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Pieces of the levee lie flattened in the New Orleans East neighborhood Sept. 20, 2005.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
It was still a lawless city when I arrived in 2005. As dark descended and I settled into my van for the night, so did fear. Rumors abounded \u2013 most outrageous, but some not far from the truth about the human toll. About 1,800 people are believed to have perished during Katrina and its aftermath, most from the storm surge in Mississippi and catastrophic flooding in New Orleans. The most expensive natural disaster in United States history, it caused over $200 billion in damage.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t intend to be a storm rider, a reporter who embeds within natural disasters and writes about the communities they affect. I live in the hurricane-prone South, so proximity was part of how I got the gig. At the same time, it\u2019s true I\u2019m naturally inclined to bare-bones living in remote places.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Colleagues laugh about the various live-aboard vans I\u2019ve guided through gathering clouds and flooded bayous. I often prefer to stay in my van, even when I can expense a hotel. Monitor photographer and friend Melanie Stetson Freeman, who goes by Mel, has the same question every time she sees a new old van: Does it have a name? No, I always chuckle.<\/p>\n\nThere\u2019s a picture of me from that time, kneeling in a collared shirt, grinning ear to ear after I joined others in a salvaged skiff with an outboard motor. I was accompanying rescuers looking for people and animals still stranded in the sunken parts of New Orleans. At one point, we pulled an older woman on board after she struggled to forge forward in chest-deep water toward safety. It\u2019s confusing in some ways, to see that grin. I remember the emotional rush, but it takes a toll.\u00a0<\/p>\n
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\t\t\tMelanie Stetson Freeman\/Staff\/File<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
Monitor journalist Patrik Jonsson reports on the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina on Sept. 6, 2005, joining local resident Gregory Scott on a motorized skiff to look for stranded people and pets.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
That sense of unease I felt crossing the rusted span of the Huey P. Long Bridge seemed to become a recurring acquaintance. For a long time after that, every time I crossed a large bridge I felt like I was going to tip over.<\/p>\n
Communities reemerge, but they reemerge differently. People search for what once was \u2013 a piece of flatware, a boat transom, a bent-up old .22 rifle. Or an old guitar. They drag the past from the wreckage and use it to imagine the future.<\/p>\n
This year, I\u2019ve brought my Guild A-20 dreadnought guitar, my road companion. I\u2019m realizing that this reporting trip is also to build a connection across the decades \u2013 maybe one as rickety and rusty as that old Huey Long \u2013 and to see the effects on communities and people, including myself, and how they recover.<\/p>\n
These days I take the low-to-the-water Interstate 10 bridge into New Orleans from Slidell. I\u2019m driving the gray hulk of my 2008 Chevy Express, which is now surpassing 300,000 miles. But this time I am staying in a rental, a shotgun-style short-term place near the Trem\u00e9, the city\u2019s iconic music district.<\/p>\n
I go to a nearby coffeehouse the next morning, where schoolkids in uniforms are already plinking away standards on a well-tuned upright piano. Wrens are cajoling amid the Magnolia grandiflora. I sip chicory-infused coffee and chat with the shop owner about a day that\u2019s dawning with surprising coolness. \u00a0<\/p>\n
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\t\t\tMelanie Stetson Freeman\/Staff<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
Patrik Jonsson strums some cowboy chords on the steps of a shotgun rental house in New Orleans\u2019 Trem\u00e9 neighborhood, April 17, 2025.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
Afterward, I find a great, steep stoop from where I can less watch but rather consider the city. I grab my Guild and sit down, strum some cowboy chords in B major, and noodle some lines from my reporter\u2019s notebook: \u201cShe\u2019s an angel, even when she\u2019s falling down \/ She\u2019s an angel, in the wrong part of town.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n\nAs I hum, children on their way to school walk by. One is carrying a tuba. A girl smiles up at me and says, \u201cSounds good.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n\nThe lasting impact of Hurricane Katrina<\/h2>\n Brian Belknap traded a guitar for a life in New Orleans.<\/p>\n
The Chicago native arrived a decade ago, well after the ravages of Katrina. Like so many before him, he fell for the languid city\u2019s slow charms. With little money, he lived on the streets for a while, busking for change. But then he traded his 1942 Martin D-18 for a battered shotgun shack in St. Roch. (This 1942 Martin acoustic model is known as the \u201cElvis guitar.\u201d Elvis Presley\u2019s personal version sold for a record $1.32 million at auction in 2020.)<\/p>\n
