Carnival in New Orleans, a time of indulgence before the Lenten season, is known for its bright, boldly decorated parades and floats, and celebratory atmosphere. Mardi Gras Day, or Fat Tuesday, the last day of revelry, is a culmination of this indulgence. But, historically, carnival has also been an occasion for protesting against injustice and subverting political norms.
This year’s festival pushed that tradition forward with krewes – groups that host parades and balls – that incorporated demonstrations of Palestinian solidarity into their processions. Amid the Israel-Gaza war, hundreds of carnival participants have used the marches to bring awareness to the conflict.
A successful takeover
Every 6 January, Krewe de Jeanne d’Arc, a krewe that promotes Joan of Arc and New Orleans’ French heritage, kicks off carnival. But in an unsanctioned move this year, people with the group Nola Musicians for Palestine marched first, taking advantage of Krewe de Jeanne d’Arc’s existing route and the attendees already assembled to see the krewe’s parade.
Simon Moushabeck, a Palestinian artist and member of Nola Musicians, organized marchers for the unofficial “procession for Palestine”, teaching them Arabic and Palestinian songs to play as they marched.
“Music relates to freedom,” Moushabeck told the Guardian. He noted the Israeli ban on musical instruments entering Gaza, which has been in effect since 2007, as one of the main reasons musicians needed to speak up against the war. “We talked about using the platform of Mardi Gras, using the platform of musicians on Frenchman Street … the idea of keeping a spirit strong with music, and how we have a part to play in this.”
Nola Musicians for Palestine recruited people for its planned procession with a callout on Instagram, reminding its followers of the large Palestinian community in New Orleans: Tawfiq Ajaq, a New Orleans-born 17-year-old, was killed last month in the West Bank, almost a decade after Orwah Hammad, another New Orleanian-Palestinian teen, was killed by Israeli soldiers. Samaher Esmail, who has lived in New Orleans with her family for decades, was kidnapped by IDF soldiers earlier this month.
“Procession for Palestine” marchers brought Arabic instruments, kites, faux birds, watermelons and other imagery signifying solidarity with Palestine, while select attendees gave speeches about Palestinian people and culture. Overall, Moushabeck said, about 500 people took part in the demonstration.
Following the success of its takeover, Nola Musicians for Palestine put out a call for local krewes to voluntarily convert their parades into protests by displaying Palestinian flags, signs, symbols and colors; wearing keffiyehs; playing Palestinian music; passing out zines; or offering coveted float space to pro-Palestinian groups. Several krewes heeded the call.
‘We take care of the community’
On 20 January, Women of Wakanda, a primarily Black krewe that promotes the representation of women of color in nerd spaces, marched with Krewe of Chewbacchus, another krewe that heralds nerd culture. The groups’ DJ displayed a large Palestinian flag throughout the parade.
“Ultimately, Women of Wakanda would show solidarity to any marginalized groups that are facing oppression, because that is the basis upon which we were created,” said Jaleesa Jackson, a Women of Wakanda co-founder. “We take care of the community.”
Jewish Voices for Peace New Orleans and Nola Musicians for Palestine paraded together on 27 January, Holocaust Remembrance Day, right before Krewe du Vieux, a group known for its political satire and raunchiness, rolled, or held its parade. The sign that led their march read: “No Mardi Gras mask can hide the US funding genocide.”
Nana Sula, a Black Masking Indian, hadn’t heard about Nola Musicians for Palestine’s call to action. Rather, she felt her own spiritual call to honor Palestinians in this year’s festivities. Black Masking Indians, or Mardi Gras Indians, are people who honor the connections made by Black and Indigenous people during slavery; their elaborate handmade suits are arguably one of the most notable features of carnival in New Orleans. Sula worked on crafting her suit for five months, dedicating it to the protection of children.
“I just began to think about all the children in the world that have been harmed, that are being harmed,” Sula said. “And I just began to weep for the children that are in Palestine and have died. [I had] a vision in my mind about what that meant, not only for the children there, but all children.”
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Some krewes connected their solidarity with Palestine to historical coalitions across race, class and nationality. Krewe of Chickpea is a Palestinian-led krewe inspired by mawasim, pre-colonial Palestinian festivals in which Muslims, Jews and Christians gathered alongside each other. And Krewe of Las Frijolitas is a Dominican-led krewe that honors environmental activists such as Mamá Tingó and Tortuguita. On Lundi Gras, the day before Mardi Gras Day, the two krewes rolled together because of their joint interests in land activism, especially as it pertains to people of color.
Lila Arnaud, a co-founder of Las Frijolitas (or little beans) said she’s been inspired by the outpouring of support.
“I’m encouraged by it not just for the people of Palestine, but [also] for Afro-Indigenous people everywhere who are struggling with their right to exist in the lands that they hold sacred,” Arnaud said. “I think about Sudan, and I think about the Congo, and I wonder how we will continue to build on this consciousness.”
A long tradition of resistance at carnival
In 1811, more than 500 enslaved people used the carnival season to attempt one of the largest slave rebellions in history, chanting “freedom or death!” as they burned plantations on their way to New Orleans. In 1946, veteran flambeaux carriers went on strike for better wages. More than a decade later, in 1957, in solidarity with the Montgomery bus boycott, Black people in New Orleans refused to participate in Mardi Gras. More recently, in 2017, some marchers used carnival season to protest against Donald Trump’s presidency following his inauguration.
Krewes of Chickpea and Las Frijolitas intend to continue rolling beyond this year’s carnival season, ensuring that the traditions of protest and subversion continue. And as other socio-political issues arise, New Orleanians will likely respond as they have for generations: embracing the season’s anonymity and freedom as a means to fight against injustice.
This article was amended on 13 February 2024 to correct that Lila Arnaud did not attend the Lundi Gras parade.
