NEW ORLEANS (AP) 鈥� She ran around in silver sparkling shoes, her faux chainmail tunic shimmering in the freezing breeze, maneuvering horses made of paper m芒ch茅, a giant green dragon, and sheep constructed from milk cartons.
Antoinette de Alteriis was preparing with hundreds of others to put on the Joan of Arc parade, a joyous, freewheeling kickoff to Carnival season.
Just a few blocks away, people wept and laid flowers and crosses at the site of a horrific truck attack that killed only six days earlier. A memorial to the dead stretched for half a block.
鈥淭hat鈥檚 a hard thing. How do you reconcile that with having a parade?鈥� de Alteriis said. 鈥淗ere鈥檚 how we reconcile it: We chose hope.鈥�
Countless times in the past week, politicians and outsiders have praised the city for its ability to bounce back. New Orleans has faced tragedy again and again, perhaps more than any other American place.
Locals wince when people praise the city鈥檚 鈥渞esilience.鈥� They say they're exhausted at being asked the .
Mark Schettler, a veteran bartender, said he prefers to think of this parade, and all the ones that will come after it, as an act of defiance that inspires others to follow, to act. That, he said, is what the city needs most right now.
鈥淲e鈥檙e so sick and tired of having to be resilient. How about for once things just work?" Schettler said. 鈥淏ut as long as I have two middle fingers I will always be waving them around defiantly.鈥�
Stop calling it resilience
Schettler watched the parade from the Double Club on Chartres Street, at a party reserved for people in the service industry. It was his 39th birthday -- he had a stack of dollar bills pinned to his chest, a New Orleans birthday tradition -- but there was a bittersweet tinge to the celebration.
Schettler grabbed random people at the bar and quizzed them: What鈥檚 the R word that you hate the most? Most knew the answer right away.
鈥淩esilience?鈥� said service industry worker Andy Pratt. 鈥淧ay us! We鈥檙e sick of being resilient.鈥�
鈥淚t鈥檚 not fair to be judged by your ability to navigate trauma,鈥� said Dominic Hernandez, the club鈥檚 co-owner with his wife Cierra.
鈥淚t is so dismissive,鈥� said Cierra Hernandez.
鈥淚t鈥檚 honestly insulting,鈥� said Rafaela Lopez, a tattoo artist and bartender.
They were given little choice but to keep moving: Bourbon Street reopened a mere 36 hours after the carnage, before all the bodies had yet been identified by the coroner. The Sugar Bowl was delayed, but by less than 24 hours. Officials, eager to move forward, plugged the upcoming Super Bowl.
Many people who work as waiters, bartenders or dancers in the French Quarter had to go back to work the day after the attack.
Still grappling with the bloodshed in their streets, some said they felt forced into a state of resiliency by leaders prioritizing those who visit the city, over locals鈥� need for time and space to heal. Louisiana relies on tourism, with 42.6 million visitors in 2022 generating $17.1 billion.
Lt. Gov. Billy Nungesser, who oversees Louisiana鈥檚 marketing and tourism efforts, said that while he understands the need for time to mourn, he also recognizes that the state needs tourism dollars to survive.
鈥淭hose tourism dollars are what keeps the rest of the city and the rest of the state working,鈥� Nungesser said. 鈥淗ow we shine for the Super Bowl will affect tourism for years to come."
And although some view the return to normalcy as resilience, others don't share that view or see it as a compliment. It鈥檚 a forced state of being that requires nothing of anyone but the people who are hurting.
Dressed in leopard print with glitter sparkling all over her cheeks, Lopez said the only real resilience is in the support that the community has for itself.
鈥淭he only people who take care of each other is us,鈥� Lopez said.
Someone brought out shots for the table, and they all raised a glass. They laughed and made a toast: 鈥淭o resilience, y鈥檃ll!鈥�
A city marked by tragedy
It's been just 20 years since Hurricane Katrina devastated the Gulf Coast, and in the decades since there have been more hurricanes, the BP oil spill, and spasms of violence. The city had the in the nation in 2022. The numbers have decreased in the years since, but residents still say violence is so ingrained in city life, they鈥檙e often numb to it.
