had called Tremé home for generations.

The construction of I-10 hasn’t been the first time New Orleans officials have uprooted or sectioned off communities for the purpose of “developing” low-income communities. Redlining has been a major problem throughout America’s urban planning history, and it was especially problematic in New Orleans where impoverished communities continue to suffer to this day. Nevertheless, redlining has since become less conspicuous, morphing into a new practice called opportunity zoning. Although the name might seem ethical and progressive, it reeks of predatory zoning and resident displacement. Areas such as the 7th Ward, the Lower 9th Ward, and Mid-City are already nominated as opportunity zones.

As much as this practice conveys the most brutal aspects of urban planning, development is necessary for a city’s economic and structural success. That’s what makes this issue so difficult to solve. How can we help these communities succeed without removing the very residents that formed them in the first place? Every one of these zoned neighborhoods carries a colorful and rich culture that echoes with sounds of blaring brass bands, sweet and spicy aromas, and historic architecture that can’t be found anywhere else in America. Places like the Tremé represent New Orleans’ ground zero for cultural and artistic production. The I-10 highway doesn’t only serve as a scar for the Tremé but also symbolizes the major consequences of urban development within the city of New Orleans as a whole. The culture that had thrived within the Tremé was sliced, gutted, and transformed into a monument of loss and pain, constantly reminding its community of a treasure that was taken from them.

Mornings in the Tremé start with the rumbling of cars eager for a punctual workplace arrival. These vehicles race under the dimly lit sky and orange street lights toward the Central Business District, generating tremors throughout the highway’s elevated foundation. Before the sun even comes up, the Claiborne

Column that displays a mural signifying the removal of North Claiborne’s trees due to the construction of I-10 (Photo by: Ben Patterson)

Corridor yawns as it wakes up for the start of yet another day. As soon as the sun rises above the brown rooftops and bent telephone poles of Tremé, food trucks park and warm up their grills while retail vendors set up portable tents between the painted columns underneath the I-10 highway.

This is not a rare sight to see on a normal day within the corridor. In fact, it’s probably the corridor at its quietest, even with the addition of screeching horns and bass boosted stereos from cars whizzing past. Even after its destruction, the Tremé community still uses the neutral ground below the highway as a place for celebrations and gatherings. Local musicians and second lines have found a better way to drown out the corridor’s vehicular thunder by using the elongated hallway as a reverberation tool to stretch their melodies out farther so that the whole neighborhood can feel the sting of their brass. Large events such as the Tremé/7th Ward Arts and Cultural Festival draw vendors and local bands under the I-10 overpass. Beneath one of the most traumatic scars on New Orleans’ map, the Tremé community came together not only to heal themselves but to also reclaim their vibrant history and culture.

Over time, the Tremé community became whole again and found itself rebuilding after the destruction of the North Claiborne neutral ground. This gradual unification and reclamation by the Tremé had then begun to attract the attention of its surrounding areas and eventually, the entire New Orleans community. The resurgence of a neighborhood that was thought to be destroyed by poor urban planning and predatory zoning tactics sparked a discussion that was long overdue: the future plans for I-10.

The debate has been on and off for the past few decades on whether I-10 should be demolished or kept. On one hand, the demolished highway would most likely be replaced by a communal neutral ground, thus returning North Claiborne to its original state. On the other hand, a plan proposed in 2018 regarding the redevelopment and repurposing of I-10 as a cultural market, otherwise known as the Claiborne Corridor Cultural Innovation District (CID), would not only allow North Claiborne to succeed economically but also preserve a side of the Tremé’s cultural identity that was reclaimed after half a century.

Although these ideas lean toward the preservation and development of the Tremé, they both have their fair share of difficulties and problems. Many residents of Tremé fear that the process of demolition would negatively impact the neighborhood’s economic traffic as well as its home owners along the North Claiborne stretch. The repurposing plan, however, would take much longer and be less cost-effective. Nevertheless, both plans are being professionally guided by local government organizations such as Ujamaa and the New Orleans’ mayoral administration and have already received a considerable amount of funding. Either way, the Tremé, due to its resilience and community building, has been able to garner attention from the masses and finally make strides in developing their community based on their own desires and wishes.

The main issue behind the lack of discussion regarding the development of the Claiborne Corridor up until recently was that many of the residents saw the interstate as a monster, cutting through the heart of a community which had developed a vibrant culture and economy for New Orleans. For Tremé, the interstate and its dark corridor that lay underneath, was still a fresh wound that gushed displaced families, bankrupt businesses, and cultural division: a symbol for how the City of New Orleans had ignored and betrayed them in the past.

A mural of Louis Armstrong hangs above the tents underneath the Corridor (Photo by: Ben Patterson)

However, this act of reclamation has since opened up new opportunities for Claiborne to return to the cultural and economic powerhouse it once was. Murals showcasing New Orleans’ most famous musicians and pop-up shops selling local meals to the neighborhood’s residents had provided hope for the community beneath the forest of aged brick and painted cement. This sudden resurgence of opportunity for cultural bloom caused many residents to rethink their hatred of the corridor. Progressively, the area moved from sheltering the homeless to providing a space for communal congregations which then led to the discussion of revitalizing the Claiborne Corridor as it is, thus fabricating a possible community marketplace that could end up competing with the French Market. Once the community came together and reclaimed this symbol of divided land and lost property of artistic bloom, official progress started being made in dealing with the “monster”.

Many other communities throughout New Orleans have also been affected by this predatory development of low-income neighborhoods. These communities were torn from their roots and then forced to replant them, all while facing constant threats such as gentrification, unemployment, and further predatory development. Based on the Claiborne Corridor resurgence, a solution for this problem would need to be centered around the closeness of neighborhood residents. For this solution to work, a community should find a physical place or organize a specific event that not only represents the neighborhood’s identity but also creates a deeper connection between community members. With that, local organizations such as Ujamaa and the many professional groups that run it will begin to notice the resurgence of a communal identity. With that awareness, plans for better public spaces or areas could be enacted for the necessary development and artistic production that a community actually wants. If more low-income communities see their forced zoning as an opportunity for reclamation and revitalization, New Orleans can heal its scars of the past, turning even its ugliest wounds into something brighter and much more colorful than it ever was.