David Stern, erstwhile über-commissioner of the NBA, is no friend of the game of basketball, or the NBA player. I know there was a time when common wisdom held that he was indeed a player’s best friend—instrumental in building the NBA into a financial juggernaut and therefore making a lot of money for a number of players who otherwise would have had middling careers. And so he was thought to be a friend, a godsend, rescuing a league in dire trouble financially, and transforming it into one of America’s most beloved and lucrative sports.

Stern may well be a friend of the NBA, but in retrospect he has been no friend of the game of basketball itself, or of its players. And here’s why: The golden years of the NBA were during the 1970s, before Stern got his hands on the league. Yes, that’s what I said. More so than the Bird/Magic ‘80s or the Jordon ‘90s, the time before Stern wove his marketing “genius” on the league was the last real golden age of the NBA. Why? Because before the money came in—the TV deals, Nike contracts, the reaching out to “ middle America” —the game was purer. It was more “this thing of ours”—players ballin’ and loving the game. These were skilled athletes bridging the way to our modern game, and outside of teams in major markets most were fairly anonymous souls making modest money—the average player salary in 1970 was $35,000 according to David Friedman in Bob Batchelor’s anthology Basketball In America.

The ‘70s were not about the business of basketball, though with the merging of the ABA and the NBA in 1976 the age of sports agent conglomerates, endorsement deals, international marketing schemes, multi-million dollar coaches and power bottom-line owners was soon to come. If the NBA has problems these days it has less to do with the attitude of the modern NBA player than the philosophical changes enacted by David Stern when he became commissioner, taking basketball from the realm of sport, to business, never to return.

In the 1970s players like World B. Free, Pete Maravich, Clyde Frazier, Bob McAdoo, Dave Cowens, and Julius “Dr. J” Erving crafted a league that had progressed from the Boston Celtic monarchy of the sixties to an urban democracy where superstars from inner-cities gave America its first team sport rooted in the spirit of the streets. This was a good thing. The game had become more complex in the sixties with the likes of the incredible Oscar Robertson and defensive guru Bill Russell, and now urban America breathed even more spirit into the game and the results were fabulous. This wasn’t a black and white thing—no one was flashier than “Pistol” Pete, and no player as fundamentally sound as Earl Monroe. Yes, a lot of the stadiums were empty, but any kid or family could afford to go.

And if you loved basketball it was a wonderful time—David Thompson, Calvin Murphy, Bob Lanier, all showcased a new jack ability to score, execute fantastic passes, and block shots in a manner the league had never seen. Between 1974 and 1979 five different teams won NBA titles, two of them recent expansion teams, and college basketball superstars like Lew Alcindor (Kareem Abdul-Jabbar) and Bill Walton (yes, him) made the leap from touted NCAA prospects to NBA championship leaders. The league embraced fur coat wearing, pimp hat-donning, long hair hippy, weed smoking players because they played the game phenomenally and had style in tune with the cultural Zeitgeist of the day. The game was sexy, hip, and a wonder to behold. You have to go back to the 70s to find a time when players played the game not because they’d get rich (most of them wouldn’t) but because basketball was what they loved. Can you imagine a Sean Bradley in the NBA of the 70s? Why would he play? One could imagine the infamous Harold “baby Jordan” Miner or Ron Artest actually thriving in the NBA of the 70s because the distractions and pressures facing today’s players were simply not there.

This was the golden age of basketball because it was the last time the game on the court trumped everything else. Then Stern came along, latched onto Larry Bird and Magic Johnson, surely two of the greatest players to ever play the game, and eventually a kid named Jordan, and marketed them into “entertainers” and “role models.” Quick, name a team who won a championship in the 1980s other than the Celtics or Lakers? Or a player that led that team? The fact that most fans probably can’t cannot possibly have been good for the game of basketball.

I am speaking of basketball, not the corporation known as the NBA. I am talking about summer New York street ball and Chicago high school tournaments, not ESPN announcers bemoaning Lebron James’ move from high school to the pros while simultaneously blanketing said move with an unprecedented level of exploitative coverage. I speak of the 2004 U.S. Olympic Team playing under more vicious attack from home critics than any Lithuanian zone could ever throw at them, yet playing on with an intensity and heart that no one seemed to notice. One wonders what Allen Iverson and Argentinean superstar Manu Ginóbili, both ballers to the core, talk about when they cross paths. I bet it’s about how much they respect and are exhausted by each other’s game, and probably not those fake “NBA Cares” commercials the league orchestrates.

David Stern does not care about basketball players because to him they are tools through which the NBA, a true corporation, makes money. Jordan, Bird, and Magic were loved by Stern because they made a lot of money for him. If they had jeopardized the making of that money he would have tossed them to the wind, as he was more than prepared to do with Kobe. The league eventually disposed of Dennis Rodman when his tiresome antics ceased being great TV theater.

