Learn lessons from Katrina, so COVID can’t steal S.F.’s soul
Mardi Gras in 2006, just six months after Hurricane Katrina, was as much a celebration of New Orleans’ perseverance as it was a welfare check on the city Louisianans like myself consider a part of their DNA.
That year, I spent early afternoons at packed parades on St. Charles Avenue, and late nights on Bourbon Street, stopping only to get free drinks, and to hug friends and cousins I hadn’t seen since before the storm. Sprinkled throughout it all were visits to little neighborhood restaurants, the lucky ones to make it through the hurricane in one piece, for cheap gumbo or po’boys.
As the city recovered from the hurricane, urban renewal led to drops in Blackowned businesses and an uptick in whiteowned places like hipster coffee spots and chic food halls. Quietly, while the city healed after a disaster, the New Orleans I knew up until 2006 disappeared. Parking lots that doubled as basketball courts became condos, little corner stores with low prices were replaced by chains like Whole Foods.
I’m worried the same thing is about to happen to San Francisco because of the coronavirus pandemic.
While I don’t have ties to San Francisco like those of the city’s true natives, what I can offer is insight from my experiences in New Orleans after the storm. Both the hurricane and the pandemic, in their own ways, forced iconic small businesses to shut down, and thus created room for new operators to step in. In this process, locals have to be mindful San Francisco doesn’t become a caricature of itself.
Case in point: Slim’s, a classic, bluecollar livemusic venue in San Francisco, has been sold to new owners who plan to turn it into YOLO, a venue promising to play electronic dance music, book Top 40 DJs, and have security staff in suits and ties.
In pop culture, YOLO is a dated acronym for “you only live once.” If the name wasn’t concerning enough, the venue also plans to have a dress code that bans sports apparel and baggy or oversize clothes. The owners of YOLO said in a recent filing with the city that the dress code could shift based on the types of events held at YOLO, and is “merely a tool to use to deny unwanted guests.”
This doesn’t feel representative of the San Francisco music scene most people love. And as a Black man living in the area, what jumps out to me is the casual use of dog whistle language hinting at exclusionary practices against people who might look and dress like me. Even more concerning is how the project and its dress code don’t seem to be running into opposition, be it from locals or city officials.
The deja vu I feel in the Bay Area also reminds me of how lucky I was to have Mardi Gras in 2006. It gave people like me a setting, imbued with alcohol, laughter and some tears, to gather and check in on the city’s institutions.
Has anybody gone through the Sixth Ward to see if Dooky Chase’s is still standing? Are the folks running Domilise’s still slinging po’boys? Is Willie Mae’s OK?
The talks reminded us what was important in the place we called home. And while we were aware of what ways we didn’t want the city to change, it often still happened quickly, right under our noses.
New Orleans was reimagined without nuance and care, by the people who could afford to pay to reinvigorate empty and dilapidated properties. YOLO, in many ways, is indicative of a similar scenario happening in San Francisco, especially when considering that from March to July, more than 2,000 businesses in the San FranciscoOaklandHayward area permanently closed, according to Yelp data.
More spaces could pop up like YOLO, unabashedly catering to new audiences, while leaving out the preferences of San Francisco natives. And with each one, San Francisco could lose a bit more of the soul that made the city truly special.
So what should locals do? Well, COVID19 has made a Mardi Grastype gathering where they can hug and bemoan their changing city impossible. Still, San Franciscans should use their personal social bubbles to really focus on what’s closing in their neighborhoods, and whether what replaces these businesses truly reflects the community in which they live.
Is the new lounge as inclusive as the oldschool spot before it? Does it respect San Francisco’s history and culture? Will it make you or your friends feel at home?
It’s painful imagining a San Francisco devoid of friendly dive bars, charming familyrun taquerias or soul food spots, and hangouts where the blues, rock and hiphop acts are fun and loud, and the drinks are affordable and stiff. To pull from the YOLO acronym, it’s true we only live once, so for the folks living in San Francisco, why not make sure you’re living while also keeping alive the things you love most about your city?