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Rehabilitating the City

In the ten episodes that comprise the first season of Treme, Overmyer and Simon confront institutional trauma—as a result of both invasive public policies and the enduring presence of the military—which New Orleanians experienced in the months following Katrina. The show centers on the disappearance of David Brooks (Daryl Williams), an African American resident of New Orleans who was arrested for a traffic violation and held in prison in the hours before the storm hit. Beginning three months after the hurricane, the series’ central narrative focuses on his sister, Ladonna (Khandi Alexander), and her attempts to track down David in a prison system that has lost track of its own inmates. In the final episodes, Ladonna learns of David’s death, her brother a victim of an institutional failure that not only led to his wrongful imprisonment, but also his eventual murder.

Many of the show’s central characters are in some way linked to David, and his disappearance functions as the traumatic absence that the people of New Orleans are unable to confront directly. Confronting David’s death involves accepting a betrayal by the state, one that abolishes the fantasy of a politically-responsible American institution. Furthermore, this process erodes the foundations of American identity, suggesting that one’s citizenship or national affiliation does not preclude political trauma perpetrated by one’s own country. Treme takes the form of a trauma narrative; all of its action occurs in the present, three months after the hurricane, and characters seem unwilling to reflect on their individual experience of the hurricane or the evacuation. Only in the final episode, during David’s funeral, does the narrative move back in time and depict his arrest and imprisonment, an event that serves as the traumatic core around which the series revolves.¹⁴ Adopting the structure of a trauma narrative here in the season finale, Treme underscores the processes by which victims of political trauma repress traumatic experiences, seeking to preserve what they imagine to be an intact relationship to institutional power.

More than merely exploring the political trauma generated by David’s disappearance, the show focuses on the rehabilitation of New Orleans’ urban space and the modes by which residents attempt to wrest their city from the grips of institutional power. Whereas Zeitoun demonstrates the immediate regimenting

¹⁴ Matt Zoller Seitz’s article, “‘Treme’ Untangles the Lessons of Trauma,” gives some attention to the traumatic dimensions of the series, but, written for a popular audience, the article does not fully unpack the show’s complex treatment of political trauma.

of city space following the hurricane, Treme depicts the lasting presence of military in the city and the public policies that continue to disenfranchise poor, predominantly African American residents. Treme is keenly aware that the project of rebuilding New Orleans involves re-invigorating urban space through cultural practices that challenge the state and establish zones of cultural heterogeneity.

Therefore, the presence of the institution and its concomitant modes of discipline reveals the ongoing experience of trauma in the city; in order to confront this presence, the characters of Treme must utilize their urban environment as a space of performance, where embodying cultural traditions—often grounded in music and dance—and engaging in political protest offer ways of coming to terms with institutional trauma.

From its first scenes, Treme establishes the fundamental tensions between the institution and the people of New Orleans, and particularly how they manifest themselves in the city’s streets. Continuing where Zeitoun leaves off, the first scenes depict soldiers and police officers monitoring the streets as New Orleanians prepare for their first second-line parade after Katrina. As the musicians and dancers in the appropriately-named Rebirth Brass Band prepare for the parade and begin to infiltrate the streets, almost every shot is framed by a symbol of institutional authority: a line of uniformed soldiers, a stoic police officer, a police motorcycle, etc. Absorbed in the rhythms of the performance and the relentless forward movement of the parade, the predominantly African American participants generally ignore the disciplining forces around them,

opting instead to claim the city streets as a space of cultural performance, one that connects them to history and a sense of local identity. Nonetheless, in these opening scenes Overmyer and Simon immediately underscore the series’ chief thematic concern: the tension between institutional power and street-level cultural performance.¹⁵

The series begins and ends with second line parades, establishing this distinctly New Orleans cultural tradition as a practice of great significance both to the characters in the show and to the people of New Orleans. Second lining, which occurs every Sunday, nine months out of the year, involves a hired brass band and hundreds of dancers from the community—historically African Americans from impoverished neighborhoods but certainly not exclusive to that group—moving through the streets, stopping at designated neighborhood locales for food and alcohol, and generally “rolling” to the rhythm of the music. Joel Dinerstein calls it “a rolling block party, a cultural institution, a community event that carnivalizes and colonizes the public sphere, a weekly celebration of neighborhood or clan, a walkabout for urbanites” (618). An outgrowth of the Congo Square dances of the nineteenth century, where slaves were permitted to play music, dance, and perform cultural traditions, second line parades are a part

