The Taliban Lives in America

___________TEXAS STAR THEATER CLOSED_______________

Late Wednesday I received an email (copied below) from Stephen Bishop Seely, who is the Associate Artistic Director of TST. I called him that very day and we had an almost two hour phone conversation about the nightmare that he and Artistic Director Thomas Morrissey were going through.

At the very moment we were on the phone Thomas was having a meeting with the Granbury City Hall/Council about the theater, the problems, etc. surrounding it.

GREASE and GYPSY both received glowing reviews, and GREASE broke all box office records (at that time). It was such a big hit that is why Stephen and Thomas were able to transfer it over to the Courtyard Theatre in Plano (not associated with PRT as the City of Plano owns it).

My email address was attached to the mass email that Stephen sent to the Granbury board, City Council, media, and "powers to be" as well as concerned theater supporters.

So when I came back from Canada there were so many emails regarding this it took forever to read them all. Many were supportive of TST, Stephen, and Thomas.

But there were also several evil, vicious, mean, and cruel emails/ letters attacking the theater for its productions of filth, vulgarity, sexual innuendo, and promoting the gay agenda.

Um.......GYPSY? GREASE? I don't remember Gypsy Rose Lee making out with the "Gotta Have A Gimmick" ladies. Was Danny Zuko having an affair with the T-birds? And if I'm correct, every friggin high school in America has done a production of GREASE. So I'm lost here.

TST was advertising in the DALLAS VOICE, so to show that they welcomed ALL types of people, they put a small rainbow sticker on the door.

A patron during an actual performance of GYPSY complained to the box office about this and threatened to tear the sticker down. They told him he could not do that. Several days later it was gone. Someone tore it off. So they put up another.

This resulted in the Hood County paper putting a picture of the sticker and article about it on the FRONT page of their paper, right next to the horrors of Hurricane Katrina articles and the death of a local motorcyclist.

From this came a small, minority group of people emailing, calling, and demanding the theater change its policy, productions, etc. Oh, and a majority of these complaining were season subscribers (according to Stephen).

I have posted the "official" statement from TST and the email from Stephen and let you decide on your OWN terms who is right or wrong.

I have my own personal feelings, opinions, and views of all this. But I want you to decide on your own.

Here is the email that was sent LAST Wednesday by Stephen, the Associate Artistic Director of TST:

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Theatre People,

The new TST is about to shut its doors. Not due to money or finances, but due to a small, vocal "red state", conservative, ignorant, religious right group that is very determined and very organized. These "censorship terrorists" have exhaustively mailed, emailed, phoned, met, conspired, complained, contacted, harassed, and have begun to break through the VIPs of Granbury that support this theatre. This support team taking the heat includes all the members of our Board of Directors, reporters, writers, newspaper publishers, government officials, school board members, merchant owners, and general audience members.

Their biggest complaint, among many, is that the new TST is promoting pornography, sex, bad language, vulgarities, obscenity, and encouraging the demoralization of an old historic town. It all started with the use of 'g*dd*mmit'. It was used on this stage for the first time in 30 years and has made Texas Star Theatre a target of their close minded, racist, homophobic, right wing attitudes. These people won't stop until the theatre is closed down and they have booted us out of town.

Thomas Morrissey, an incredible new staff, and I have turned this dying theatre around and have brought a new and broader audience (that has broken box office records) to Granbury and has revived our theatre. Since we have taken over in June, we have had more people attend our shows than any other show in the last three years. We have quadrupled our season subscribers. We have made significant progress. We have just started turning a once "melodrama driven community theatre" into a world class regional theatre and for the first time; people under the age of 55 are packing into our seats.

We opened our season with Gypsy (which have 4 'g*dd*mmits' in the script). We followed with Grease (which was the highest attended show in the last 3 years). Stars Over Texas, a musical revue of new music, was next and currently, we are in the middle of a four week run of The Boys Next Door.

The Board of Directors and local supportive businesses have been bombarded with phone calls and emails demanding everyone in Granbury boycott the Texas Star Theatre. The ironic thing is that 80% of our audience is from out of town and we will not be significantly affected by a boycott. The Board of Directors is very concerned with our next show, the very popular I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change. The cast is here and we are in the middle of rehearsals. Although this show ran for 3 years in Dallas, a mere 50 miles from Granbury, the 'Christian Citizens' of Granbury demand that we shut our theatre doors before the show opens on October 6th. This would cause many people, a staff of 15+, actors, designers, directors, etc., to lose their jobs and shrink the job market.

