Haiti's Civil Society - (My own story, Part 1)
By Hyppolite Pierre
It's Saturday, March 24, 2001. The time is 3 P.M. I just finished packing light. I am on my way to Haiti. I'll only be there for three days.
The night before, I wrote the News Analysis on Haiti for the week from March 19 through March 25, 2001. Anxious as usual about my work, I spent a good time of that Saturday morning reviewing it. As hard as it may be to believe, it is sometimes pretty difficult for me to review my work. I want to be fair to the Convergence opposition in Haiti. After all, I think they should have a voice in the process. Except that they should show more caring for the people and their misery, instead of being so obsessed with raw power. After all, I still respect some of their leaders as people who truly care for the country, deep in their heart and soul.
In any case, my head is spinning that Saturday afternoon. Anticipation is the key word here. It's been so long since I've been there. Two years and counting. However close I am to the country intellectually and emotionally, I still reside in the gorgeous state of Maryland a pretty peaceful life. No insecurity where I live. No deforestation either. Many trees that bring so much fresh air. I turn on the TV set. My wife? Well, she had already left two weeks before with my two beautiful children. A handsome mama's boy and a very pretty daddy's girl. Politics is in my mind. Aristide, Gérard Pierre-Charles now his nemesis, Manigat and of course the colorful Gérard Gourgue. After all, he is the Convergence president.
I fall asleep while watching CNN. Between "Both Sides" with J. J. and "Pinnacle", I am wondering what's the solution for Haiti. After all, we all love it that poor land Lavalas; Convergence; Baby Doc who would love to return and drive his fast cars on tight roads. We all love it our own way.
It must have been pretty late when I woke up. I went to my other duties and left at around midnight. Haiti is in my head. So are my kids. And my wife who is upset about the demonstrations between March 17th and the 21st. She thinks it's ridiculous. Strangely enough, she has a natural aversion for ... politics. She only loved Bill Clinton. Because he is so very handsome, and sexy she says. Well, that's another story.
It must have been 1 A.M. when I hit the road. I first stopped at a few bars in Maryland. Lousy. Nothing like New York. Trying to feel single again, I bump the roads of youthfulness but find myself talking about my wife and kids to some very pretty Spanish lady. I am now at a Spanish bar dancing Salsa, Meringue and Cumbia. Pretty odd. I lost my rhythm. It's been too long.
I hit the road to New York where I will leave on an American Airline flight to Haiti on Monday, March 26th. The flight time is 10:30 A.M. On my way, I will bypass New York and go to Connecticut to visit family, I say. By 3 A.M., I am falling asleep behind the wheels. I finally stop at a rest area and fell asleep there. At first I was concerned. I remember Michael Jordan's dad. Well, no problem there. I ain't famous. No one will attack me. After all, there are enough bright lights and people coming and going to protect me.
5 A.M., Sunday, March 26th. I wake up and start driving again. Happy and rejuvenated. Whoever said that one needs 8 hours of sleep. Napoléon Bonaparte needed much less they said. Maybe I do too, sometimes. I drive straight through and four hours later, I am in Connecticut.
I spent the next few hours talking to everyone that I know. On the phone. Visiting old friends. By 9 P.M., I am back on the road. This time, I am going to New York. The radio is playing loud and I am listening to a tune by Myriam Hernandez on 93.1. "El hombre que Yo amo", she is singing. Beautiful and romantic. The song reminds me of an old friend. Ah the good old days, I said. The words go straight through my soul. But I am still thinking about Haiti.
I get to New York where I am greeted there by my brother-in-law. Nice guy. Loves me but still thinks I love Haiti too much. Discouraging, he thinks. Still, it's my own disease, I keep saying to myself. After chatting for a short while, I go to sleep. Slept like a baby. The next morning, I am up and it's only 6 A.M. He is up too. New-Yorker he is. Always on the go. I took my shower, got dressed and left. It's only 7:10 A.M. and I am already at JFK. By 10 A.M., I am in the airplane, happy like a child with a box of candies on his lap. Well, the plane won't leave until close to 12 noon. Spring snow, I call it. It'll melt pretty soon. I get to Haiti by 3:30 P.M., I guess. That's when the story began.