¹⁵ Although the police and the military in these scenes are represented as instruments of institutional discipline, Simon and Overmyer are careful throughout the series to highlight the ways that institutions demand that otherwise conscientious and empathetic men and women fulfill their role as instruments of the state. Police officer Terry Colson (David Morse), for instance, is deeply affected by Creighton Bernette’s suicide and is clearly concerned with balancing his dual role as a civilian and a figure of institutional authority. Like the desk clerk in Zeitoun, Colson demonstrates the ways that institutional power affects all individuals, regardless of their station or their relation to institutional power.

of a long, rich tradition of African American history in New Orleans. Even though parades require a permit costing as much as $2000 for a single day, police, especially in the parades following Katrina, have been known to harass participants.¹⁶ Nonetheless, second liners, as Treme depicts, took to the streets despite the presence of Army personnel and police officers attempting to maintain order and discipline the streets. Addressing the political necessity of second lining, Dinerstein writes, “the politics of the parade were in staking a claim on the streets themselves, to literally represent ownership and intent” (631). For the people of New Orleans, reclaiming the streets in the face of institutional power was as much a cultural tradition as it was an act of political protest.

Second lining is only one of many street-level cultural practices that Treme depicts. The anticipation, celebration, and aftermath of Mardi Gras plays a significant role in the show’s narrative, as several characters see in “carnival” the possibility of political redemption for the city and for the people traumatized by the government’s presence in their lives. Carnival offers New Orleanians the opportunity to make subversive political commentary within the space of the city. This practice is particularly significant in Treme and, more generally, for the people of New Orleans, as the institution’s modes of discipline—as I have shown above—are very much dependent on how they function within and manipulate urban space. In the show, Creighton Bernette (John Goodman), an English



¹⁶ Dinerstein discusses the attempts on the part of the city to curtail second line parades, at times raising permits to as much as $4,000 for a single day. Many New Orleanians interpreted this as yet another attempt to disenfranchise poor, black residents of the city (633).

professor at Tulane equally traumatized by and irate over the government’s gross mismanagement of New Orleans’ reconstruction, participates in the Krewe du Vieux, a Mardi Gras parade famous for scathing satire and political critique.

Bernette’s float, which features a papier-mâché rendition of Mayor Ray Nagin masturbating, offers subversive political commentary on Nagin’s administration and its perceived ineptitude in the rebuilding of the city.

Likewise, the eighth episode, “All on a Mardi Gras Day,” is entirely devoted to depicting the performative and subversive dimensions of Mardi Gras; all of the show’s characters dress in costume and take to the streets, transforming the city from a space of discipline into a space of play and performance. Despite the affirmative, celebratory atmosphere of the carnival, Simon and Overmyer are clear to point out that these forms of political subversion—though critical to reclaiming urban space—are temporary and that the institutional structure in place cannot be dismantled through any single act of resistance.¹⁷ Davis (Steve Zahn) and Annie (Lucia Micarelli), both of whom are involved in destructive romantic relationships, spend the day together and share a poignant moment at the night’s end. Likewise, Antoine (Wendell Pierce) and Ladonna, formerly married to one another but now divorced and in separate relationships, reunite in the waning hours of the carnival. In each case, Mardi Gras—as a performative cultural tradition that encourages participants to challenge, critique, and dismantle

¹⁷ That Mardi Gras offers only temporary relief from the forces of discipline in the city suggests that urban space—or, perhaps, our imagined relationship to urban space—in the present day has all but disappeared. The following chapter on postmetropolitan space explores this phenomenon in greater detail.

hierarchies of power—provides temporary relief from the realities of the post- Katrina environment, represented here through the characters’ problematic relationships in the real world. As the night comes to an end, police clear the streets, once again exerting discipline on the temporarily dynamic space of performance provided by the carnival, and characters are forced to return to reality.¹⁸

Even if Treme suggests that these performative practices only offer temporary relief from institutional power, it is worth exploring how these spatial tactics function, as Overmyer and Simon are continually interested in addressing how characters utilize urban space to reclaim cultural traditions and thereby carve out spaces of political agency. Mikhail Bahktin’s writings on the Rabelaisian carnival offer a logical starting point for this discussion. Bahktin explains, “carnival celebrate[s] temporary liberation from the prevailing truth and from the established order; it mark[s] the suspension of all hierarchical rank, privileges, norms, and prohibitions. Carnival [is] the true feast of time, the feast of becoming, change, and renewal. It [is] hostile to all that [is] immortalized and completed” (10). Carnival democratizes space, challenging static (“immortalized and



