The Mystic Krewe of Karens

"Mardi Gras is a helluva drug."

-Random person in the chat of a recent Facebook Live broadcast

"It's like if Drag Race and one of the Real Housewives of Whatever City had an actual baby, and then the baby was raised by an amateur true crime podcaster."

-Me, describing this whole thing to my brother (he laughed)

We live in a very strange time. Never in my entire life did I think to myself, "2020 is going to be a disaster movie featuring a global pandemic, wrapped inside a protest movement, alongside some environmental concerns, completely redefine the world of work, all being led by a president who would rather protect rich people and racists." I didn't have that on my 2020 list. I didn't have "NASCAR bans the Confederate flag" or "Trump knew about Russia targeting American troops in Afghanistan and did nothing but invite them back into diplomatic circles" or "It's been 100+ days since Breonna Taylor's murder and her killers are still walking around as if nothing happened" on my list either. What is the world right now? 

As regular readers know, I process things when I write, but I haven't been writing much lately (unless you count rewriting stuff for work - I don't, but you can live your life however you want). I've been hesitant to keep sharing my novel, a few chapters at a time, as I had planned to do over the summer. It doesn't feel appropriate right now (I will finish posting it later in the summer). I write in a journal each morning, but it's not the same. So I thought today, let's write a little something. Let's tell everyone a weird little/big story. It's got everything: glitter purses, narcissism, controversy, social justice, gossip girls, and the drug that is Mardi Gras. The wild part? I'm 100% involved because this is 2020 and literally anything goes.

In 2019, I joined, with two of my very favorite humans, Heather and Kelly, the Mystic Krewe of Nyx. If Mardi Gras is unfamiliar to you, Nyx is one of the parading krewes that takes part in the season. Nyx is/was(?) a super krewe, specifically the largest (until three weeks ago), and membership is all women. I grew up in Louisiana, and loved Mardi Gras as a child. I wanted to be in a parade, but back then, all-women krewes were not asbcommon, and they certainly didn't play on the big stage like Endymion or Bacchus. It's wasn't until I was back in New Orleans in college that krewes like Muses and others started changing the Mardi Gras landscape.

Nyx is what I'll call a "third wave" parade - its existence is built on the successes of other krewes who came before, most notably Zulu and Muses. Zulu, founded in 1909, was the first all Black krewe, dealing with segregation in Mardi Gras well into the 1990s (Mardi Gras was officially desegregated in 1992). Muses, founded in 2001, was a new parade when I was in college, bringing women into the world of super krewes. Nyx is part of the next generation of krewes, not as traditional, a bit more "modern." I've learned a lot more about the history of the group in the last few weeks, something you'd think I'd know as a (former) member, but why would an organization want new members to know things? When Nyx began, it was the first krewe in a decade to get a permit. That alone should be a reason for the leadership to want to succeed. The krewe was founded on the idea of being diverse and inclusive and the women who joined were part of a sisterhood. 

The idea of sisterhood and community is what prompted me to join. Since leaving New Orleans nine months after Katrina, I've struggled with finding a real community. I've been friends with some of my dearest friends for over 20 years. Most of them were people I met while in college in New Orleans. There's something different about the friends you make in your late teens and early 20s - you're all becoming fully formed people together. It's very powerful. Heather and Kelly were not only my friends, but we were roommates most of college. Eventually, we all left New Orleans. We'd come back, but we'd never all be there at the same time. Being part of Nyx was both about finding a larger community and getting to spend time with them. That's why I jumped in. That's why I spent months making glitter purses. That's why I came back for 2020. 

Before we can even begin to talk about the current situation, we have to talk about the 2020 parade. It seems like this was last year, but it was only four months ago. Y'all, is 2020 actually seventeen years long? Anyway, I was looking forward to my second ride. I knew what to expect, for the most part, so I was planning to really focus on enjoying the experience rather than being so stressed about everything. Remember kids, overthinking is my superpower, so I have to focus on letting things go and going with the flow because it's not in my nature. I even stayed an extra day to enjoy a little more time at home. Well, Mardi Gras 2020 had other plans for us. At about the halfway point in the parade (float 21), a woman was struck and killed by a float. The parade was turned around, and we were all dropped in a parking lot to fend for ourselves, while also trying to grapple with the fact that a woman had just been killed. It was awful on so many fronts. Most of us felt abandoned by the Captain and the board. There was no leadership during that experience, or at least not in the way there should have been. Hats off the float lieutenants, tractor drivers, and fellow riders who did their best to help us all in the chaos that was Nyx 2020.

