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1. 1 2020-02-12T04:59:52-08:00 Sam Harvey d4c88ee35b1c49f1c9a8610709e97b4711dab3fe Sam Harvey Sam Harvey 1 plain 2020-02-12T04:59:52-08:00 Great Work I'm Also Looking forward to start my new architecture project Sam Harvey d4c88ee35b1c49f1c9a8610709e97b4711dab3fe

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• 1 media/DSC_9757.jpg 2017-04-27T08:41:36-07:00 Author's Note 30 plain 2017-05-04T16:21:05-07:00 This project was begun with the goal of creating a virtual memory lab that places the testimonies and experiences shared by those affected by Hurricane Katrina, both during and immediately after the storm, at the forefront and in contention with news coverage from the era. Realizing this would in fact be a larger and longer endeavor than expected, the following pages have been designed in an effort to debunk what has been covered by the media and new outlets as it comes to no surprise that our sites for information have a conflict of interest, that being, the tension between providing truthful and accurate news while ascertaining that it is sensationalized enough for our consumerist society. It is thus crucial to unravel the truth – the lived realities – of the residents of New Orleans, whose lives have been viewed merely as a spectacle and by default, silenced by the public realm.
  
  My idea for this project was influenced by my recent visit to New Orleans. While there, I resided in one of the neighborhoods heavily impacted by Hurricane Katrina, Gentilly. I also visited the Lower Ninth Ward, which was perhaps the most devastated section in New Orleans. In exploring the Lower Ninth Ward, my peers and I stumbled upon the Lower Ninth Ward Living Museum. According to the 'About Us’ section of its website, the museum was “… created to celebrate the history of this unique neighborhood,” and its motto is the following: “Remembering the Past, Sharing Stories of the Present, and Planning for the Future.” The reality of the Lower Ninth Ward is that one in five of its residents did not return to their homes in the aftermath of the hurricane and so many of the neighborhood’s stories and oral histories will be forgotten if the community fails to actively remember all that has transpired. Therefore, the museum has been broken up into five different colored rooms (red, yellow, blue, green, and purple) and each space serves as a marker in  the timeline of the history of this vibrant neighborhood; the eras range from the Red Room, which illustrates the early history of the Lower Ninth Ward as a colony for escaped slaves to the Purple Room, which depicts a more contemporary understanding of the area as a hub for “Rebirth and Remembrance,” and accordingly translates to a space that honors the physical strength and resilience of the neighborhood itself and of its people.
  
  While all the rooms had their takeaways, there was no doubt that I was immensely impacted by the Green Room. Coincidentally the middle room, its focus was on the devastation of Hurricane Katrina and I would argue that even today, the repercussions of Hurricane Katrina remain at the epicenter of New Orleans. The storm goes beyond just simply being a physical and tangible occurrence -- a natural disaster that affected the lives of thousands of people in the city --, but rather has transcended and manifested itself in other external factors as well. The Green Room outlines the fatal governmental decisions made leading up to the levee failure, the delayed governmental response after the storm, the poor evacuation measures taken, and ultimately the horrifying aftermath that followed. I made the conscious effort to not take pictures inside the museum because I wanted to preserve both the identity and fragility of the individuals sharing their testimonies. In addition, I did not want my intentions to be misconstrued if I were to snap any shots; like the founders of the museum, I do believe that there should be awareness raised on such stories, but as a visitor and thus spectator, I felt uncomfortable being the enabler. Nonetheless, the accounts are fresh and vivid in my mind. There was one story in particular that continues to linger in my mind and it was a woman’s account about what she experienced after being evacuated from her flooded home. The majority of the residents in New Orleans sought refuge in the Mercedes-Benz Superdome as it was one of the only places in the city that could hold a large capacity of people and the woman was one of those individuals who found this location to be most suitable. That rationale immediately changed as she reminisces on an exchange she had with one of the employees of the Superdome. Like many, the woman had a simple request: she wanted some water. The response given to her was one of absolute insensitivity; she was asked: “Do you want to go to jail?” Evidently, this is something that would not make it onto our news channels; instead, the efficiency of the local and federal government and the helpfulness of the workers in the Superdome would be broadcasted. With that being said, the harsh reality of the Superdome being a place where people did not have enough food, water, or restrooms to shower or defecate was swept under the rug; the dehumanization of the residents of New Orleans would hence become a silent yet gradual process. 
  
  Ultimately, I hope this project resists the potentiality of showcasing truths that can viewed as a spectacle or be awed by. I hope it succeeds in instilling a feeling of discomfort and of anger coiled at the injustice that was committed against this community of people, and in lieu of this, encourage others to join in raising awareness to this issue that been dire for more than a decade.