¹⁸ It should be noted that, in recent decades, Mardi Gras has become increasingly involved in processes of production and consumption, particularly in terms of cultural tourism. In 2009, Mardi Gras brought an estimated $145,723,918 to the New Orleans economy, accounting for 1.61% of the city’s GDP (Spindt 3). This certainly undercuts the subversive value of Mardi Gras as an event that destabilizes institutional structures, and perhaps speaks to the processes by which all cultural performances in the age of the spectacle eventually get co-opted for consumption. The same could be said for Simon and Overmyer’s series, which, though politically-subversive, is certainly an object for mainstream cultural consumption.

completed”) institutional discourses responsible for maintaining an oppressive status quo. In using the city streets to temporarily suspend state power, carnival transforms “the city” (the regimented space of institutional discipline) into “the urban” (the free space of cultural performance), where a multiplicity of voices and subject positions democratically coexist. As individuals inhabit city space and perform cultural identity, they produce social space, dismantling, even if only temporarily, the structures that have overlaid urban space.

“The city” and “the urban,” are important to Lefebvre’s writings on the production of space. Unlike “the smooth” and “the striated” in Deleuze and Guattari’s writings, these terms emphasize the individual’s role in producing space. City space, Lefebvre explains, describes the city as a physical place whose primary function is to discipline and control bodies in order to ensure the uninterrupted flow of capitalism. Urban space refers to the city as defined by its inhabitants, who democratically and creatively produce the space of the city through their movements and interactions within it. In short, city space refers to the city as a product of institutional regimentation, while urban space refers to the city as a product of user interaction (Writings on Cities 103). By regimenting lived spaces and defining public and private boundaries in our neighborhoods, city streets materially organize and discipline urban space. Nonetheless, individuals may use these infrastructural channels for subversive political activity and for the production of social space.

Recognizing the urban as a dynamic, heterogeneous space of creativity and play is also central to the theories espoused by the Situationists, a group of radical post-Marxist philosophers and activists emerging from Paris in the 1950s and 60s. The Situationists were interested in challenging the ways that capitalism had inscribed itself on the modern city, transforming it from a lived space defined by inhabitants to a highly-structured space designed to facilitate the flow of commerce and labor. To counter this impulse, the Situationists insisted on the need to create “situations,” or “moment[s] of life concretely and deliberately constructed by the collective organization of a unitary ambiance and a game of events” (“Internationale Situationniste #1”). These spontaneous events “activate” city space by removing individuals from the mundane routines of everyday life, routines often disciplined by work and consumption. Through situations, individuals transform the city from a space of work to a space of play. Sadie Plant writes, “It is in the play born of desire that individuals should now be able to recognise themselves, progressing with a new and chosen set of relations no longer dictated by the ethos of labour and struggle but governed by the free and playful construction of situations, of which the revolutionary moment is the first and the best” (22). Producing situations and challenging the institution’s ownership of city space is therefore nothing short of a revolutionary act.

Confronted by a nearly ubiquitous police and military presence in the city, and continually harassed by these figures of institutional authority in public space (Antoine’s wrongful arrest in episode three is the best example), the characters of

Treme look to urban space as a means for cultivating political agency and physical sites of resistance.¹⁹ The simple act of an impromptu street performance, which Annie and the other musicians initiate throughout the series, is significant as a symbolic and material reclamation of urban space, as the musicians both “play” music and provide free entertainment (outside of regulated processes of production and consumption) for passersby. These “situations” operate similarly, albeit on a smaller scale, to the Mardi Gras carnival. The underlying logic to Mardi Gras and second lining is, in fact, the production of situations and, if we follow this thread, the production of heterogeneous, smooth space. From the garish costumes to the “rolling” dances to the rhythmic music to the radical political commentary to the uncontained exhibitionism, Mardi Gras and second lining provide a space that serves to counter the regimented, disciplined space of the modern metropolis and, more specifically for Treme, the post-Katrina militarized zone of New Orleans. Engaging these “spatial tactics,” in de Certeau’s words, allows the characters, if only temporarily, to symbolically and materially reclaim city space from institutional control, transforming it into a zone of creativity, spontaneity, and performance, and, equally important, a space for fostering marginalized discourse. De Certeau writes, “The space of the tactic is the space of the other. Thus it must play on and within a terrain imposed on it and