Every day, Mr. Belknap walks into the French Quarter in the early, cooler parts of the day, setting up the instruments that now make up his One Man Swamp Band on Royal Street.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s still desperation here,\u201d Mr. Belknap says. \u201cBut out here it\u2019s an intimate experience. The people are close. The music is everywhere. Even in hard times, the sense of joy is unmistakable.\u201d<\/p>\n\nTo punctuate that point, he grabs an accordion, gives a kick on a high hat pedal, and rolls into an original song about folks stomping the varnish off a dance floor.<\/p>\n
Though he\u2019s not a native, in some ways Mr. Belknap\u2019s presence here is a small part of New Orleans\u2019 recovery. The city lost a third of its population after the hurricane. But it has been bouncing back \u2013 though not to what it was before Katrina.<\/p>\n
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\t\t\tMelanie Stetson Freeman\/Staff<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
The new reinforced levee wall stands in the Lower Ninth Ward, April 15, 2025.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
There\u2019s a new $15 billion system of levees, floodgates, and drainage canals built to better withstand storms like Katrina. The public school system, among the worst in the country before 2005, has been revamped. Today, graduation rates have risen significantly, and more New Orleans high schoolers are going straight to college than before. \u00a0<\/p>\n\nBut the city continues to grapple with the lasting impacts of the initial federally funded rebuilding plan, called Road Home. Over $9 billion in federal funds was allocated for residents to rebuild \u2013 but within a tangle of Byzantine application procedures. Disbursements, too, were based on property values before Katrina struck. This left mostly Black, low-income residents with far less to rebuild, and long-standing racial disparities continue today.<\/p>\n
\u201cKatrina in many ways reshaped the way we think about vulnerability in disasters,\u201d says Jeannette Sutton, a sociologist who studies emergency preparedness at the State University of New York at Albany. Road Home and other programs, she says, have proved that \u201cIf you were poor before a disaster, the disaster [response] is not going to improve your well-being. If you were barely getting by before, you\u2019re not going to be better off with the funding in the aftermath. But those who could \u2018afford\u2019 a disaster are probably going to recover pretty well.\u201d<\/p>\n
Gentrification has also changed the flavor of New Orleans in many ways. The city continues to debate limiting short-term and highly profitable tourist rentals \u2013 like the one I\u2019m staying in \u2013 which create a demand for housing and cause other rents to rise. The checkerboard of empty lots in the hard-hit Lower Ninth Ward, too, still defines many of the failures of the federal rebuilding plan.<\/p>\n
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\t\t\tMelanie Stetson Freeman\/Staff\/File<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
A neighborhood remained flooded a week after Katrina struck.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s no handbook of how to navigate Hurricane Katrina or something devastating on that level,\u201d says Bill Taylor, executive director of the Trombone Shorty Foundation, which helps train young musicians and teach them about New Orleans\u2019 musical history. \u201cBut a lot of us figured, hey, there\u2019s a lot of work to do; it seems like this culture that we all love is in jeopardy because the city went silent. What do we do to bring it back?\u201d<\/p>\n\nHis foundation has grown from an idea to a bridge organization, he says, using the traditions that came before Katrina to rebuild a city still leaning on its vibrant culture of art and vice, desperation and exhilaration.<\/p>\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s funny how these words came out of the Katrina experience: culture keeper, culture bearer,\u201d Mr. Taylor says. \u201cThose are the people that make the city so special. That\u2019s why people fall in love with New Orleans, because of those who create and uphold the culture \u2013 the Indian chiefs, the brass band musicians, the funk and jazz musicians. Everybody in their own way tried to get back to be part of the rebuilding experience.\u201d<\/p>\n
Art as a catalyst for change<\/h2>\n Liz LeFrere was 8 years old, living in New Orleans East, when Katrina struck. She thought she\u2019d miss a day or two of school. Four months later, the family returned to live in the broken city, since her father was a police officer.\u00a0<\/p>\n\nTen years ago, when she was a student at Tulane, the campus flooded on Aug. 29 \u2013 the Katrina anniversary. Ms. LeFrere broke down in uncontrollable tears. \u201cIt came out of nowhere,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s definitely part of a communal trauma.\u201d<\/p>\n
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\t\t\tMelanie Stetson Freeman\/Staff<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
Liz LeFrere, director of programs for the art nonprofit Eternal Seeds, speaks to the Monitor about the mural program and surviving Hurricane Katrina, April 15, 2025.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