I ask you from one passionate theatre artist to another to please email the list below (together or individually) and let them know you support our cause. Express to them that the audience for theatre is diverse and larger than the local Baptist church. Please let each one of them know what theatre does on a larger scale, locally and nationally. We need your support. Just one email to let the locals know that you support the efforts of Texas Star Theatre and its commitment to bringing plays and musicals as written to an audience that craves theatre. That in no way our season should be misconstrued as pornographic or that a performance of Grease or I Love You, You're Perfect . . .should ever be confused as an evening of "sex on stage".

We here at Texas Star Theatre have worked too hard to have a thriving theatre in an upswing taken away from us because of a small minority that likes to bully community officials.

Texas Star Theatre will not be censored. We will not become another target. I Love You, You're Perfect. . . will not be silenced or sanitized. Locally, we will continue to fight for First Amendment Rights including freedom of expression and will not fall victim to bible beating, homophobic, racist, & sexist hypocrites. If we allow this to happen with the mildest of shows, how are we ever going to be able to produce great theatrical work in the future?

Thank you for your time.

Peace,
Stephen Bishop Seely
Associate Artistic Director
Texas Star Theatre

Theatre that makes you go "Hmmmm"

For those of you into wierd and unusual spectacles.. this should be of great interest.

20 CATS! 2 DOGS! 8 CLOWNS!

WALKING TIGHTROPES! DEATH DEFYING BALANCING ACTS!

JUMPING! DANCING! ACROBATICS!

WORLD'S ONLY CAT THEATRE

TO MAKE U.S. DEBUT AT TRIBECA PERFORMING ARTS CENTER

FROM SEPTEMBER 17 - OCTOBER 30

The Penguins are GAY

Just one week ago I heard a rumor that there were gay penguins that currently reside in the central park zoo. So I did a little research on this fabulous little bit of trivia and found a NEW YORK TIMES article that confirmed this as fact.

Central Park Zoo's gay penguins ignite debate Dinitia Smith, New York Times Saturday, February 7, 2004 New York -- Roy and Silo, two chinstrap penguins at the Central Park Zoo in Manhattan, are completely devoted to each other. For nearly six years now, they have been inseparable. They exhibit what in penguin parlance is called "ecstatic behavior": That is, they entwine their necks, they vocalize to each other, they have sex. Silo and Roy are, to anthropomorphize a bit, gay penguins. When offered female companionship, they have adamantly refused it. And the females aren't interested in them, either. . . .

So last Monday (September 19, 2005) when I get the invitation to attend a late-night party in the Central Park Zoo with bar and food fully sponsored by Finlandia Vodka and exclusive VIP seating in the Penguin House, I knew I had to go and have a drink with my arctic, tuxedo-feathered sisters.

The party also touted dancers and drummers from Broadway's THE LION KING.. so it just sounded too fabulous for words.

I got on the phone and started calling friends.. Natalie Hill cancelled some plans to be the first to join my posse. She was later joined by the tall, statuesque, Ogilvy PR maven Havilah Clark, her handsome and charming Ecuadorian, drummer boyfriend Chris Farr, former HX Magazine art director Troy Dunham, current HX Magazine photographer Jeff Eason and Rhythm in Motion partner, Midwood HS Dean and one of my favorite gumbas, Matt Bonavita.

Well the party did not disappoint. Stunning people everywhere and what an experience to be dancing and having a blast and then looking over your shoulder and seals are swimming and splashing in a pool smack in the middle of the crowd.

Natalie and I made it through bouncer madness and entered the VIP area. I then made a bee-line for the penguin house ready to have a gay National Geographic experience. But not only did I not see any hot, gay man on man penguin action.. but the penguin house needed an air freshener. The penguins were all standing at attention, as if waiting for someone to call a meeting to order.. even without moving they were pretty hysterical.

Though the gay penguins never made themselves known, I did however, through the process of elimination, figure out who the gay penguins WEREN'T. Some of those birds had feathers all askew and a couple looked like they had shat on themselves.. and there is no way in the world a gay penguin would ever have let themselves go like that, especially when they were on display to the public.

