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OA: You've lived in Oklahoma, Barcelona, Baton Rouge, Berlin, San Antonio, New York, St. Louis, and now New Orleans. Have you settled for good this time?
Wow, you’ve done your homework. Yes, I used to get around a lot—in fact, I traveled with carnivals and fairs for eight years before I went to Barcelona. If I can hold steady employment in New Orleans, I’d like to stick around forever, assuming rising seawater doesn’t drown our city before I die. More than any other city in the US, New Orleans feels like it’s part of another country. It’s the city that reminds me most of Barcelona, but it’s often compared to Havana. It’s truly a magical place.
OA: From someone who lived on the edge, you've become "a teacher, a husband, a citizen who votes." What's your perspective on protests, justice, and the possibility of radical societal change?
I’ve been disappointed a lot in my short life. The last time it happened was after the Occupy Movement, when it seemed like real economic change was on the horizon. People are comparing this moment we are living through to the tumultuous summer of 1968. But Ta-Nehisi Coates, a writer and thinker I admire immensely, has said that this moment feels different, more hopeful. Angela Davis echoes this sentiment. The biggest surprise is seeing people express concern for injustices from places you rarely see it. Namely, middle-class white America. So much remains to be seen, but it’s been inspiring to see young people take to the streets and not let up until they force a conversation most white Americans weren’t willing to have not that long ago.
OA: You once lived in Manhattan for free, in an abandoned school. In Barcelona, where this essay takes place, you and your friends broke into your living quarters using a crowbar. In San Antonio, you lived in a trailer park. What are your thoughts on squatting, affordable housing, and the idea of a safe and stable middle-class life?
I’m now 42 and still far from “a safe and stable middle-class life.” I fear I always will be. There are quiet, secret squats in New Orleans, just as there are in many cities, not “political” squats but more like camping indoors, but they are so precarious and only help a fraction of the population experiencing homelessness. It’s heartbreaking when you see so many homeless people and empty houses in the same geographical space. The solution to the problem is right in front of us, but the laws are on the side of property owners, and there is so little public housing available. Why can’t we redirect some federal money from a bloated military budget to fix up those houses and create more housing for the poor?
OA: What's the main difference for you between writing fiction and non-fiction?
When I first began to write, I found myself recycling and fictionalizing true stories from my life. Later, I discovered the versatility and breadth of non-fiction. I’m now turning some of those early fictional stories into personal essays. I have an obsessive mind, and when I take on any project, fiction or non-fiction, I tend to dive deep into research. I think what I’ve discovered is that the research can recede more into the background with fiction. And with fiction, of course, you can manipulate the characters and plot to suit your needs. But if I’m honest, the more interesting challenge is sticking to the truth.
OA: What is your next writing project?
So many things! I’m a story juggler. I usually have four or five going at once. I’ve been trying to write a novel, but I won’t say more on that for fear of jinxing it. I’d like to do an investigative longform piece about an unfortunate incident at a squat in Barcelona in 2006 that left one cop in a coma and three South American squatters wrongly convicted for the crime. The incident was used as an excuse to ramp up gentrification of the city. I’m also searching for a good potboiler true crime story that I can devote a few months of my life to, something from Louisiana or the South. (Send me ideas!)
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