Delaney Nolan discusses the anti-ICE paraders during Mardi Gras.
I remember float riders leaning forward, stretching toys and trinkets toward a sea of Black children, only to snatch them back at the last second, enjoying the pain they inflicted. I remember our tiny, chocolate-skinned hands crushed beneath the weight of white feet, sharp and satisfying to icy, piercing blue eyes.
Nothing is more fun than watching a group of hip-swinging, raddy-walking, second-lining women, says babydoll Denise Augustine, founder of the New Orleans Voodoo Babydolls, who plans to ‘lay down her umbrella’ and retire after this Carnival season.
Curfews and court rules shape Carnival for thousands in New Orleans who are on probation or parole. Others find themselves self-isolating after the trauma of doing time.
In two 9th Ward schools, Abramson and Douglass, students lean on discipline, music, and one another as they prepare for New Orleans Carnival — and for life beyond the parade route.
To make clear that ICE is not welcome in New Orleans, a group of protesters walked the St. Charles route ahead of the Legion of Mars parade, which last year featured armed ICE officers.
“Throw me my Motha Mista, alive well before age fifty and dancing whole,” writes poet MonaLisa Saloy. This poem kicks off this year’s Lens Carnival Edition, a collection of stories, photography, and poetry.
Anthony Hingle Jr. didn’t touch beads or feathers for 32 years. Now he’s back in town, continuing the work of his father, Flagboy Meathead, a legend among Black Masking Indians.
High winds on Mardi Gras Day truncated Rex’s route and kept Zulu from downtown New Orleans, taking a toll on business owners and on local school bands, which went unpaid for Zulu and other weather-affected parades. Then Rex announced that it would pay the bands booked for its parade, raising questions about the history of band payments from krewes – and why those payments matter.
Our reporters stayed on their beats, covering how Carnival affects the way New Orleans works - and doesn't work.