So I had to leave the party thinking to myself "What kind of world is this that even a couple of gay penguins are being forced back into the closet." But on a positive note, I took home a huge purple Finlandia pillow that now resides on my bed next to my two yellow, kushy Bacardi Limon pillows I stole from another party. Yes I happen to love swag.. and I don't care what the brand is if I can snuggle with it.

And God bless the gay foul everywhere (you know who you are).

The bitches stole my shit... again!!

What a difference a week can make.

Last weekend I planned on working the entire weekend. The plan was to work non-stop for three days so that I could catch up on everything.. taking cat naps on the beanbag chair in my office so I can keep going.

Fabulous plan.

Worked through the night on Thursday and went home to New Jersey late Friday afternoon to change and bring clothes back to the office.

When I got home the first thing I saw was the living room air conditioner, the unit that keeps my room cool, upside down on the sofa. The first thing in my head was "What are my roommates up to?" Then I noticed that my bedroom door was ripped open and the lock broken.

"Oh shit.. they broke in again." Was the next thing to cross my mind. After this revelation, nothing else surprised me. This very same thing had happened about 7 months ago. They had taken my PlayStation 2 and all of my games and my DVD player. A total of about $1000 worth of stuff. They also left my roommates belongings untouched. My one roommate had his bedroom door unlocked and yet his Apple laptop was still sitting on his bed and all of his other electronics were also untouched.

This is the second time this same exact thing has happened. PlayStation and all games stolen.. nothing else gone in the house. And if you know anything about my house you will know that anyone that breaks into my room and not my roommates' knows exactly where they are going.. my room in the least accessible in the house.

So now it is painfully obvious that I have some kind of criminal stalker in the neighborhood.. and he/she likes to play computer games. Being that my own personal-favorite, prime-suspect is an obnoxious upstairs neighbor that I can hear through an air vent saying mean and nasty things about the "maricón" downstairs, I treated him to three full days of painfully loud dance music on my too cheap to steal yet really freaking powerful stereo system. I was so intent to pay these bitches back that I even slept for two nights in my room with the stereo going full blast. (Didn't really get a good nights sleep.. but that'll show 'em.)

Whatever.. I just will not buy nice things for a while.. until I really feel like I need to move into the city with a doorman building and no easy access for PlayStation abduction.

I also took this as a sign to stop having virtual fun and have some real life fun. Stop traveling the world and having adventures in a high resolution game with amazing graphics.. and actually live out my dream of actually going somewhere where reality will bring me better resolution, better graphics.. and no doubt, much better adventures.

1984 + a few years

"The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them." - George Orwell

A Country Full of Cowards

"Most people prefer to believe their leaders are just and fair even in the face of evidence to the contrary, because once a citizen acknowledges that the government under which they live is lying and corrupt, the citizen has to choose what he or she will do about it. To take action in the face of a corrupt government entails risks of harm to life and loved ones. To choose to do nothing is to surrender one’s self-image of standing for principles. Most people do not have the courage to face that choice. Hence, most propaganda is not designed to fool the critical thinker but only to give moral cowards an excuse not to think at all." - Michael Rivero

Island Hopping: from Manhattan to Staten

Over the past year and a half I've felt an urgent need to travel internationally. My desire has been to feel the ultimate culture shock... To be dropped into an environment that is so alien that not even a Starbucks or McDonalds can be reached without at least a two-day trek.

My passion to get the hell out of Dodge started by reading Rolf Potts' inspiring book "Vagabonding: the art of long term world travel" (www.rolfpotts.com).

In the meantime, I attended the New York Times Travel show; became friends with some key people within the travel industry (even becoming Rolf Potts personal New York City tour guide while he was here for a few days); and (bizarrely) packed my cutting-edge Swiss Army backpack with full vagabonding gear, just in case a chunk of money and an international plane ticket fell out of the sky and landed at my feet. I spent so much money on travel books and travel accessories that not only did my bedroom start to look like the travel section of Barnes & Noble, but if I had spent the money on travel that I had spent on those books, I could have already taken two trips.

After a while my friends could only reply to my travel talk with "Just go on a damn trip already!" I don't blame them.

But does that mean I can't have an adventure? Hell no!

