I first met Jose Torres Tama 10 or 11 years ago.  The Faulkner Society, of which I am a co-founder, gave him one of his first opportunities to perform. Today, Jose, who is of Mexican heritage, is a highly regarded poet and performance artist, recently awarded a "Funds for the Arts" Fellowship from the National Association of Latino Arts and Culture (NALAC) to develop his book manuscript entitled "The Dream Knows More than You: Performance: Chronicles of a Latino Immigrant."

The essay below is part of a collection he is developing.

At the corner of Spain and Chartres Streets, I recently saw a group of four cowboy-hat wearing workers in blue Levis, snakeskin boots, and of "Mestizo" Mexican descent awaiting instructions for a repair job on a nearby house.  In their classic white-straw "vaquero" hats, they resembled extras out of a Spaghetti Western movie, and their presence had the normality of sights encountered in a San Antonio square, not the Fabourg Marigny.  A few blocks away on St. Claude Avenue, entire immigrant families are resettling the Bywater, a once predominantly African American area. 

So the "hood" is now transforming into the "barrio," and on numerous occasions, I have been referred to as "amigo" by gringos, black and white, that at least know this one word of Spanish.  In 1984 when I first arrived, I was actually called a "Yankee," as my New York accent gave me away immediately.  Raised in the industrial Northeast, I had been called many things before, but never a "Yankee."  Quickly, I realized that the South has a lasting memory and old wounds are not easily forgotten, however I took delight in my novel hybrid identity as a  "Latino Yankee" in the "Big Easy."

Back then, I began discovering the deep Latin roots of the city, which included the red beans and rice staple in the local cuisine, and to this day, its Iberian heritage is proudly proclaimed at French Quarter intersections with historical mosaic placards that read: "When New Orleans was the capital of the Spanish Provinces from 1762 to 1803, this street bore the name of Calle Real," for Royal Street. 

Vestiges of thoroughfares with Spanish names are still visible, and City Hall is actually located on Perdido Street.  Now, "perdido" in Spanish means lost.   Twenty-two years ago, I found that amusing, but today, it’s not a good sign.  In fact, the mayor’s office is at 1300 Perdido, which is not the most reassuring street name and number combination, but it may be the more mythic reason for the post-Katrina absence of a clear reconstruction plan from officials at this address. 

Like Latin cities, our modus operandi embraces a "mañana" culture schedule where things are put off to the following day or day after that, and this accepted social norm has been detrimental to our recovery.  Where I live, the large Robert’s Supermarket serving the Marigny has not reopened, and I have to shop in the Quarter at small pricier food stores.  Whenever it rains, the electricity goes out, and on several occasions, our water has been cut off for hours.  With the Military Police patrolling the area, we are reminded that our most constant "state" is one of war, which is this nation’s solution for all our social ills.

I imagine that our immigrant "compadres" feel at home in the Third World country we have become, but I am concerned for the rampant exploitation of their labor and the serious violations of their human rights.  I have spoken to a few of them, and quite often, they are engaged in arduous and toxic work and are not paid the American dollars they were promised.  Without any English language skills to demand their just wages, with the national demonization campaign against them, and with constant fears of deportation, they are the most vulnerable to abject abuse by pirate construction companies, the local police, and immigration agents.

These are hard working human beings, and just like the entire city of New Orleans was welcoming to the recent librarians who came into town, I urge us all to express thanks, "gracias," to these men for their honorable work.  We need to look them in their eyes, and acknowledge their presence because they are the most isolated people in our current environment.  Let’s not forget that they have toiled at jobs no one else will, such as cleaning the human refuse of the Superdome and Convention Center after the storm. 

Like the heroic Chinese who were imported to work the railroads in the Eighteen hundreds, the legacy of these immigrant Mexican workers will be the rebuilding of New Orleans in the 21st Century. The sweat of their grueling labor will sprout a new hybrid race of future Latinos in the Deep South.

Jose Torres Tama, a Louisiana Theater Fellow and  an award recipient from the National Endowment for the Arts, is a dynamic performer.  His performances and writings explore the effects of media on race relations, the "American Dream" mythology, and the Latino immigrant experience.  Cornell, Duke, Rutgers, LSU and the University of Michigan are some of the many institutions that have presented his solos and lectures on art as a tool for social change. Jose will be a member of the Faulkner Society’s faculty for Words & Music, A Literary Feast in New Orleans November 1-6.  This year’s theme for Words & Music is The Impact of Hispanic Cultures on U. S. Life & Literature.  It will also feature such famous Latino/Latina literary personalities as Hilmilce Novas, Rolando Hinojosa, Jose Cuellar, Luis Rodriguez, Mayra Montero,  H.G. Carrillo, Manuel Ramos, Loida Maritza Perez, Ana Castillo and Oscar Hijuelos. For details, visit: www.torrestama.com  and www.WordsandMusic.org.