On New Year鈥檚 Day, just hours after the carnage on Bourbon Street, the owner of a Vietnamese supermarket was gunned down in a robbery. Thanh Vu, a mother of six and widely known as Ms. Maria, was described to the local media as a 鈥渂eloved matriarch.鈥� Two others were killed in separate shootings that same day: 19-year-old Kayron Hall and 41-year-old Percy Baytop.
鈥淭hings keep happening here 鈥� hurricanes, floods, now a terrorist attack. We鈥檙e just expected to dust ourselves off and keep going,鈥� said New Orleans native Julie Laskay.
De Alteriis said she still has post-traumatic stress disorder from surviving Hurricane Katrina. She spent months after living in a makeshift shelter with her elderly mother, her son and two cats, and still gets pangs of fear when a bad storm rolls in, a compulsion to check in with friends 鈥� the same instinct she felt after the attack on New Year鈥檚 Day.
Some people have criticized Mayor LaToya Cantrell and Chief of Police Anne Kirkpatrick for leaving the French Quarter vulnerable on New Year鈥檚 Eve; the city was in the midst of replacing the leaving a security gap that gave the attacker an entry onto the street. The mayor later admitted she remains unsure if the expensive new barriers would be able to stop a similar vehicle attack.
If not resilience, then what?
The parade marched on. It was a motley assembly of hundreds of volunteers, smaller than in past years, from retirees who had participated for nearly two decades to twentysomethings who signed up on a whim for the first time ever.
Spectators expressed gratitude for the knights, monks, angels and others who had donned their elaborate costumes in near-freezing weather: 鈥淭hank y鈥檃ll!鈥� 鈥淵鈥檃ll look so great!鈥� 鈥淕orgeous!鈥� Strangers smiled at each other, friends reconnected and hugged along the route and the warmth of the moment seemed to hold the city together.
Hannah Miller held a sign reading 鈥淚 love you New Orleans鈥濃�� with little lights around it.
鈥淭onight felt almost like a protest or a rally,鈥� she said. 鈥淏ecause love is bigger than fear.鈥�
It felt, some said, like a light in the darkness.
Wren Misbach, a marcher dressed in a silvery tunic, viewed it as an act of service to the city she loves.
鈥淲e take care of ourselves here,鈥� Misbach said. 鈥淲e rise again, we live to fight another day, we put ourselves back together.鈥�
Yasin Frank Southall and his friends celebrated in a most New Orleans fashion: Pouring out free hot toddies and slicing king cake for anyone who passed.
鈥淕oing back to normalcy is really important. It鈥檚 about tradition, it鈥檚 about love,鈥� said Southall, a 42-year-old community engagement manager for a housing organization.
As the parade wound to a close, Kathleen Ford, a 56-year-old realtor draped in a pink and white coat with a bejeweled felt crown, called out to the marchers: 鈥淧ray hard!鈥�
She had to be here tonight despite the cold, despite how tired she was of bouncing back ever since she lost her house beneath 10 feet of water after Hurricane Katrina. A former French Quarter resident, her favorite bar was just a block away from where the attack happened.
This parade, she said, isn鈥檛 about resilience. It's about the city, and what it means, its beauty, its pain, its grit.
鈥淚t鈥檚 what we do, it鈥檚 part of our DNA, my DNA,鈥� Ford said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the soul of my heart and soul of New Orleans.鈥�
As the parade ended before her, a procession of angels brought up the rear, their white-gloved hands clasped in prayer to the tune of Hallelujah.
They marched through a flutter of confetti and flashing blue police lights.
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Galofaro reported from Louisville, KY, and Cline from Baton Rouge, La. Brook is a corps member for The Associated Press/Report for America Statehouse News Initiative. is a nonprofit national service program that places journalists in local newsrooms to report on undercovered issues. Follow Brook on the social platform X: @jack_brook96. Follow Cline on the social platform X: @SaraLCline.
Jack Brook, Sharon Lurye, Claire Galofaro And Sara Cline, The Associated Press