¹⁹ Zada N. Johnson’s dissertation, Walking the Post-Disaster City: Race, Space and the Politics of Tradition in the African American Parading Practices of Post- Katrina New Orleans, provides the most in-depth examination of the New Orleans black traditions as spatial practices. She correctly designates the second line parades following Katrina as intensely political events staged in social space, but she does not fully explore the theoretical implications of these practices, and particularly how they help individuals to “work through” trauma.

organized by the law of a foreign power. It does not have the means to keep to itself, at a distance, in a position of withdrawal, foresight, and self-collection: it is a maneuver…within enemy territory” (37). Both of these cultural practices, insofar as they arose out of New Orleans’ long, complex history of cultural and racial heterogeneity and are immediately linked to the Rabelaisian carnival, certainly encourage dialogism and, more specifically, the beatification of the other. As a “situation” and a “tactic,” then, the carnivalesque performances that Treme depicts have great political significance; occurring within the regimented space of the city, they reveal the potential for individuals to position themselves within and against institutional power, materially (occupying physical place) and symbolically (asserting their claim to the city).²⁰

Part of the symbolic power of these practices rests in their temporal distancing from institutional time. Connected to tradition, these embodied performances locate meaning outside of the rigid framework of linear history and challenge the institution’s attempts to discipline bodies through temporal manipulation.²¹ Second lining and, particularly Mardi Gras parades, whose origins



²⁰ Lefebvre’s famous essay “The Right to the City” articulates the fundamental relationship between the individual and the city. Discussing this essay, David Harvey writes, “The right to the city is far more than the individual liberty to access urban resources: it is a right to change ourselves by changing the city. It is, moreover, a common rather than an individual right since this transformation inevitably depends upon the exercise of a collective power to reshape the processes of urbanization” (23).
²¹ Foucault explains, “The disciplines, which analyse space, break up an rearrange activities, must also be understood as machinery for adding up and capitalizing time” (157). The state disciplines bodies by regimenting time, which can be seen most clearly through the operations of the factory, the barracks, etc.

in New Orleans date back to the seventeenth century, are part of a cyclical tradition reenacted every year by residents of the city that challenges these notions of institutional time. Mardi Gras Indians, in perhaps more immediate ways, reflect this concern for tradition and modes of labor that reject linear time. An integral part of New Orleans culture in the twentieth century, Mardi Gras Indians are African Americans who, in appropriating Native American, Creole, and African American traditions, have created a subculture defined by its tribal costumes and its elaborated performances, which include specific songs and dances. In Treme, Big Chief Albert Lambreaux (Clarke Peters), leader of the Guardians of the Flame, a Mardi Gras Indian Tribe, best represents this desire to uphold tradition. Upon his return to New Orleans, Lambreaux’s chief motivation is to reassemble the Guardians of the Flame in time for St. Joseph’s Night, when, every year, Mardi Gras Indians take to the streets, wearing the elaborate costumes they created over the past year. Obsessed with finishing their costumes on time, Lambreaux and his tribe work feverishly to uphold the tradition of the Mardi Gras Indians.²² Unlike his son, Delmond Lambreaux (Rob Brown), a successful Jazz musician who is torn between his career in New York and his obligations at home, Big Chief rejects all forms of institutional progress, only concerning

²² In his essay, “Mardi Gras Indians: Carnival and Counter-Narrative in Black New Orleans,” George Lipsitz explores the traditions at the heart of Indian culture. The process of assembling one’s costume is a crucial component of this culture. Lipsitz writes, “Designing and sewing Indian suits is a year-round endeavor; as soon as one carnival ends, the Indians begin to prepare for the next one. No one wears the same suit two years in a row” (108). Joseph Roach explains, “The costumes should not be thought of as artifacts, but as performances in themselves” (477) and “part of a cyclical spirit that lasts year round” (VanSpanckeren 42).

himself with rebuilding his tribe and piecing together his community. For Lambreaux, the future of New Orleans resides in rebuilding the community, not the institutional infrastructure of the city; the culture of the Mardi Gras Indians, in its reliance on cyclical traditions and its emphasis on process rather than outcomes, helps to accomplish this.

