Earlier this year, David Simon debuted his follow up to the critically
acclaimed series The Wire with a new show called Treme. The show is
named after the historic, but little known district in New Orleans
that was home to America’s first African-American neighborhood and the
birthplace of jazz music. It follows the lives of a number of
different Treme inhabitants as they try to piece back their lives in
the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina’s destruction. Somehow, even
within this dire setting, Simon has thus far managed to maintain a
more positive tone than he ever did in The Wire. Treme does not shy
away from the morbid aspects of post-Katrina life, but focuses more on
the rebuilding and healing aspect of the tragedy. Simon also
masterfully seizes the opportunity to showcase the incredible culture
of the district as well as New Orleans in general.
One of the more powerful scenes in the series so far was at the end of
the third episode as a group of Treme residents are mourning the death
of one of their friends. Their unique process of mourning appears
more like a celebration, with dancing, singing, and drumming, but
their somber expressions make it clear that this moment is not a
joyous one. Soon the singing is drowned out by the diesel rumbling of
an approaching bus bearing the words “Katrina Tours” above the
windshield. As the bus halts in front of the group, the camera pans
to show faceless tourists behind tinted windows, their camera flashes
snapping like a fireworks display. The group, visibly upset by the
imposition, can only manage to utter the words “Drive away from here.”
The desire to see humans living in horrific conditions is a curiosity
that seems to exist only in the civilized Western world. In Rio de
Janeiro, tourists pay $10-15 dollars to be driven through the
“favelas” where the city’s most impoverished citizens call home. In
Mumbai, there has been explosion of “slumdog” tours attempting to
capitalize on the success of the movie Slumdog Millionaire. However,
there are instances where turning a scene of human suffering into a
tourist attraction can be healthy. Germany, rather than erase the
memory of the Holocaust from the country’s consciousness, chose to
preserve the most gruesome reminder of it’s role in atrocity.
Auschwitz survives as a museum and tourist destination, drawing close
to one million visitors a year.
Turning a site of human suffering into a memorial to those who
perished there can be therapeutic and help victims cope with their
pain. Additionally, it can serve as an educational tool to those not
directly impacted, allowing them to empathize with the victims in a
way that inert words on a page never can. However, the victims must
be given enough time to grieve and mourn those who died. Prematurely
“memorializing” the site of tragedy and treating it like Disney World
can interrupt the healing process and lead to personal offense, anger,
and additional suffering.
Sites like the favelas of Rio, shantytowns outside Mumbai, and
post-Katrina New Orleans present a different situation, however.
These areas are the sites of on-going, persisting tragedies in the
form of abject poverty. This is beyond pre-mature, as the victims are
currently suffering from the tragedy that the tourists are coming to
observe. It not only is incredibly insensitive and offensive, it
dehumanizes the inhabitants by displaying them like museum exhibits.
This is not a respectful gesture of remembrance, but an exploitative
practice that only serves to distance those inside the tour bus from
those on the outside.
These tours evoke the imagery more like an African safari than a visit
to Auschwitz: buses full of privileged Midwestern families, with Dad
snapping pictures to later upload to Facebook to show their friends
from book club how authentic of an experience they had, and Mom
keeping a watchful eye over Junior to make sure he keeps arms and legs
inside the vehicle at all times, lest they be touched by a wild
animal. Good thing she has a fluorescent fanny pack full of Purell.
By Amit Aulakh