Yet the storm\u2019s indelible impact also created a new life for her. Today, Ms. LeFrere is part of an artist collective dedicated to understanding Katrina and its aftermath through art \u2013 including massive portrait murals that now dot and define the city.<\/p>\n
Artists like Ms. LeFrere are committed to telling a tangibly redemptive story. \u201cThe art is where expression can be a catalyst for change,\u201d she says. The murals \u201chelp create a sense of people seeing themselves reflected in the face of the city. The narrative of New Orleans expanded.\u201d<\/p>\n
A Waffle House shrouded in hurricane lore<\/h2>\n Mel and I are driving out of New Orleans toward Baton Rouge, sharing memories of a similar drive we took 20 years ago.<\/p>\n\nBack then, we were hoping to land an interview with then-Gen. Russel Honor\u00e9, who had gained fame as the no-nonsense leader of New Orleans recovery efforts. On this spring day two decades later, we\u2019re heading to an interview we\u2019ve already scheduled with him.\u00a0<\/p>\n\nSomewhere near the town of Gonzales, we look for a Waffle House shrouded in our personal hurricane lore. The Southern breakfast chain is well known for its smothered hash browns, but for storm riders it has also long served as a gauge of a storm\u2019s severity: If the Waffle House is closed, then you\u2019ve got real problems.<\/p>\n
But the particular restaurant we\u2019re looking for now was a refuge for Mel and me. We would sit, eat, and talk about the day and what we had seen. It was a simple, necessary slice of normalcy amid the destruction we were witnessing. It was the first time we covered a storm together, and we hardly knew then that we\u2019d keep covering them for the next two decades.<\/p>\n\nEverything looks different. Much of the recovery money that came from Washington was funneled into the suburbs along this drive \u2013 more malls and parking lots have cropped up. It\u2019s strange to see so much concrete in the bayou.<\/p>\n
When we finally find a Waffle House, we realize after sitting down that it\u2019s not the same one.\u00a0<\/p>\n
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\t\t\tMelanie Stetson Freeman\/Staff\/File<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
New Orleans residents rush onto a helicopter to be evacuated, Sept. 5, 2005.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
In 2005, we had just covered events at the New Orleans Convention Center, where masses of people milled in the middle of an airlift. Soldiers with M16s leaned lazily against lampposts as bedraggled women, men, and children, many just holding bags of their only belongings, lined up to be airlifted and flown to some other place with a functioning society \u2013 Houston; Atlanta; maybe Birmingham, Alabama.<\/p>\n
After reporting on the airlift, Mel and I left for Baton Rouge, where we retreated for a night. Then we headed to Camp Shelby on the off chance of snagging an interview with General Honor\u00e9, who was already becoming known to survivors as the savior of New Orleans. He had famously told New Orleans police to \u201cPut those damn weapons down!\u201d and instead focus their efforts on rescue and relief rather than on perceived threats.<\/p>\n
State and federal authorities were also bungling the initial recovery effort. It was slow and poorly coordinated, and officials could not make important decisions in a timely manner, even as existing emergency plans proved both inadequate and inefficient.\u00a0<\/p>\n\nWhen we arrived at the gate of Camp Shelby in Mississippi, we didn\u2019t know what to expect. An Army communications specialist said she\u2019d see what she could do. She returned to say the general would see us \u2013 in the morning. We were assigned bunks in nearby barracks.\u00a0<\/p>\n
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\t\t\tMelanie Stetson Freeman\/Staff<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
Gen. Russel Honor\u00e9 sits in a car with an assistant at Camp Shelby, Mississippi, Sept. 8, 2005.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
The next morning, we met General Honor\u00e9, a native son of Louisiana, who was standing in the reddening dawn as helicopter blades cut through the air. He wore a tilted beret and a determined smile as he gathered staff and turned his attention toward the pair of reporters.\u00a0<\/p>\n
As I asked him about the plans to secure the city, he started talking about the unique nature of the storm. Then, in a moment I\u2019ll always remember as a reporter, he suddenly grabbed my notebook and pen and started scribbling, drawing a battle map of Katrina\u2019s \u201cperfect attack.\u201d<\/p>\n
His hand-drawn map was rudimentary and messy, but it still stuns me. It\u2019s a snapshot of truth, a cultural memento in a reporter\u2019s notebook, and I\u2019ve had it framed.<\/p>\n
We drive to a horse farm on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. General Honor\u00e9 is sitting on a small porch. He greets us, and later points out his chestnut sire, Old Red, in the paddock.\u00a0<\/p>\n
The six weeks he spent in New Orleans after Katrina defined his career, and much of his life afterward. What stays with him are, yes, the rows of body bags. But 80% of those who perished in Katrina, he says, were alone: old, homeless, or simply isolated from others.\u00a0<\/p>\n