The job I recently left was at the top nightclub in the country in their marketing and events section, so I've been able to meet some interesting characters and always have the opportunity and invitation to hang out with celebs, freaks, posers, wannabes and countless wafer thin model types.

So yesterday I got the following invitation:

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Tonight, Thursday, September 8th, please join me for a very special celebration in honor of my friend's new endeavor:

Join guests Kylie Minogue & Friends
to celebrate the groundbreaking of our newest production facility
and our 2006 feature film roster.
You are cordially invited to
CINEMA XXXXX
Film Studios
Launch Party
Thursday, September XXth
7:30pm - dawn
Fine cuisine, cocktails, special performances, dancing 'til dawn, & magical fireworks
XXXX XXXXXXXXX Estates, New York
Meet at Underbar at the W Union Square for cocktails

before boarding Special luxury party coaches that will be departing between 6:30 and 8pm.
A special 9pm party coach will be available for those who can not make the dinner and fireworks.

CONTACT XXXXXXX XXXXX: XXX.XXX.XXXX
This invitation is good for you and ONE guest and is non transferable.
RSVP is mandatory and is based on a security approval process.

--------------------------------------------

Well that sounds kind of fabulous. Food, drink and Kylie at an estate on Staten Island. Totally free and so in my budget. I was probably the first one to immediately call and RSVP.

After making sure there were no hidden fees, I made the reservation and ran home to change into something appropriately trendy. While in route to New Jersey I called my stunning best-friend-forever Natalie Hill, who had just landed back in New York from a year on the Road with the national tour of Hairspray and I was sure that a party like this would be right up her alley.

When we reached the W Hotel we got a peek at the party busses that were waiting outside for us. The drivers were making sure that our iceboxes were packed with champagne and they were diligently testing the stobe lights, disco lights, laser lights, 40' plasma screen TVs and fog machines to make sure that our ride would be a trip we would not soon forget, even if we wanted to.

After some minor drama with the passenger lists, one of the event staff pointed me towards a bus and I grabbed Natalie's hand and ran for it. That perky little invitation had done the trick. Everyone that recieved it knew in an instant that this was going to be an interesting affair. They had completely overbooked and cars full of stunning people were showing up to catch the bus to Guido heaven. But we were on a bus and that's all that matters here. As long as I had a bar to sit on and a half-full plastic cup of champagne, I was good to go.

But the people weren't talking.. and I couldn't have that. So I announced "THIS IS MY STUNNING FRIEND NATALIE HILL WHO JUST GOT BACK INTO TOWN FROM TOURING IN HAIRSPRAY." This party had to get jump-started and the ice had to be broken. After feigning embarrassment, Natalie settled into a conversation with a German girl that I had mistaken for both Kylie and Oksana Bayule and I was busy talking to the rest of the bus.

When we arrive at the "estate" we go through another checkpoint and started walking through the yard or what Natalie referred to as "the compound." It was a compound of sorts.. a very tacky compound. While you could tell that this was obviously the home of a multi-millionaire, it was also evident that they had no taste. The mansion with a façade of exposed boulders would have looked nice if it hadn't been lit with up-lighting the shades of all of the primary colors. My gay designing gene said OUCH, but the assault to my gay senses had only just begun.

Walking through the front door, guests were greeted by two sweeping curved staircases that descended from the right and left. If it wasn't for the mixture of faux-weathered stucco walls, a three-dimensional barbarian warrior with flowing hair and raised sword bursting out of the staircase on one side and a stunning Raquel Welch looking cave-girl bursting out of the other, topped off with two enormous ultra green, jade jaguars on shelves overlooking the room.. it might have been nice. Even the straight males, perfect candidates for Queer Eye makeovers, were gagging in disbelief. But wait.. there's more!

After making it through that visual assault physically unharmed, a second wave of noxious design atrocities hit us. This informal greeting area had a fireplace with a mantle that looked like it had just come from Disney World. It was supposed to be twisted wood, but what it really looked like was a wig full of curls that had been magnified 1000 times. But the real treat (the one that made us stop and pause as if we'd just seen a horrifying accident) was on the opposite wall. It looked like a high school art class had come through and painted the face of every classic movie mafia gangster in a touching tribute wall of stars.