Equally important is the Mardi Gras Indians’ interest in asserting their presence in urban space. As mentioned above, once a year, on St. Joseph’s Night, the Mardi Gras Indians infiltrate city space, moving through neighborhoods as a tribal procession, chanting and playing traditional music. Like the parades discussed earlier, this spatial practice generates dynamic situations in an otherwise static city space. However, unlike second line parades, the Mardi Gras Indians—upholding the Indian mantra “won’t bow, don’t know how”—refuse to purchase permits, rendering their movements through urban space at odds with institutional discipline and, therefore, politically delinquent.²³ In this regard, the Indians’ very presence in urban space is a challenge to institutional authority.

Indeed, this position of resistance is fundamental to Indian culture. George Lipsitz explains, “The Mardi Gras Indian narrative takes many forms, but its central theme is the story of heroic warriors resisting domination” (103), and their

²³ In recent years, the NOPD—under pressure from city councilmembers interested in cultivating Indian traditions—has made efforts to accommodate tribes on St. Joseph’s Night, turning a blind eye to 6 pm curfew laws designed to stop the Indians from taking to the streets after dark (Reckdahl). These conciliatory efforts on the part of the police are certainly encouraging, but they tend to undercut the politically-subversive potential of the Indians’ spatial practices; once deviant behavior is licensed by the state, it ceases to be deviant.

costumes “bring out into the open the dimensions of repression that the dominant culture generally tries to render invisible” (104). By taking to the streets, then, the Indians of Treme make visible the highly political dimensions of urban space and race relations. Creating situations challenges the modes of discipline embedded in the city, and this is occurs in particularly powerful ways when these traditions are temporally disconnected from institutional power.

Music is also integral to Indian performances, and indeed to all of the spatial practices discussed above. Pulsating through almost every scene in every episode, music—from Jazz to Hip Hop to traditional Indian songs—plays a central role in Simon and Overmyer’s representation of New Orleans street culture. One of Treme’s central conceits is that music serves as the lifeblood of New Orleans and holds the potential for cultural redemption. From its first scenes, the show demonstrates its infatuation with New Orleans music: following the second line parade through the streets of New Orleans, Simon and Overmyer pay little attention to dialogue. Instead, we are treated to several minutes of street music, which ends, with the parade, at Ladonna’s bar. When Antoine sits with his fellow musicians at the bar, their dialogue is barely audible above the music blaring from the jukebox. Likewise, Big Chief Lambreaux’s first impulse upon returning to New Orleans is to set up a practice space for his tribe. When he finally coerces his friends to reunite the Guardians of the Flame, they play percussion and chant Indian songs in The Tavern, an abandoned bar that Lambreaux converts into a home for his tribe. Each of the characters in Treme is

in some way connected to the music of New Orleans, and David Simon has been forthcoming in interviews about wanting to create “a show about music” (Simon). As a visual and aural medium, television affords Simon the opportunity to use music not only as dressing for his episodes or as a transitional device to segue between scenes, but as a structural component of the narrative. Several characters’ narrative arcs—from Lambreaux’s attempts to reunite the tribe to Antoine’s efforts to find work as a trombone player to Davis’ recording and promotion of his anti-government anthem, “Shame, Shame, Shame”—involve bringing music back to the city. Like the rhythmic pulse of New Orleans that Simon and Overmyer try to capture, the music in each episode is the narrative pulse of the series, moving the plot forward while inviting viewers to experience each episode outside of conventional modes of visual consumption.

On its most basic level, the music in Treme encourages characters to dismantle barriers of race, class, and gender, offering them important opportunities for cultural exchange. Music brings diverse social groups together, functioning as a force that works against the divisive policies of racial profiling discussed earlier in this chapter. More importantly, though, music, and, specifically, rhythm, is intricately involved in the experience of urban space. Late in his life, Henri Lefebvre began to explore a concept he introduced in his earlier writings called “rhythmanalysis.” At the heart of this theory is the idea that both bodies and cities operate on rhythms; bodies function on natural rhythms (respiration, the heart, hunger and thirst, etc.), while cities—which, for Lefebvre,

are inherently sites of political strife—are made up of rational, quantitative rhythms: the rhythms of the factory (Rhythmanalysis 9). By inscribing natural rhythms on urban space, individuals have the power to transform that space—the very lived space of the city—into an organic extension of the body. The city could therefore be seen as dynamic and alive, operating in perpetual motion and defined by the people who negotiate and inhabit its streets.