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General Honor\u00e9 speaks at a farm near Baton Rouge, Louisiana, with the Monitor about the lessons learned while leading post-Katrina recovery efforts, April 15, 2025.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
Then he once again grabs my notebook and starts scribbling another rough map, illustrating some of the same failures he saw during the recovery efforts in western North Carolina last year after Hurricane Helene. Helicopters sent to help failed to launch at critical moments.\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen it comes to disaster recovery, very little is working right,\u201d says General Honor\u00e9. \u201cBut one thing that is working is that we are learning to assign value to what culture means for storm recovery. … It\u2019s become clear that the people who deserve the real credit for the recovery of New Orleans are the street people.\u201d<\/p>\n
The ocean-side Victorian houses are gone<\/h2>\n Of the 11 communities hit by Katrina in Mississippi, the town of Waveland has been the slowest to recover. The small, Gulf-front town was almost destroyed by Hurricane Camille in 1969.<\/p>\n
When Mel and I first went to Waveland after Katrina, we came upon an apocalyptic scene \u2013 acres and acres of empty slabs where houses used to be. But on those slabs, people were already erecting tents. RVs pulled in. And from across the U.S., hundreds came to help, including church groups and other volunteers.\u00a0<\/p>\n
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Betty Robinson searches through the rubble of her sister\u2019s home and business in Waveland, Mississippi, Sept. 4, 2005. She had hoped to find mementos from their mother, which her sister had been keeping.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
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\t\t\tMelanie Stetson Freeman\/Staff<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
Bryan and Beverly Frater’s rebuilt, raised beachfront home stands in Waveland, Mississippi.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
\u201cIt was strange,\u201d says Bryan Frater, a resident who returned the day after the hurricane. \u201cIf there is a tornado in Oklahoma, I don\u2019t think to run up there to help. But here came all these people. And they stayed for a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n
He and his wife, Beverly, found that their house, which they had just finished building the week before Katrina struck, was completely washed away. \u201cYou stand there on the slab and you feel sorry for yourself, and you want to cry about it and you do. But then you look around and realize that everyone is experiencing the same thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
In some ways, much of Waveland had been a playground for the upper middle class, and it was full of second homes for wealthier New Orleans residents. Ornate Victorians, home-hewn furniture, and wooden boats helped define the lifestyle \u2013 as well as its tourist beaches and catfish joints.<\/p>\n
Ms. Frater remembers how a \u201cslab culture\u201d also grew up in the community after Hurricane Camille. Locals would visit and hang out where houses once stood, fish together, and congregate at the Catholic church on Sundays.<\/p>\n
This time, \u201cNot everyone has returned,\u201d she says. \u201cSince a lot of people had to deal with homes that were also damaged in New Orleans, it has taken a while. Some just couldn\u2019t do it.\u201d<\/p>\n
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\t\t\tMelanie Stetson Freeman\/Staff<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
\u201cThe truth is, another Katrina would wipe us off the map again. But I still love it here,\u201d says Beverly Frater, owner of a raised beachfront house. \u201cI don\u2019t want to be anywhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
To streamline ongoing efforts, the Federal Emergency Management Agency no longer requires a clear title for people to qualify for rebuilding monies, just a document to show legal residency. New flood maps guide flood insurance policies. Thus, homes are perched \u201cin the trees,\u201d as Ms. Frater says.<\/p>\n
But the town lost much of its home values and thus its tax revenues. Despite organized state efforts to rebuild, Waveland continues to struggle, even though monuments and institutions, including the Ground Zero Hurricane Museum, mark the new Waveland. \u00a0<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, the old Victorians are gone and the new houses are mostly just boxes, because it\u2019s so expensive to build,\u201d Ms. Frater says. \u201cAnd the truth is, another Katrina would wipe us off the map again. But I still love it here. It\u2019s still a great community. I don\u2019t want to be anywhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n
A musical powerhouse who helped New Orleans rediscover its groove<\/h2>\n My teen daughter recently joked, \u201cAre you stalking Anders Osborne?\u201d<\/p>\n
I usually prefer the truth so I replied, \u201cMaybe a little bit.\u201d<\/p>\n
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\t\t\tCourtesy of Anders Osborne<\/span>\n<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\n