Yes folks, tonight we were a guest of the "family." After realizing that viewing the rest of the house would probably burn the retinas out of our eyes, we high-tailed it to the backyard for the food, booze, dancing and Kylie hunting. Hopes of actually spotting Kylie, however, became null when Natalie and a growing group of her new girlfriends reminded me that the poor lady was still going through chemo and probably wasn't up for making appearances. But we had plenty to eat and drink.. and people watching, forget it. There were so many "family" members in the crowd that it was slightly intimidating. Just as Natalie was stating to her new gal pals that this couldn't get any more gangster if Victoria Gotti was there, she actually spotted her. Thinner than you could imagine and with hair way below her ass, she was on the lawn chatting. Too proper to ruin the reality stars' night with a request for a photo, Natalie tried to pull a fast one and moved to position her new friends in the camera's line of fire so that Ms. Gotti would end up in the background. But Vicky G. was on to her and immediately repositioned herself behind her group and out of the range of Natalie's Nikon.

Though the house left something to be desired, the backyard was exceptionally stunning. With a HUGE tent (literally the size of a small circus tent) set up for dining and dancing, a glowing pool with waterfalls cascading, a waterfront deck that stood 20 feet above the crashing waves, a gourmet pizza stand, two open bars, two lounge areas and an expansive lawn with tiki torches in just the right places, Natalie and I agreed that we made the right choice in coming. Young Natalie had never heard of 2 time Grammy-winner Chuck Mangione before, but that didn't stop her from recognizing some of his music as he played for over two hours in the tent. Then a barge about 100 yards off shore put on a private yet impressive fireworks display that lasted about 15 minutes.

So you get the idea. These people spent an insane amount of money on this party.. and then asked a bunch of promoters to invite a bevy of stunning people to share it with them. We were told several stories regarding the propose or reason for the party. The invitation claimed that this was the celebration for the launch of a new film studio that was being build on these grounds.. the word on the party bus back home was that this was a party to celebrate one of the kingpins return home from the slammer. Regardless, all I could thank of was that I wanted to thank these people for allowing me to indulge in their food, music and fun. I was in such a good mood that I was even ready to complement them for days on how stunning their house was. But I figured that these people might not want to be bothered with my praise so I asked the head events person to pass along the message.

We met so many fun people that night and as I was leaving I could only think of one thing. This would probably make a great first entry into my travel log. I never got on a plane.. but hell anyone can do that. I got on the foggy disco bus to spend a night dancing and drinking with a generous and gracious bunch of Mafioso ladies and gentlemen.

At the end of the night I told Natalie, "I can't wait to write this story."

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Tomorrow my company, City Hunt is producing a major scavenger hunt for IBM at the US Open. We'll be there for all of the final matches. Maybe Agassi will make it into my blog.

The Loss of New Orleans by Anne Rice

September 4, 2005
Do You Know What It Means to Lose New Orleans?
By ANNE RICE

WHAT do people really know about New Orleans?

Do they take away with them an awareness that it has always been not only a great white metropolis but also a great black city, a city where African-Americans have come together again and again to form the strongest African-American culture in the land?

The first literary magazine ever published in Louisiana was the work of black men, French-speaking poets and writers who brought together their work in three issues of a little book called L'Album Littéraire. That was in the 1840's, and by that time the city had a prosperous class of free black artisans, sculptors, businessmen, property owners, skilled laborers in all fields. Thousands of slaves lived on their own in the city, too, making a living at various jobs, and sending home a few dollars to their owners in the country at the end of the month.

This is not to diminish the horror of the slave market in the middle of the famous St. Louis Hotel, or the injustice of the slave labor on plantations from one end of the state to the other. It is merely to say that it was never all "have or have not" in this strange and beautiful city.

Later in the 19th century, as the Irish immigrants poured in by the thousands, filling the holds of ships that had emptied their cargoes of cotton in Liverpool, and as the German and Italian immigrants soon followed, a vital and complex culture emerged. Huge churches went up to serve the great faith of the city's European-born Catholics; convents and schools and orphanages were built for the newly arrived and the struggling; the city expanded in all directions with new neighborhoods of large, graceful houses, or areas of more humble cottages, even the smallest of which, with their floor-length shutters and deep-pitched roofs, possessed an undeniable Caribbean charm.

Through this all, black culture never declined in Louisiana. In fact, New Orleans became home to blacks in a way, perhaps, that few other American cities have ever been. Dillard University and Xavier University became two of the most outstanding black colleges in America; and once the battles of desegregation had been won, black New Orleanians entered all levels of life, building a visible middle class that is absent in far too many Western and Northern American cities to this day.

