Dr. Roquell E. Wyche and her son, Jaxon, attended Mardi Gras in New Orleans, joining nearly 40 family members despite recent tragedies, including a terrorist attack and a helicopter crash. Wyche found joy in the celebrations, emphasizing the importance of freedom. While concerns lingered among some attendees, like Shantae Howard, who vowed to be careful, many demonstrated resilience through lively festivities. With heightened security and more barriers than usual, the spirit of Mardi Gras persisted. Attendees paid respects to tragedy victims while indulging in traditional celebrations, affirming New Orleans’ reputation for joy, community, and rebirth amid adversity.
The arrangements had been in place for months: Dr. Roquell E. Wyche planned to take her son, Jaxon, to New Orleans, where nearly 40 relatives from her husband’s family would gather for their annual Mardi Gras festivities.
However, on New Year’s Day, a terrorist drove his pickup truck into a crowd on Bourbon Street in the French Quarter, resulting in 14 fatalities. In the weeks following, a helicopter crashed into a plane preparing to land in Washington, claiming the lives of everyone aboard.
All of this gave Dr. Wyche reason for concern. Still, she and 11-year-old Jaxon decided to go ahead with their trip.
“It has been one of the best experiences of our lives,” she shared on Sunday, observing as Jaxon dashed to grab a string of beads while family members exchanged playful banter along the parade route. “Just being able to leave and feel a sense of freedom, even for a moment.”
There was never any doubt that Carnival, the vibrant celebration before the reflective period of Lent, would continue in New Orleans. Yet, with the recent trauma of the truck attack still vivid, some attendees felt a sense of unease as they prepared for the festivities leading up to Fat Tuesday.
“I’m going to be extra cautious,” said Shantae Howard, 31, who had been saying additional prayers during her shifts at a factory and on the flight from Green Bay, Wis., where she resides.
“Sticking to my commitment matters to me,” said Ms. Howard, a solo traveler to New Orleans for Mardi Gras each year. For her, the decision to return after the attack — particularly by air, given the crash — was a way to embrace life fully and not allow negativity to limit her joy, she remarked.
Despite predictions of strong winds that led to the cancellation or shortening of several parades on Tuesday, the faith in Mardi Gras’s unspoken charm appeared largely unshaken: there was a welcoming space for everyone.
“We are passionate advocates for Mardi Gras — it’s a unique experience,” stated Chloe Ray, 33, adorned with a large cardboard cutout of a checkered tablecloth as part of a group crawfish boil costume. “Everyone comes together and shares what they have.”
“I’ve never skipped a Mardi Gras and never plan to,” she asserted. “When there are parades rolling, I must be there.”
Throughout the city, sometimes begrudgingly recognized for its strength, hints of anxiety mixed with the festivities. Local businesses had not seen the anticipated influx of tourist revenue during the Super Bowl held in New Orleans last month.
“It weighs heavily on me,” expressed Stacy McClellan, an artist who sells her creations in Jackson Square, regarding the unease surrounding this year’s Mardi Gras. “For many, this embodies our city’s essence.”
Yet, as she delicately affixed crystals to a peacock painting, she added, “We won’t let that dampen our spirits. I’m eagerly waiting for Tuesday.”
She was among those who found this year’s increased security measures unsettling, even as they provided some comfort.
Notably, the presence of law enforcement and military personnel was significant, with some armed with tactical weapons seen along Bourbon Street and throughout the French Quarter. Officials announced that alongside hundreds of federal and state officers, around 600 police officers — approximately two-thirds of the New Orleans force — were deployed for 12-hour shifts during the parades.
While barricades have always been a part of Mardi Gras in New Orleans, this year saw an unprecedented number of them. Superintendent Anne Kirkpatrick of the New Orleans Police Department explained the creation of a “serpentine course” of barriers along St. Charles Avenue opposite the parade, designed to “slow down anyone who might consider using a vehicle as a weapon.”
Nevertheless, it remained entirely possible to get lost in a blur of dazzling gold, green, and purple as bands and marching groups traversed the streets, reaching towards a float with outstretched arms in hopes of catching a strand of beads or any signature offerings from the krewes.
“This signifies rebirth,” remarked Steven Latiolais, 32, waving a sign that encouraged passersby to “Let Go. Let Gras. (but be nice)” ahead of the Krewe of Red Beans walking parade in the Marigny neighborhood. “New Orleans has not forgotten how to love and enjoy life.”
Away from the bustling Bourbon Street, smaller walking parades featured intricate, hand-crafted costumes made from papier-mâché, beans, and creative spirit. On Monday, participants took the opportunity to parody politicians, pay tribute to Scrim, the runaway dog who recently became a local icon, or flaunt fringe jackets adorned with red beans.
“Our world here transforms into something unique during these few days,” said Barrett DeLong, a photographer and tour guide, while preparing for the Fat Monday Luncheon, one of the oldest L.G.B.T.Q. celebrations in the state. “It feels like everything around us has paused.”
In many ways, it felt as though nothing had changed. Children, perched on shoulders or custom-painted ladders, claimed trinkets and throws just as their parents had done in years past. Families congregated in their customary spots, bringing wagons filled with crawfish, burgers, and drinks.
In between the parades, drinks, and slices of king cake, some attendees visited a memorial for the victims of the Bourbon Street tragedy. A line of crosses that had adorned the street for weeks post-incident was relocated to the Presbytère, a museum adjacent to Jackson Square.
Susan Cloninger, 70, was among those who paused at the crosses to honor the victims, wiping away tears. A lifelong resident of New Orleans, she met her husband on the sidelines of the Krewe of Pandora nearly 50 years ago and chose to set aside her worries to come out just before Mardi Gras.
“In the end, this is what New Orleans is all about,” she reflected. “You put all fears aside and embrace the joy.”