\u201cThe music was where we all rallied,\u201d says Anders Osborne, award-winning New Orleans guitarist and songwriter. \u201cWe needed it to just kind of have that as our central focal point where we could see each other, touch each other, cry together, laugh together.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
I\u2019m back home in Tybee Island, Georgia. I had really wanted to meet with Mr. Osborne when I was in New Orleans, an award-winning guitarist and songwriter whose oeuvre spans from muddy blues to zydeco. He\u2019s a wily, magical powerhouse, whose bouts with trauma and addiction found healing through music.\u00a0<\/p>\n
His 17th and latest album, \u201cPicasso\u2019s Villa\u201d \u2013 perhaps a stand-in for his own sun-splashed abode near Bayou St. John \u2013 hums less with regret than with reminiscence, how the darkness of his experiences in America resolves into light.<\/p>\n
As a familiar-feeling stranger, he as well as his music holds a mirror to my experience. When my wife threw my old Gretsch guitar off our porch in anger \u2013 the one with the worn stickers from when our daughter was a toddler \u2013 it felt like a line out of an Osborne song. So did how I got its severed neck repaired \u2013 and then, intending a lighthearted joke, put it under the tree at Christmas. After I opened that present to myself, it wasn\u2019t very funny, it turned out.<\/p>\n
Mr. Osborne\u2019s publicist had offered me a face-to-face interview two days after I was set to leave. And when he calls me a week later, I get caught in fanboy mode, rambling on.<\/p>\n
Finally, he interrupts. \u201cIs there a question I can answer?\u201d<\/p>\n
His life story is intricately entwined with New Orleans, and he vividly recounts his experiences. It was here, he explains, where he found camaraderie and foolishness, love and pain. But after Katrina, he found new purpose.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was at a scale that, what you\u2019re looking at, it\u2019s not that it\u2019s flooding, it\u2019s everything that you stand on,\u201d says Mr. Osborne, a suggestion of Norse in the words. \u201cIt\u2019s your past, high schools, grocery stores, post office, smiling neighbors, the street, colors, temperature, humidity, dialect, every nuance of the personality identity that you have created in this beautiful illusionary life.<\/p>\n
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A band plays for tourists in Jackson Square in the French Quarter of New Orleans, April 17, 2025.<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n
\u201cNow all that has been taken away from you, from all of us, who no longer have any of that to stand on. It wasn\u2019t just despair. It was trauma, a complete elimination of who you thought you were. The question was not, Where are we going to move? The question was, How am I going to go on now?\u201d<\/p>\n
He had the answer in his hand. His big Gibson J-45 guitar had made it through the storm.<\/p>\n
Almost immediately, his guitar made some of the first celebratory noises in the city. Part of a group of perhaps 2,000 musicians, artists, and various cultural accomplices, they gathered a small band every weekend at a joint on Magazine Street. National Guard members tapped toes along with survivors as the generator-fueled electric chords flew out the front door.<\/p>\n\n<\/aside>\nThose sessions became the first flashes of resurgence \u2013 a glimpse of understanding and meaning that gave form to what would come.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe music was where we all rallied,\u201d Mr. Osborne says. \u201cWe needed it to just kind of have that as our central focal point where we could see each other, touch each other, cry together, laugh together.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n
\u2018 The preceding article may include information circulated by third parties \u2019 <\/em><\/p>\n \u2018 Some details of this article were extracted from the following source www.csmonitor.com \u2019 <\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"When I drove into New Orleans 20 years ago, crossing the Huey P. Long Bridge just a few days after the levee broke, I gripped the steering wheel of my van, suddenly awash in a sense of dizzying unease. I was at the time a freelance stringer with a byline labeled \u201cSpecial to the Monitor.\u201d […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":1976207,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"jnews-multi-image_gallery":[],"jnews_single_post":[],"jnews_primary_category":[],"jnews_social_meta":[],"footnotes":""},"categories":[25179],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1976206","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-music"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/20-years-after-Hurricane-Katrina-music-helped-New-Orleans-recover.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1976206","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1976206"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1976206\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1976207"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1976206"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1976206"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/celebrity.land\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1976206"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}