The influence of blacks on the music of the city and the nation is too immense and too well known to be described. It was black musicians coming down to New Orleans for work who nicknamed the city "the Big Easy" because it was a place where they could always find a job. But it's not fair to the nature of New Orleans to think of jazz and the blues as the poor man's music, or the music of the oppressed.

Something else was going on in New Orleans. The living was good there. The clock ticked more slowly; people laughed more easily; people kissed; people loved; there was joy.

Which is why so many New Orleanians, black and white, never went north. They didn't want to leave a place where they felt at home in neighborhoods that dated back centuries; they didn't want to leave families whose rounds of weddings, births and funerals had become the fabric of their lives. They didn't want to leave a city where tolerance had always been able to outweigh prejudice, where patience had always been able to outweigh rage. They didn't want to leave a place that was theirs.

And so New Orleans prospered, slowly, unevenly, but surely - home to Protestants and Catholics, including the Irish parading through the old neighborhood on St. Patrick's Day as they hand out cabbages and potatoes and onions to the eager crowds; including the Italians, with their lavish St. Joseph's altars spread out with cakes and cookies in homes and restaurants and churches every March; including the uptown traditionalists who seek to preserve the peace and beauty of the Garden District; including the Germans with their clubs and traditions; including the black population playing an ever increasing role in the city's civic affairs.

Now nature has done what the Civil War couldn't do. Nature has done what the labor riots of the 1920's couldn't do. Nature had done what "modern life" with its relentless pursuit of efficiency couldn't do. It has done what racism couldn't do, and what segregation couldn't do either. Nature has laid the city waste - with a scope that brings to mind the end of Pompeii.

•

I share this history for a reason - and to answer questions that have arisen these last few days. Almost as soon as the cameras began panning over the rooftops, and the helicopters began chopping free those trapped in their attics, a chorus of voices rose. "Why didn't they leave?" people asked both on and off camera. "Why did they stay there when they knew a storm was coming?" One reporter even asked me, "Why do people live in such a place?"

Then as conditions became unbearable, the looters took to the streets. Windows were smashed, jewelry snatched, stores broken open, water and food and televisions carried out by fierce and uninhibited crowds.

Now the voices grew even louder. How could these thieves loot and pillage in a time of such crisis? How could people shoot one another? Because the faces of those drowning and the faces of those looting were largely black faces, race came into the picture. What kind of people are these, the people of New Orleans, who stay in a city about to be flooded, and then turn on one another?

Well, here's an answer. Thousands didn't leave New Orleans because they couldn't leave. They didn't have the money. They didn't have the vehicles. They didn't have any place to go. They are the poor, black and white, who dwell in any city in great numbers; and they did what they felt they could do - they huddled together in the strongest houses they could find. There was no way to up and leave and check into the nearest Ramada Inn.

What's more, thousands more who could have left stayed behind to help others. They went out in the helicopters and pulled the survivors off rooftops; they went through the flooded streets in their boats trying to gather those they could find. Meanwhile, city officials tried desperately to alleviate the worsening conditions in the Superdome, while makeshift shelters and hotels and hospitals struggled.

And where was everyone else during all this? Oh, help is coming, New Orleans was told. We are a rich country. Congress is acting. Someone will come to stop the looting and care for the refugees.

And it's true: eventually, help did come. But how many times did Gov. Kathleen Blanco have to say that the situation was desperate? How many times did Mayor Ray Nagin have to call for aid? Why did America ask a city cherished by millions and excoriated by some, but ignored by no one, to fight for its own life for so long? That's my question.

I know that New Orleans will win its fight in the end. I was born in the city and lived there for many years. It shaped who and what I am. Never have I experienced a place where people knew more about love, about family, about loyalty and about getting along than the people of New Orleans. It is perhaps their very gentleness that gives them their endurance.

They will rebuild as they have after storms of the past; and they will stay in New Orleans because it is where they have always lived, where their mothers and their fathers lived, where their churches were built by their ancestors, where their family graves carry names that go back 200 years. They will stay in New Orleans where they can enjoy a sweetness of family life that other communities lost long ago.

But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us "Sin City," and turned your backs.

Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you.