I apologize if this is more of an emotional response than an intellectual one, but that was my state of mind while I was watching Dr. Calvello speak–my reaction to the images and narratives that she presented was almost entirely visceral. Only now, after just returning from a three-day conference on health and development in Haiti (which included a panel on the disaster response), am I able to really begin to sort through some of the issues that Dr. Calvello spoke about and think about them rationally. That discussion, however, will come in a later entry.
After having lived in Haiti for nine months prior to the earthquake (which included several extended trips to Port-au-Prince) and having known people who were affected (and lost) that fateful day in January, I found it incredibly challenging to process the photos that flashed across the smart-board: My mind raced with each building in ruins that appeared in the background and with each dead body that lay motionless on the ground. Was I really there, in a sterile classroom, looking remotely at these hellish scenes of places I strolled through casually but 20 months before? My physical and experiential detachment seemed both painful and absurd.
Disjointed memories flooded my head, each seeming totally discordant, even surreal, given the content of the slides and my present location. Surprisingly (or not), I had managed to almost completely avoid such photos since the quake, aided by my remote setting at my field site in South Africa at the time of the catastrophe and by a protective need to repress the temptation to let the event consume me, given my distance from Haiti and relative powerlessness to do anything beyond helping translate ‘SOS’ texts over the Internet (the vast majority of which contained no actionable information).
I remembered the first time I saw the Haitian National Palace. A Haitian friend, Rigot, looked over at me as it came into view–”It’s the one building in Haiti that is beautiful,” he stated, indifferently. I quickly snapped a photo (below–it now looks like this): It was a beautiful building, especially with its dramatic gray backdrop, and for a moment my heart began to fill with pride for Haiti. My brain quickly took over, however, and I started to pose questions. What business did the government have with such an edifice when over 30,000 children under five were still dying on an annual basis? Which elected official was foolish enough to believe that he actually deserved to live in such a place, given the total dysfunction of Haiti’s public institutions?
In the end, my cynical nagging subsided and I remained transfixed by the French Renaissance structure, a vestige of Haiti’s enduring connection to and bizarre reverence for its colonial oppressor. How such a building could coexist undisturbed with the bullet-riddled walls of Cité Soleil just minutes away was completely beyond me, but its presence seemed to signify hope at the time; a hope that one day Haiti would elect a president deserving of such a regal place of residence.
* * * * *
One of the greatest challenges for me has been how to process my time in Haiti and how to think of it and speak about it going forward. To the detached observer, Haiti is nothing short of a train-wreck: earthquakes, hurricanes, floods, riots, food insecurity, malnutrition, HIV, voodoo, child slaves, bloody coups d’état, mud cookies, and now cholera–these are all themes we come across associated with Haiti in the press. The result of a “pact to the devil” made by Haitians long ago to escape slavery, according to Pat Buchanan. Even veterans of Haiti (and diasporic Haitians themselves) tend to dramatize, falling into the same hackneyed phrases (“tortured,” “cursed,” and “beleaguered,” are favorites) and reductive portraits of the country that do not bear it justice. A single story emerges: Haiti is destined for failure, and we might as well cut our losses.
It’s true, Haiti has not been able to catch a break. When things don’t seem to be able to get worse, they often end up defying your expectations. Haitians and ‘Haiti-philes’ have learned to expect the worst while hoping for the best–optimism in Haiti can sometimes seem like a cruel joke. That said, the Haitian people have proved their resilience time and time again, and their strength in the face of overwhelming challenges does not cease to inspire. Haiti has overcome many obstacles, and I have no doubt that it will be able to get through this one.
My memories of Haiti are not all depressing. Nor are the vast majority of the Haitians I came to forge relationships with depressed. I am tired of reading the same dozen stories on Haiti in the news and listening to the same tired old cliches. It is time to create a new narrative. If there is any event that has the power to disrupt the inertia that has held Haiti down for so long, it should be this past calamity. However, the international community still has a very long way to go towards empowering Haiti and Haitians to effect such a change, and many initial pledges on behalf of foreign governments remain unfulfilled.
There’s a proverb in Creole: lawouze fè banda tout tan solèy pa leve. Literally, it means “the dew shows off as long as the sun hasn’t come up.” Figuratively, it translates to “the true test is in the doing.” It is time for us, as a global community, to finally live up to our commitments and our moral duty as fellow inhabitants of this world and take definitive action on Haiti in partnership with the country’s population.