Flash forward a few weeks to late March. We're all trying to figure our lives in the midst of a global pandemic. Fear and uncertainty were/are the feelings of the day. The krewe sent out renewal emails with an extended payment schedule for membership fees. In a time when many people lost jobs or weren't sure if they'd have them for much longer, we got hit up for money. For women like me who didn't actually parade this year, I think we expected a discount or an acknowledgement of some form. Nothing. I paid my first installment despite these things. I wanted to ride in 2021, the 10th anniversary year. I wanted one more ride since this year ended so tragically. I decided I'd play each payment by ear, and drop out if my financial situation changed or if Mardi Gras 2021 got canceled (that's a thing that could still happen). 

And then the end of May happened. George Floyd's murder by Minneapolis PD was captured on video and the outrage at what officers did during this arrest has led to protests, vigils, and a call for defunding police departments around the world. Since then, we've all watched countless hours of police, including random unnamed police forces in DC, shoot tear gas and rubber bullets at protesters. We've watched the 45 support racists, while calling protesters "antifa" and saying that being anti-facist is a bad thing. We literally fought a war as anti-facists, so please sit the fuck down, Impostor in Chief. 

I woke up the Monday after the first weekend of protest to notifications on my social media accounts of a post from the krewe captain. She used her own social media and the krewe's to post an "All Lives Matter" post. It was totally inappropriate and was against the very ideas of sisterhood and diversity that she claims the krewe represents. When I saw the post, my first thought was "Are you fucking kidding me?" My second thought was of the Black women who ride - does she not understand what this means and how they may feel when they see it?" My third thought was "Why does she have to be this way?" 

The post was quickly removed, but enough people had seen it and taken screen shots that it wasn't forgotten. Our private float group was buzzing, and reactions were, as I predicted/hoped, not favorable toward the captain. The forum on the members' only website had some posts too; those were eventually removed, but the overall sense was that the majority of the membership was pissed. She sent a video to members, apologizing and expressing her need to "learn." Eventually, a public apology was issued. At no time did she say "Black Lives Matter" or show solidarity or even knowledge of what is actually going on in this country right now. And this is where things begin to fall apart. Since the post, half (if not more) of the membership, including myself, have resigned. Many of the support groups, like marching bands, dance troupes, and walking krewes, have refused to continue to support the krewe in solidarity. The sister krewe, Pandora, has only 15 members left. Other krewes have come out in support of us "Nyxed Sisters."

And then the flood of allegations began: financial misdeeds, racist practices around board member and float lieutenant selection, racism within the associated dance troupe, transphobia. One of the women I rode with has a great podcast episode that explains the events up until this point if you want to check it out (also, please enjoy the use of the word "allegedly" in this episode - it is everything). There have been two Facebook live broadcasts featuring former members and board members talking about the problems within the krewe (there are two more planned). Members protested at the Nyx office, calling for her resignation. The captain refuses to step down, and the plan she announced is lame at best. People are being served with cease and desist orders from her lawyer (which are apparently just show according to the lawyer of someone who was served). It's a mess, BUT it's one that could have been avoided. 

She said she wanted to learn, but refused to meet with or listen to the countless members who wanted to speak to her. Black members of the krewe have been ignored. She had people who wanted to help learn and to educate her about why what was posted was wrong, why previous statements or actions are racist, why it's not all about her. But she choose to get a lawyer, stop communicating with any of us, and act like a petulant child. I hate to use the term "Karen," mostly because I know some really lovely women named Karen, but she's a Karen, and she's now the leader of the Mystic Krewe of Karens. For her, it was never about anyone else. It was always about her. And those who stay and help her, well, it's still about her. They're loyal to her now, but I'm sure something will one day make her call the manager on them too. 

Of course I can't stop thinking about any of this. The thing that keeps coming to mind for me is this: does she (the captain) not realize the power she actually has? Think about it, you have approximately 3500 women in an organization who are all interested in empowerment, being part of a community, and having fun. We were willing to spend lots of money to be part of this. For me and many others, Nyx was our vacation, the luxury item we saved for each year. Most of us spend months designing and making glitter purses, something that was incredibly cathartic for me. The sheer power of this group could have made such an impact on the community. Members come from all 50 states (51 - DC should be a state - pass it on) and several countries. Instead, we got "Eat, Prey, Love/Girl, Wash Your Face" empowerment, racism and transphobia, and financial mismanagement. She had the power to make this into a real moment instead of the drama that is now. Her husband is under investigation by the NOPD for computer fraud. If other financial misdeeds can be proven, she and other members of the board may end up under investigation. For what? So she can feel important? So she can be the captain forever? 

I saw the comment about Mardi Gras being a drug during the first Facebook live video, and it's stuck with me for the last two weeks. I know exactly what that person meant. There is something very powerful in being in a krewe.  When I was a kid, it was about family ties to a krewe or who you knew. No one, it seemed, was randomly in a krewe. A person like me, not from the area, would have a hard time getting in. That's why the second and third wave groups are so important - they bring more people in. And with more people, more diversity of thought and experience and life become part of the fabric of Mardi Gras culture. I'm sure others will disagree with me; that's cool. We can disagree; let's just be civil about (if you can remember how to be civil).

