Dear Switzerland,
You, of all places, must appreciate the sound of silence, I would imagine. Neutrality is your brand, after all, and a hushed serenity is often its soundtrack.
Some value such things, as I understand it. But here in New Orleans – which stands as proof positive that the Almighty appreciates a rollicking rhythm section – clamor is a commodity, from the peerless live music pouring from a random corner bar to the rumble-clatter song of a streetcar trundling down the Avenue.
This time of year, we are further blessed with perhaps the most soul-stirring sound in the local songbook: the honeyed drift of a marching band warming up somewhere in the middle distance.
Here, a distant drumline is a Pavlovian signal that joy is on the move. One would have to be a fool or a corpse to ignore its call.
But before the first parade rolls, every New Orleanian must answer a fundamental question of identity: Are you neutral-ground side or sidewalk side? How one answers speaks volumes.
Given your expertise in neutrality – and as part of my ongoing mission to explain New Orleans’ peculiarities to the uninitiated – you seem a fitting audience for a discussion of its role in the hedonistic celebration we call Mardi Gras.
What does neutrality have to do with Carnival, you ask? More than you might think.
Allow me to elucidate.
What the rest of the English-speaking world calls a median – that grassy strip dividing traffic – we call a “neutral ground,” reflecting both our habit of inventing our own language and of celebrating our history.
It all dates to a once-upon-a-time in which the wide median running down Canal Street served as a geographic demarcation between the city’s French Creole population – who at the time occupied the French Quarter and environs – and the more newly arrived American population, who largely settled in Faubourg St. Mary, around today’s less elegantly named Warehouse District.
Those two factions did not care much for each other, and so that Canal Street dividing line was deemed neutral ground. The term stuck. Over the years, it was applied to all the city’s medians.
Today, our neutral grounds are treasured parts of the local landscape, serving variously as linear parks, festival grounds and, in times of high water, parking lots of last resort.
Most notably, come parade season, they describe which side of the street one prefers for viewing: the neutral ground side (i.e., the driver’s side) or the sidewalk side.
It is more than convenient shorthand. Neutral-ground-side-vs.-sidewalk-side has become a local sociological sorting hat, determining who you are, how you see the world and how early you are likely to arrive at a parade with a sectional sofa complete with end tables.
The sidewalk side, you see, appeals to parade-going pragmatists. The efficient. The get-there-early, king-cake-knife-carrying families who have settled upon the same five-by-eight patch of concrete since the first Morial administration.
They value easy access to real bathrooms – not those olfactory-assaulting porta-poopers – and the ability to dash to a friend’s house or explore the delirious madness unfolding around them without dodging floats or half-fast marching krewes.
Then there are the neutral-ground people, in all their slightly feral, frat-boy glory. Reviled in some quarters for roping off swaths of public land and defending them at all costs, they are loud, unapologetic and party with a zealot’s enthusiasm. Establishing a robust base camp is their primary pursuit. Comfort, appearances and manners are secondary.
And every New Orleanian, from the east to the farthest realms of Kenner, from the kid dressed as a K-Pop Demon Hunter to the grandma dressed as a more impressive Elphaba, has a preferred side – an allegiance that seems inconsequential but is somehow profound.
Just like those residents of a long-ago age, the two factions view the other with something hovering between disapproval and disdain.
I know what you are thinking: Does it really matter? And the answer is no. And also absolutely yes. Because in New Orleans, identity is rarely about logic. It is about joy – about knowing where you belong not because anyone told you, but because your spirit called you there.
So, Switzerland, if you ever visit this time of year – your neutral nature notwithstanding – you will have to pick a side. I urge you to choose wisely.
Wherever you land, we will hand you a drink and welcome you in. But we will not stay neutral when judging which side you stand on.
Insincerely yours,
New Orleans
Ask Mike Have a question or a thought to share about New Orleans etiquette or tradition? I’d love to hear it. Email it to mike@myneworleans.com