Just as there is an attempt to turn Rucker Park basketball into a corporate entity and therefore rob it of any semblance of true basketball spirit, the NBA as basketball is constantly under attack. It’s there, if you watch Tuesday night games (you have to have cable), you will catch Michael Redd and the Bucks versus Elton Brand and the Clippers, two great young teams that might as well not exist as far as the NBA and its ABC TV deal is concerned—no marketable entities, or so we are told. And this is where I find fault with Stern because he inaugurated this heretical view of the game. I love Michael Jordan as much as the next b-ball junkie. But wouldn’t our understanding of the game rest on more solid ground if we had an awareness of the competitive passions of Sidney Moncrief, Chris Mullin, Chuck Person, Mark Price, and Bobby Jones, in addition to the superstars?

I hold no delusions that the NBA was a paradise before David Stern came along. I cringe imagining what drug tests after Saturday night games might have looked like in the mid-70s. Money has always, and always will be, part of the game. But with the exception of a few superstar players the NBA was without “ego” then, and the competitive game of basketball itself was the entity sold. Stern changed all that. Present pariah poster boy Barry Bonds was once quoted as saying that he ceased playing baseball in college, that what he did for Major League Baseball was something else altogether, a bastard form of entertainment. I’m sure Stern is a nice guy, his heart in what he thinks is the right place with all his dress codes and incessant attempts at idol building. And he may indeed be a marketing genius. He simply has no respect, or love, for the game of basketball. This love is what the blackballed Sprewell, demonized Artest, and Iverson possess aplenty- a passionate love of the game—just as Havlicek did. And it is this intense love that Stern will never understand. To some of us basketball is more than a business. As this year’s phenomenal NBA playoffs have demonstrated, let players play and the game stands on its own—Nash, Jason Terry, Chauncey Billups, Anderson Varejão—the NBA is good stuff, even in 2006. God bless Lebron and Carmelo—but the NBA does not need more hype and noise and superstars—it just needs game. The Game. Because to many of us, to quote KRS-One (in alas, a Nike commercial), “Basketball is life.”

Memory is fleeting. Attention span is short. The images of fear, despair, hopelessness and death have faded. Heartwarming stories of redemption dot the media. And "Katrina" is rarely mentioned when the failures of the Bush administration are laundry listed. Its almost as if what happened to New Orleans didn't happen to New Orleans. Remember what happened to New Orleans?

If you don't quite recall then photographer Delphine Fawundu-Buford will help you jog your memory. Delphine has made it a point to make sure there is no forgetting the destruction. No forgetting the tragedy. No forgetting the neglect. Like magic, Delphine turned a fellowship from the National Association of Black Journalists into a cure for fleeting memories and brief attention spans. A visual statement that succinctly states...Remember the Big Easy... Remember the Crescent City... Remember New Orleans.

Nat Creole: I would like to start off talking a little about your background. What drove your interest in photography and journalism, or as the combination of those two pursuits suggest- your interest in telling stories?

Delphine Fawundu-Buford: I've always been interested in telling stories, I just didn't know in what shape or form. Now that I look back on my life, I was always the one who had the camera, or the video camera, documenting my friends and family. I started taking photos seriously after my first trip to Sierra Leone as an adult. This was the second time I visited Sierra Leone, where my family is from, since I was a baby. The trip was enlightening and when I came back to New York, some way, some how, I knew I was going to be a photographer. I took many photos there, didn't really know what I was doing, but I knew that this was something I was going to take seriously.

Back then, around 1992, I was interning at a record company and had access to lots of industry events. I took advantage of this. When I felt confident enough I approached the photo editor at The Source Magazine, Chi Modu. He gave me my first assignment to document the premiere party for the movie Posse. I photographed Leaders of the New School performing that night. A photo of Busta Rhymes performing was my first shot to get published.  

I LOVE people. I think we are beautiful and we have so many stories to tell with a myriad of perspectives. This is why I photograph. I want to document our times, our people, to create archival documents which can be used by future generations.

NC: What was your initial reaction to the disaster in Katrina as it was unfolding? Can you describe the urgency that led you to apply for the NABJ Gulf Coast Fellowship?

DFB: When I first heard about the hurricane, I thought it was just another hurricane. When I really started paying attention, I was in shock. I can't get the picture out of my head of a man on TV with a new born baby in his hand, crying that he didn't have any food to feed his baby. That brought tears to my eyes. As the days went by and I saw my people on the streets, starving, walking through bacteria infested water, dying, crying, this made me really upset. Just knowing that the situation could have been different if the government did what they were supposed to was very upsetting.

I knew that I had to do something. I had to document this. I was ready to buy a ticket to New Orleans just weeks after Katrina. I knew I had to get out there and I kept thinking about it everyday. With New Orleans on my mind, I checked my email and saw the NABJ call for proposals. I just could not believe my eyes; it was like the Gulf Coast Fellowship was for me. This is exactly what I thought when I saw the call for proposals. I knew I would get it - not to be vain or cocky - but all my energy was there so it was way too much of a coincidence and it had to happen.

