Monday, January 9, 2006
 Anna Oppenheimer, College of Arts & Sciences
We stopped by one fairly affluent home near Lake Pontchartrain. Like many nearby houses, it sustained what seems like irreparable damage due to Hurricane Katrina. The front room and foyer of the house are entirely exposed to the outdoors. What was left of the house’s frame is in the process of being gutted, stripped of its drywall and insulation, by local workers and volunteers. The debris is scattered on the foundation of the front rooms or in the yard. A tree that, judging by its root structure and truck size must be at least a century old, rests on part of the roof that remains intact. By the extent of the damage, it seems unlikely that the owners will choose to rebuild this home to what it once was, if they choose to rebuild it at all.
Hidden by debris and the sinking ceiling, something unexpected hung from the rafters. It attracted my attention only when it briefly reflected the light from the midday sun. When I approached the house, I noticed that it was an ornate crystal chandelier, seemingly undamaged either by the storm or looters. Unlike the exposed insulation, the chandelier, firmly secured to the rafters and strong in its own right, did not sway and break away in the wind. Its delicate structure and unblemished exterior distinguished it from the rotting rubble that surrounded it. I know that I’m being an idealist, but this beautiful lighting device could be symbolic in this setting. To me, it represents a hope that remains among devastation. Although many of the buildings and structures of New Orleans are in pieces, the heart of the city, like the central chandelier amidst a room of people gathered to break bread together, remains as stable fixture around which the rest of the city can rebuild itself. In a city in which over 75 percent of residents live in darkness, the chandelier continues to provide light to homes with or without electricity.
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