I've also felt the power of riding in a parade. I've seen what the promise of a coveted Nyx purse or a special throw can do. I've seen, from the top of a float, the wonder on people's faces. I've made eye contact with people, from that distance, and had the ability to decide if they got anything at all. It's powerful to be a woman, in a large group of other women, in a public space, deciding whether or not someone gets a throw. It's a lot of other things, but this is the part we need to focus on now. If that's what it feels to be a rider, imagine what it must feel like to be captain. Mardi Gras is a helluva a drug.

We had the potential to be a group on the right side of history. As I wrote in my resignation letter:

You had the ability to amplify the voices of our sisters, but chose to place yourself and the krewe on the wrong side of history. Earlier this week, a group of our sisters sent you an open letter concerning this matter. That you have chosen not to engage with them or any other sisters asking to speak to you is even more evidence that you don’t understand sisterhood.

If the last few months have taught me anything it's that nothing is removed from the systems of oppression and white supremacy we've created in this country. Mardi Gras has a long history of racism. I'm not going to pretend that doesn't exist, but I've felt like most modern krewes had moved away from that history or were trying to do more to bring diversity and inclusion into Mardi Gras. There is so much joy in Mardi Gras, and this entire event has taken that joy out of it for me.

Why does it even matter? I resigned. I should just move on, focus my attention on more important things, right? But this is an important thing. At first glance it is the drama of Drag Race married with the cattiness of The Real Housewives sprinkled with an overuse of the phrase "forensic audit," but it matters so much. It's 2000ish women and supporters walking away from something they loved because one person couldn't see past their own ego to embrace the change that has to come. It's important because some of these women have probably never taken a stance in this way before, and this is how they become allies and activists. It's important because each time one more woman tells a story we hear her and we take her seriously. If we don't hold organizations responsible for the actions of their leadership, change will never happen. It's important because this exodus from something as "frivolous" as a Mardi Gras krewe is the true definition of sisterhood. 

I'm not naive enough to believe the captain will change her ways or the board will find a way to get rid of her. They don't want to. The people who are still left are, for the most part, are people who feel the same way or who don't care enough about others to do something. They can have it. They can have this rotten shell of a parade. They can keep that busted up purse float and their pop psychology empowerment. But they don't get to take the friendships that came out of being part of this. They don't get to take the memories of doing something I've wanted to do since childhood. They don't get to take away the love that went into every handmade purse the Nyxed sisters made over the years. They don't get to take away what true sisterhood and solidarity is.

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Be nice to one another. Vote. Black Lives Matter. 

Someone has to be the Bond villain...

My brother: He looks like he could play the evil wizard in a sci-fi movie.
Me: Who?
My brother: Uncle Bob.
Me: He sort of does, doesn't he?

I'm paraphrasing slightly but this is basically a conversation my brother and I had in the car earlier this week while in Detroit for our aunt's funeral. There is no mistaking that my uncles are my father's brothers (and my aunt fit right in but in a pretty, feminine way): they have the same nose (as does my brother), their hair has grayed in the same way/pattern although they each wear it differently, and they have similar mannerisms. I don't remember the last time all four of them were in the same room together for a significant amount of time. Sadly, it was probably at my grandmother's funeral (over 12 years ago). After my brother made the comment about Uncle Bob, I couldn't help but cast my dad and other two uncles in their respective villain roles, not because any of them are bad people but because this is how my brain works:

• Chris would be the billionaire super genius Bond villain who owns an island (think Dr. No's Crab Key meets Atlantis from The Spy Who Loved Me - yes, this is a very specific reference but one my father and uncles would appreciate).
• Phil would be the tech villain, wreaking havoc on an unsuspecting populace with sound operated drones. (This makes lots of sense if you know my uncle and his hobbies. Again, the family will find this more amusing than anyone else.)
• My dad would be the retired military guy who uses a bird army to do his bidding. This would work for my dad...trust me.

Everyone has a coping mechanism for grief and loss. Cleaning, stress-eating, exercising, extreme anger, internalizing all emotions - there's something for everyone. I prefer a mix of crying, (including, but not limited to, ugly crying, hitched breath crying, and silent crying), making jokes, and being extremely polite. Humans are actually the only species who can trigger crying for emotional reasons; tears are mostly used for keeping eyes properly lubricated or as a reaction to something in an eye (like dust) but there's no real scientific reason for why we cry in other situations. According to several articles I've read on crying, many scientists believe humans cry to form social bonds. Crying is a signal from one human to another that there's a problem or something that's causing an emotion (positive or negative). Shedding tears is also a sign of vulnerability and triggers empathy and comfort in others. So we cry to connect to another person and we react because we're wired to do so and not come off like jerks when someone needs a hug. There's no scientific proof that crying has any positive health benefits but that doesn't mean we can't believe it does. I'm sure I'm not the only person who feels better after crying. Crying and swearing are incredibly satisfying ways to get out emotions.

