I almost died on Carrollton Avenue last Friday.
My first and hopefully last near-death experience in New Orleans happened when a woman ran a red light, nearly T-boning my car in the process. I’d been waiting first in a succession of cars, and, as I accelerated through the green light, the woman sped her clunker through the intersection, missing me by an inch. In spite of the close call, I’d hoped that she’d lock eyes with me to summon telepathic remorse, give me a look that she was sincerely sorry for almost ending my life. But of course, I didn’t get any such gratification. She was steady on her cell phone, talking up a storm, oblivious to what had happened.
Sure, it’s possible the woman was engrossed in talk about True Blood, or something equally important to her, but it’s probably more likely that she blew the light because she knew she could do so without reprimand. And though at the time I was perturbed about the incident, in the end, I was probably more pissed because I knew she wouldn’t receive a red light ticket in the mail two months later.
I’m all too familiar with red light tickets. During my first week in New Orleans, I received four in a four-day period, each with a whopping $130 penalty. Coincidentally, the fifth ticket I received a few months later was at the same Carrollton intersection where I narrowly escaped death.
For full disclosure here, I must say that I’m a conscientious driver. I obey all traffic laws, and when I break them it’s never intentional. When I “ran” those red lights almost a year ago, I had no idea that a basic New York-style rolling stop would trigger red light cameras and thus hefty tickets. Not to mention, the rolling stops I performed at the intersection of St. Charles Avenue and Louisiana were innocuous rolls that were carefully maneuvered and done with good judgment. I know it’s oxymoronic to say I used “good judgment” while breaking the law, but you know what I mean!
When I appeared at City Hall to contest the tickets, my Jersey-tinged judgment was lost on the clerk. Apparently the video that captured my infractions proved that I stopped for 2.75 seconds instead of a solid 3 seconds. The clerk didn’t care that I’d just moved here and was a skillful Jersey driver. She told me I had 30 days to pay the tickets, no exceptions, and I should feel good knowing the money would go to a worthy cause. And just like that, I had to pay $520 to the city of New Orleans and its out-of-state cohorts who manage the cameras and take a large share of the profits.
The most unsettling thought about paying the tickets was that I knew the money wasn’t going to the Road Home program, toward public schools or to road repair. The money was going where all other federal monies go — and everyone knows where that is: politicians’ personal enrichment funds.
I oppose red light cameras in New Orleans not because I’m bitter that I didn’t receive a warning ticket or because I question the legality of the system. I also don’t consider them an Orwellian harbinger of what’s to come. I loathe them mainly because they’re cash cows cloaked as
safety enforcers. Supposedly they make the roads safer. But I’m pretty sure I’ve witnessed at least 15 rear-end accidents at intersections with red light cameras, accidents that occur as a result of anxious drivers who slam the brakes to avoid a ticket.
How are these red light cameras effective, other than for the use of generating revenue? If they’re not mounted at every major intersection, or those teeming with repeat red light runners, won’t people continue to run red lights at all unmanned intersections and stop — with Pavlovian
instinct — at those with cameras? The woman who almost hit me last week ran that light because the cameras were only positioned on north- and southbound Carrollton lanes but not at the intersecting street on which she drove.
I know there are counterarguments and logical explanations for keeping these cameras, but I’m not convinced. Accidents still occur, and red light cameras do little to deter repeat offenders. Perhaps I’m bitter that I doled out lots of money for a gray area of the law. Or maybe I’m bitter about brazen law offenders who find ways to beat the system. Regardless, I’m happy to be alive.
Driving in New Orleans is sometimes an unpleasant experience. That’s why I prefer my bike. In fact, the next time I’m on my cruiser I’ll ride to a camera intersection, do a rolling stop, and wave a happy finger at the system. It won’t get me back my $650, but the sheer satisfaction should be priceless.
