(no subject)
Today we took the children to a program called “Essence Cares.” The Essence Festival is a huge music festival that used to take place in New Orleans around the Fourth of July every year before the Hurricane. Last summer, the festival took place in Huston. This summer, it’s back home. “Essence Cares” is a program in which several of the artists performing at the festival, as well as other local celebrities, attempt to make a positive impact on the impoverished youth of the city. The local summer camps bring children to a free morning concert.
The idea is an incredibly brilliant one. If anything unites these children, it’s their music. The moment any music begins to play, it’s like I’ve arrived on the set of a musical. Every child not only sings every word to every song, but also dances what appear to be well choreographed moves to each chorus.
The first time I experienced the phenomena I was on the bus with the children on the way to the skating rink for a Friday field trip. The bus driver turned on the radio and all the kids stopped talking, sat down in their seats, and began to sing and dance. As unbelievable as magic. I’m speechless with wonderment every time I see it. I spent a lot of today speechless.
What’s disturbing about it is that these artists have so much power over these children and what do they choose to sing about? Sex. Drugs. Violence. Money. Or less harmful, but still not necessarily positive: dancing, relationships, being angry.
Today, I was thrilled to see these artists attempting to make a positive impact on the children who worship them. All the songs they sang this morning were either of the second group, or even containing genuinely uplifting messages. And the children (hundreds ranging in age from 7 to 18), sang along, enjoying the music and feeling the power of the message.
Yes, their lives were hard. Yes, Katrina made them a lot worse. And yes, they could succeed. Yes, their dreams could come true if they worked hard, avoided violence, and stayed committed to pursuing their education.
Despite the positive message and the fantastic music (don’t tell me you're not jealous that I got to see Cupid perform the Cupid Shuffle live because I won’t believe you), the corporate sponsors almost ruined the day.
I was sick of hearing the MC say things like, “And a hand to Chevy for sponsoring this,” or “Let’s not forget that Coca-Cola is providing all this for you” or “This is just another way McDonalds is trying to make us smile.” To make things worse, a McDonald’s representative talked to the students, asking them things like, “Who’s lovin’ it?” and “Who makes the best fries around?”
I mean, I love to watch the students receive gifts. So the free tee-shirts and back-packs and food would have been awesome, except that the names of major corporations were splashed in huge lettering all over them. The advertising was shameless brainwashing.
Lest I forget that the students lives are difficult…
On the bus ride home, I sit next to Jeremy. He turns to me, “You mad about Hurricane Katrina?”
I nod, and he continues, “I’m mad, real mad. I’m mad about my school. It’s gone. And my house. My house was near my old school. Ms. P taught there. And my dad. And me and Ms. P and my dad’s old school, it’s gone. And they set my house on fire. Before the storm. Me and my mom was inside. The smoke was trappin’ us. My dad had to break down the kitchen door. I’m mad about my house.”
He looks out the window. We’re passing the Superdome. He’s quiet for a moment, then he starts speaking again with renewed vehemence, “And the superdome! I’m mad ‘bout that too. The hurricane blew the roof off. We’re moving back, you know? We in the seven ward now. But we moving back to the nine ward. Not to the same house, not the one that burned down.”
“I’m mad too,” I tell him.
After lunch, Ms. P leaves the classroom to my supervision. As soon as she is out the door, the students begin acting up. I try to read to them. I fail. So I hand out paper for them to journal on. I yell a lot. Finally, the class is almost quiet. E’shante’s hand shoots up into the air.
“E’shante, I told you no talking. I’m not helping people spell today. Sound out the words. If you need to go to the bathroom, go.” E’shante rolls her eyes and keeps her hand raised. “What could possibly be so important that you must talk about it now?”
She stretches her hand up higher into the air and nods her head, encouraging me to call on her.
I beckon her up to my desk. Clarence has taken my distraction as license to start burping again and Steven is muttering threats to punch him if he doesn’t stop.
Standing before me, E’shante is grinning brightly, as if she’s won a prize. And she has: my attention. “What?” I ask, irritably. Clarence is humming loudly. I am very close to tears.
“My cousin’s dead.”
“Oh.” Right. That’s awful, but I have no idea why she’s telling me, especially now. Part of me wants to send her back to her seat, to tell her that she isn’t supposed to chatting right now. The other part of me is sympathetic to the fact that this is probably her way of processing her grief. At exactly the moment when I am about to have the class under control.
She’s still smiling. “We went to his funeral.”
“When?”
“Yesterday. You watch the news, Miz Alex?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Nope, not down here.”
“Well, he got shot.”
I’m not sure what to say. “That’s miserable.”
“Yeah.” She returns to her seat. She hasn’t stopped smiling. I have to run to reach Steven before he starts throwing punches at Clarence.