I spent 6 days in Haiti from March 6-11, 2005. I was doing some video work and also visiting Project Pierre Toussaint. You can read more about Project Pierre Toussaint here. You can look at pictures I took of the Project and of Cap Haitien here. Also Marc Vanasse from the Canterbury School in New Milford was kind enough to allow me to post his pictures as well . Below is my reflection on the experience.

6 Days in the Black Republic

Haiti is burning. Burning garbage. Burning tires. Burning sun. Burning hearts. The smell is distinct. I noticed it as soon as I stepped off the plane in Port-au-Prince. Like the first whiff of smoke in a house, immediately I sensed something was wrong.

Cap Haitien, Haiti's second largest city, is by American standards, a ghetto. There are people everywhere, closed in by cracked asphalt, gray concrete walls and repressive heat. And it's in the middle of winter here. To ride through Cap Haitien is to be jostled: not only by the striking images of wild dogs roaming the streets and overflowing tap-taps (taxis that carry 10-15 people), but the roads themselves will throw you around in your vehicle. I could count on one hand the number of street blocks that were decently paved. The rest of the roads look like the aftermath of vicious landmine explosions. In America, we find potholes to be an inconvenience and a slight annoyance. If they get bad enough, we just might call somebody in a civil department who might be able to get things fixed up. The roads in Cap Haitien don't have “potholes”. You could classify them more as ditches… that stretch some fifteen to twenty feet across the road and can be one or two feet deep. It is not an option to drive around the abyss, only to choose the least damaging path to traverse it. By the time your vehicular travels are over, it's time for a massage or a jacuzzi.

A jacuzzi is probably not your best choice for relaxation in Haiti. Being the second week of March, temperatures are already into the 80s and 90s. For many of the poor in the country, the cheapest respite is a factory-sealed, plastic bag of water. Bottled water is too expensive and tap water is not potable. Many things in Haiti are too expensive for the masses. Most eat rice and beans once a day if they are lucky. A little goat here and there is a treat and only on special occasions will they splurge for chicken and have a truly extravagant feast. One of the most striking images from my trip was walking into the large market and seeing wall-to-wall vendors sitting behind their wares that they've trekked in from places far and wide. Yet I can't remember seeing a single transaction take place. Not one account of produce changing hands.

It could be said that Haiti, like most other communities, has a class system. There are the elite, the business people, the minority – much like in America. There is the middle-class, yet unlike American society this group is not very large. The poor make up about 85% of the country. The unemployment rate hovers near 65-70%. America would be in an “economic crisis” if we went over 10%. We would have our President's head on a platter. Yet in Haiti, this is the norm. It's not that the poor have nothing to do – they could easily be fixing their roads, or installing a sewage system or a garbage disposal system. The national or local government would create most of these jobs. Oh, did I forget to mention that Haiti's government is in complete shambles? That would explain why so many people spoke to me the only English words they know, “Give me one dollar.”

One year after the US-backed coup that ousted Jean–Bertrand Aristide, the democratically elected leader of Haiti, Cap Haitien is still under rebel control. The UN peacekeeping force that patrols Cap spends most of their day standing at gas stations or directing traffic, from my observations. I'm not sure which is less productive. You would think they could disarm the rebels in a few weeks or months. They've had over a year and they are still trying to give commands to truck and taxi drivers in an anarchic traffic system with no street signs or stop lights. Often the right of way on these roads is determined by the size of your vehicle and your intestinal fortitude. Maybe the UN would be more in control if they could communicate with the people. The Spanish-speaking Chilean troops assigned to Cap must have a difficult time speaking French, let alone Creole – the language the majority of Haitians speak. At least if they spoke French, there would be some words and phrases in common with Creole. Maybe if their superiors had any sense they would have them working on productive projects and not creating traffic jams.

Cap Haitien, like Haiti, shows a three-tiered class system. I would define those classes as: the not-so poor; the poor; and the struggling to live. I had a chance to see all of these people where they live. The not-so poor are those who have houses, who may have a small income, who may have cold running water and a toilet system. These people are generally well off by Cap standards. The poor, I would describe, as those who have a home, probably don't have running water or electricity, and struggle to find their next meal. The struggling to live class includes homeless street kids who sniff paint thinner to get high, the families who live in l'abattoir area of town and those on the far side of the river near the airport.

L'abattoir is French for slaughterhouse. This is the area of Cap Haitien where the remains of ground up animals used to spill into the streets and mix with garbage and where the poorest of the poor lived because no one else could stand the smell. Like most of the architecture of Cap Haitian, the living areas in the l'abattoir were made of solid, gray concrete walls and rusted tin roofs. There was no backyard – the “houses”, if you could call them that, were usually connected to other houses. The frontyard was a street or an alleyway. I had a chance to walk through this slum with Alex Castel, an English teacher and journalist and two of his students. Though the slaughterhouse is no longer here, the poor people still remain. Alex explained to me that most of the people that I see in this area are or were associated with gangs. He also said that it would not be safe for me here if I weren't accompanied by other Haitians. Not only did I stand out for the color of my skin, but carrying around a videocamera did not help to make me inconspicuous. During our walk we came across a group of about seven or eight young adults, male and female, hanging out between two concrete walls about ten feet apart, overlooking the river/garbage dump. Two girls were sitting on wood palettes, one cornrowing the other's hair. They said something to me in Creole and Alex translated for me. He said, “They asked if you would bring Aristide back for them.” I turned to the girls and smiled and walked on, knowing it would take more than a videocamera to return their deposed leader.