I also participated in fundraisers for Katrina. I auctioned one of my photographs in a show called Resurrections; the show all together raised $20,000. Even after that, I felt that my work was not done. I needed to get down there and get some type of documentation.  

NC: Did anything you saw previous to going to New Orleans prepare you for the destruction you saw first hand?  

DFB: Absolutely not! I really could not believe what I saw in the 9th Ward. It literally looked like a town ravished by war.

I had chills running through my body and tears running down my face. Just seeing the personal belongings of people all over the place was very depressing. Some people really lost everything. I was then haunted by stories that I heard first hand of people who were on their roof for three days. Standing in a place where so many people died and suffered was a chilling experience. Looking at their belongings humanized them, they were no longer "evacuees" as the media called them. They were everyday people just like you and me.

I want to add on one thing...the 9th Ward is huge. The destruction appeared to be never ending. I don't even think I was able to really give an accurate representation of what it looked like with still photographs. The most depressing thing is that people still have to pay mortgage on their destructed homes and many people are having problems with insurance companies. It's really criminal what's going on in New Orleans. Future generations are going to look back on this time and wonder how the hell did "the people" (meaning all of us) let the government get away with that one.

NC: I was just about to touch on that. With so much there to document, how did you decide what to point the camera at? Was it your original plan to create smaller essays that would then join to make the larger collection of images that became the Muddy Waters exhibition? How do you approach something so vast?  

DFB: Well, I went with the intentions of documenting young people, college students in particular, I had to focus on something for the fellowship. However, I didn't really know what to expect because I had never been to New Orleans prior to this trip. I didn't know how many people were back in school. Muddy Waters really focuses on my 10 day journey. Everyday was new. I just documented the days as they came, not really knowing the surprises that awaited me. I didn't know I was going to photograph young musicians who can play the heck out of any brass or percussion instrument. I didn't know that I was going to experience a 2nd Line Parade. I was just blessed to have all of these amazing experiences.

NC: Nice. Having met so many people from various spectrums what would you say was the prevailing emotion or feeling you got from the people of New Orleans? Resolve, frustration, disbelief, anger, was there a common thread?

DFB: Overall, people were frustrated and angry. Many people were annoyed with the insurance companies and some were looking for contractors. There is a large community that can rebuild their homes. So you hear people talking about gutting out their basements or first floors.

Some people were in disbelief others were not surprised about how the government treated them. On occasion I heard people say that the levees blew up. A few people that I spoke to said they heard explosions. The whole experience was psychologically damaging to many people. Many people cried as they retold their stories, however, everyone was eager to tell their stories. Talking about such a traumatic experience is one of the first steps towards healing.

People were definitely upset with the mayor. I used to watch these hearings on the local news channels. People would come out in so much pain. So many people felt helpless. The people were really upset when the mayor made the statement, "rebuild at your own risk." He also kept stressing the smaller footprint of New Orleans, which really leaves out many people. People are wondering where they are supposed to live. The rents are sky high now. People who were used to paying 500-600 a month are now faced with 800-1000 and even more. It's really crazy.

A very sad story that I heard was about the juvenile detainees who were arrested right before the hurricane and therefore trapped in the facilities. These were mostly young people who were arrested for hanging out on the street corner or something minor. Before they could see a judge, Katrina hit. They ended up putting these minors in an adult facility. The minors were basically left to fend for themselves. Luckily they were all able to evacuate from the prison, however, this was after the water was up to their necks. These children were then left on the highway for way too long. Finally, an organization called the Juvenile Justice Project was able to place all of the youths with their parents. These young people suffered a great deal but you don't hear their stories at all. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to meet any of them because many of them were still in Houston, Atlanta or another city.

NC: There doesn’t seem to be any relief

DFB: I mean, I could go on for days talking about New Orleans. I don't know how they expect people to get things back on track if they are doing everything to keep them out. Unfortunately, most of the people who probably won’t be able to afford to live in New Orleans are black. I just spoke to a student from New Orleans last week, he told me that they may be evacuating again this month. I'm like come on now! I don't think that building the levees up to par is rocket science. It's been done in other cities that are very similar to New Orleans. They could put up skyscraping condos worth millions of dollars a pop, with a quickness, but they can't build levees...doesn’t make sense to me.

NC: So what’s next for you? I believe you have two more projects coming up- Say It Loud and Cornrows Double Dutch & Black Girls Blues? What is the near future looking like?  

DFB: Yes Absolutely. Say it LOUD! Magazine is a new teen magazine that I'm working on with my Co-Editor-In -Chief Kayinde Harris. Thus far we put out two issues and have received a wonderful response from the young people. It is written primarily by the New York City youth.

Fusion With Attitude
Soul Brother Label
2006

What’s the summer without some Jazz for the trunk, tunes to play while you cruise the ave.?  This compilation of mean-ass Jazz/Funk tracks from heavy hitters like Joe Henderson and Nat Adderley is pure blaze.  Warning: This is break neck shit!

Just some good ‘ol House music mixed by Detroit’s DJ/Producer Rolaundo.  Jack your body!