It's hard to believe that my aunt is gone. When I was younger, I thought my aunts and uncles would live forever (just like my parents). I couldn't imagine them being anything but the young people they were at that point in time. While she and I were not super close, we loved each other and I know that there are certain things I do in my life that she influenced. She never learned to drive (I got my license late in life at age 20). She loved to travel and enjoyed opera music. She was a kindergarten teacher for over 30 years. She loved her students and teaching. My favorite memories of her are from childhood when I'd get to help her set up her classroom for the new school year (she'd let me help with the bulletin boards). According to one of her colleagues, she was the best snowflake maker of all of the teachers in their group; she literally wrote the lesson on how to do this and they still use it to this day. She was artistic and creative, bringing art to life for her tiny students. I met one of her very first students who told me my aunt was her favorite teacher ever and it's because of my aunt that she became a librarian. Teachers, if you ever doubt that you have an impact on your students, please don't. After meeting this woman and reading online posts from other former students, I will never doubt the power of an exceptional teacher. Alzheimer's is a cruel disease and it's even worse to see it in someone so young (she was 66 when she died). My uncle took great care of her and you could feel how much love there was/is for both of them amongst their friends and colleagues. I didn't know anyone other than family at the funeral but they all had a kind word or a wonderful story about my aunt or my uncle or them as a couple. They all talked about how vibrant she was, even as the disease took its toll.

The other memories I have of my aunt are of her house. We'd usually visit Detroit during the summer or over a holiday so much of these trips was spent shuffling from one relative's house to another. Both sets of grandparents have very distinct houses that form the basis of most of my childhood memories of Detroit: the yellow house on Vinewood with the big backyard where I made mud pies until I couldn't add another layer of dirt to my clothes and the small house on Lola; I'm still not sure how my father, his four siblings, and my grandparents lived in that house but the back porch was a good hiding spot when I wasn't eavesdropping on my mom, aunts, and grandma gossiping at the kitchen table. My aunt's house was different; I never wanted to touch anything because it all seemed like it was in the perfect place and if I touched something the magic would disappear. Both she and my uncle collect things (Santas, Civil War artifacts, pottery, art) so there was always something interesting to see. You enter the house through a front porch (covered so maybe it's not a porch?) so it always seemed so formal to me as a child. There are stained glass panels in the windows which cast colorful shadows and patterns into the rooms during the day. The backyard was lush and beautiful; it was like stepping into a fairy tale. We didn't go there as often as my grandma's house but it always seemed like an occasion when we did (and it usually was for someone's birthday or a holiday so there was cake).

These are the things that ran through my mind during the visitation and the funeral and the after funeral reception: backyards, stained glass windows, and bulletin boards. Casting my uncles as villains in movies. Crying silently. Watching family dynamics play out in different versions of grief. Experiencing the true community of growing up in one place; my parents and their siblings went to high school together so they've been involved in each other's lives forever. My dad and my uncle (my aunt's husband) were altar boys together too. They all have stories for each other's stories and family lore that needs to be written down stat. Fun thing I learned on this trip: my great aunt Peggy supposedly dated/hung out with gangsters and teamsters. Sweet.

I don't know what it's like to live in one place all my life. That was not the life I had nor am I sure I would want that life but it's interesting to see the connections and relationships of people who do. For me, the closest thing I have to that is my work life. When I finally stopped the two year job hop (that's totally a thing people do in their early careers so don't judge), I found a community of people with who I felt at home and I stuck with them for 10 years. These were people who were/are committed to helping students be their best and providing support for the people who work to help students succeed. It was energizing to work in a place that had a strong mission and such passionate people. I was doing good work and doing my part to help my colleagues be their best at work. While it's difficult to end this chapter of my life just as it's difficult to think about my aunt's passing (and at the same time, thanks whoever decided on that one), I know that both of these moments are for the best. She is in a better place, without the pain and hopefully, with her voice returned to her after these years. I will figure out what's next for me and move on to something even better.

For the record, if you ever have to receive more bad news on top of an already crappy week, I highly suggest scheduling time after you've visited two wineries. The wine won't numb you completely but it will help when the hitched breath crying starts and you let loose a string of obscenities that would make a sailor blush. You can blame the wine...it's always the wine's fault.

And because I promised, here is a fun childhood photo since I've depressed you enough today. I was looking for pictures of me and my aunt in my picture box when I got home but I don't have any here which means they're in that box at my parents' house that I've been meaning to bring home for months. Instead I found this. I can't judge Pumpkin's Ikea bag too much if this is how I used to roll.

Apparently, I enjoyed hanging out in laundry baskets as a baby...like a cat.