Walking on the other side of the river is like walking straight into a commercial with Sally Struthers for “Save the Children”. Maybe it's my own mental self-defense mechanism imagining this world of roaming goats and chickens among the shanties of concrete and torn curtains as a television set that keeps me from wretching in horror. Families of four or five or more live in 8' x 10' outhouses with maybe a mattress or two. People bathe themselves outside with a bucket of water and some soap. An old t-shirt might hang in the doorway to serve as privacy from the outside world. Most people here sit outside their houses, wondering what these white people are doing walking down their dirt road. The little ones run out to gape at their exotic passerbys and yell “blan, blan” – white, white. They mean no hostility by their racist outcries. In a country primarily black, the first country on our hemisphere to abolish slavery, the poorest country in the West, white people don't usually come here on vacation. In that distinct moment, “blan, blan”, these little kids are pointing out the obvious differences between us, just as a child might point and shout at an airplane passing overhead. In the very next instance, after I flash them a smile and a polite “bon jou” and they respond in kind, we have bridged our differences in color and appearance, spoken the same language and made a visual as well as mental connection. They understand that I mean them no harm, and I understand, that like me, they are human beings going about their daily routine. Our routines are surely different, as many things I take for granted – electricity, food, running potable water, clothing – are luxuries that they don't have or even understand. Yet we still move on – we struggle to survive and make out the best path for ourselves with what we have.

Just beyond this section of the poorest of the poor sits the Village of Project Pierre Toussaint. Founded and directed by Doug Perlitz '92, the Village is an oasis from the dusty streets of downtown Cap Haitien. Here, fifty to eighty boys come from their houses to go to school, get fed and cleanup. The boys benefit from small class sizes. The typical Haitian classroom will hold upwards of 50-60 kids. At Pierre Toussaint, the average class size is about 10-12. Jackson, one of the shining stars of Pierre Toussaint, placed first out of 2000+ students in the Cap Haitian high school examinations.

I give Doug much credit and respect. He's been in Haiti for over eight years and given unwavering dedication to the people of Haiti. Besides the kids he helps through Pierre Toussaint, he also provides jobs to many Haitians, who otherwise would be struggling for work like the majority of the city's inhabitants. Even after all these years, Doug still has visions of expansion for the project and hopes for the graduates to go on and become leaders within the community. One of the best things about the Pierre Toussaint program is its goal of sustainability. Doug has hired Haitians to run the school so he can commit himself to crisis management (which is a common occurrence) and to fundraising efforts, which have thus far supported the project. The future will also see the creation of a number of shops/outlets for the Pierre Toussaint graduates to work at, including: a barbershop, a print/copy shop and possibly an internet café. In a country that appears stuck in a downward spiral, Project Pierre Toussaint seems like one project that may be able to remain afloat and possibly keep growing.

The one question that always enters my mind when I see tragedy or injustice occurring in the world is how can I help fix this? I ask you the same question: how can you fix Haiti? For some, the question is irrelevant: Who cares about Haiti? For some, the question is inconceivable: How can I care when I have so many other things to worry about? For some, the question is misconstrued: I can't fix Haiti, I don't have any money to give. Here are your answers.

For the select and courageous few, you can become a leader like Doug Perlitz. You can eschew a “normal” life and commit yourself to many hard hours, or years, of rewarding work doing physical things for the people on location in Haiti. This is the most direct and obvious way of lending a hand.

For many of you who have family or job commitments that have planted you where you are, monetary or material donations to the people or projects like Pierre Toussaint is a quick and convenient way to help. But these donations do not last very long. Over time, the money is spent, the materials break down or fade away and more money and more materials are needed to replace them.

For the Haitian people, the best thing we could do is help them establish a stable government. Since the United States occupation of Haiti from 1915 to 1934, Haiti has gone through a number of oppressive dictatorships, most notably the Duvaliers – Francois and his son Jean-Claude. After the first democratic elections held in 1990 in Haiti, a progressive priest named Jean-Bertrand Aristide was elected in an overwhelming landslide. Aristide did not last long in office before the Haitian Army – financially supported by the US government and trained by the CIA – overthrew him in a coup. Aristide was eventually returned to power in 1994 by the Clinton Administration, though he had to agree to many US demands before they would agree to help him back to his rightful, legal office. Aristide was again elected in 2001, and once again, less than a year later, was toppled by the Army with no help provided by our Republican-controlled government. Rumors abound that our government even supported the bloody coup and kidnapped Aristide to Africa. Either way, the US, with either a Democratic or Republican Administration at the helm, has been slow to support “democracy” and “freedom” when it does not serve the best interests of major cash-contributing clients: large business corporations.

This tune has been the same throughout the history of Latin American-United States relations. We have seen the same things happen in Nicaragua, El Salvador and many other countries to our south. The next time you go to the voting block, do a little research on foreign policy and see how many millions of people could be affected by the way you vote. Don't vote blindly, and don't sit idly by as the future of your country and others are shaped by the votes that you cast. We need leaders in this country who care about people – not about oil, or large business interests. We need leaders who will raise minimum wage in our country, and help raise it in other countries, so poor Haitians can work for more than fifty cents a day. We need leaders in this country who will respect the elections held in other countries and support those leaders like Aristide even if he does not want to agree with our goals for his country. This is one of the easiest things you can do, and most likely it will be the work that will have the longest lasting and widest reaching effect. Become a conscious citizen. Speak out against injustice. Think about your actions. You could save the world without spending a dime. Maybe you can quench some burning hearts.