In May 2010, as oil from the Deepwater Horizon disaster continued to spread in the Gulf of Mexico, growing outrage from residents in New Orleans at the response by government agents and corporate executives, opened up new horizons of political possibility. Ro Mayer, a real estate agent and costume designer who exhibited work in the Multispecies Salon (pictured below), was one of those residents who were unexpectedly swept up in the revolutionary momentum generated by the disaster.
Along with some of her artist and costume designer friends, Mayer began planning a parade to mourn the loss of life in the BP disaster. The parade was a mock “jazz funeral”—a traditional New Orleans commemoration of the deceased—that would mourn the ending of life but also celebrated its passage into the next world.
As oil vapors continued to waft through the city of New Orleans—mixing with the sweet pervasive smell of spring jasmine to create a pungent, sickening odor—hundreds of people began to RSVP via Facebook for the upcoming funeral procession. Collective outrage, and modest hopes, settled on this future event. Mayer became the drum major for a group she called the ‘Krewe of Dead Pelicans’.
On the day of the event, June 5, many people dressed according to the ‘Do-It-Yourself Parade Instructions’ that Mayer had posted on the Facebook page. Mayer herself appeared in an ornate blue and black gown. Uniting the crowd behind a chant—’Stop the Oil, Save the Gulf’—she strode out front with a meticulously decorated pelican-adorned umbrella. Others arrived in full body handmade costumes representing Gulf Coast creatures—sea horses, turtles, crabs, and fantasy characters such as ‘the Pearly Oyster Queen’. A parody of Sarah Palin competed for attention with fat cats who were eating oil money and Dead Pelican sandwiches.
As petrochemicals flooded into the Gulf unabated, Mayer continued to organize funeral processions for wildlife, leading people behind the slogan ‘Stop the Oil, Save the Gulf’. However with weeks turning into months, the force of the Krewe of Dead Pelicans’ street pageantry began to fade. As news of the oil disappeared from the front pages of newspapers, as people scrambled to get their share of the $20 billion payout, protestors stopped showing up to the Krewe of Dead Pelicans marches. Street theater no longer seemed capable of remedying the long term ecological consequences of the disaster.
“It’s not going to be over in our lifetime,” Mayer told us in September 2010. “Oil is still washing up. Corexit has sunk in the water column, it’s dissolved. It’s going to be in the food chain. It’s going to be a health issue. It’s going to be a seafood issue. It’s going to be a climate issue. I mean, I know enough to know I ain’t wrong.”
Collective dreams in New Orleans began to scatter. Hope continued to move like oil in water, but with dispersants added to the mix. If collective desires coalesced like droplets of oil during the early weeks of the flood, gathering crowds together at specific events, hopes were becoming more elusive, less perceptible. As a toxic specter haunted the aqueous landscape of the Gulf, the movements of oil became more mysterious.
See also: Hope In Blasted Landscapes
Further Reading
Kirksey, Eben et al. (2014) “Hope in Blasted Landscapes” in The Multispecies Salon, Durham: Duke University Press, pp. 40-47.