I am greeted at the airport in Port-au-Prince by my younger sister. Still pretty, she finds it necessary to remind me. She is indeed graduating this year from Law School in Haiti. I look outside and say to her, perplexed: "I thought they did some work, some road construction by the airport?!!" "Yes," she said, "it used to be worse. Now, they're building a park over this way. You see all the lights?" She goes through some new roads with me that are dusty. Well, that's Port-au-Prince. Always dusty. So many poor people waiting at the airport. It is so sad. So very sad. I go home and start talking to everyone. I can't help but notice, so many pretty girls. But that's not what I am here for. I go and grab my wife and kids. They're all happy to see me. They make me feel special. We do the usual family things.
The next morning March 27, I wake up and got dropped off by my sister to the Hotel Caraïbe in Pétionville. I am here to meet a new face from this list. Charming lady. Far wiser than me in age and in looks. She respects my opinion, or so it seems. I respect hers too. We talk for more than an hour. I like meeting people like her. We can talk about Haiti, freely and rationally. Not too much passion involved. She just loves the country and has been living there for quite a while. She understands the country, profoundly. She obviously loves the people. The people are what seems to keep her going. You can see it in her face, hear it in her voice. We talk. Suddenly, she drops the bomb. "There is so much hope", she says, "more so than ever before". I am in heaven. I thought I was the only crazy person who thinks of Haiti that way. I can feel the hope like she can, sense it, smell it. Right there in Port-au-Prince, the dusty and quite frankly, ugly city. We talk some more and we departed. I have more places to go, more people to visit so we can talk politics. They don't know what's in my heart. I am the only one who knows. I know the Haitian people. It takes a lot of skills to engage them in a conversation, unless they've known you for long.
Well, I did visit them, watched them walk, speak, laugh, and smile. I sense something but yet, I cannot say what it is. My heart is pounding. I am home. I heard the rooster this morning. While leaving the house, I saw him trying to couple with a female chicken. She was running. I couldn't stop laughing of childish joy. I haven't seen that in so long.
For my second night in Port-au-Prince, there is no electricity. If you don't have an inverter, you are in the dark. No TV, no iced water, no music from the stereo system, no refrigerator. It's funny because on my way there, I saw a lady at the airport, packing two bags of meat and running it through customs. I asked her how much it cost you to run them through. "I spent $120 total for extra luggage", she said. I hope she has an inverter at home if she's going to stay in Port-au-Prince. Otherwise, all that meat will be gone, inedible in no more than two days. With the heat of Port-au-Prince, why didn't she come home with the money. It would cost her less to buy it at the super market on a daily basis. She wouldn't eat spoiled meat and get sick. I can never understand why Haitians do that. Most of them do. When in the States or in Canada, they're pretty rational. As they're living, they forget the principles. For instance, no electricity means no refrigerator; no refrigerator means spoiled meat; eating spoiled meat means getting sick and accusing the country for having gotten you sick afterwards.
It's now Wednesday, March 28th. I am going back to the States the next afternoon in the 2:30 P.M. flight of American Airlines. I am nervous. I must accomplish my mission. My wife complains that I am always on the go. Perhaps she thinks there's a girlfriend there that's keeping me away from everyone else. Well, she doesn't realize that she is sitting right on the girl-friend's lap. Her name, Haiti. I want to know her better and Port-au-Prince is where I am. So I must talk to people. My son and daughter are crying every time I'm leaving. Maybe they understand the Haitian word "ensekirité" (insecurity). Everyone talks about it. Some are afraid I might get killed. It's quite all right, I say to myself. I shall be fine. I am already on my way to see my good friend of so many years. I am with my sister this time. I told her specifically. If you want to come along, we have to walk. I want to see things, hear people. I must because, I am going to Carrefour. I want to sit in those tap-tap (public transportation buses) so I can hear people talk. I pass by my good friend first who runs a business in Delmas. He thinks he lives in Miami, but spends yearly, a good eighty percent of his time in Haiti. Funny how we all are. He insists that I get a ride in his car. It's too hot he said. Let me have someone drop you at the station in Portail Léogâne, he said. That way, you can see Champ de Mars. He got me this guy. He knows how to get me. I sit in the car and let the driver begin the talking. But first I introduce myself as I usually do, as a Duvaliériste. I call myself so as a joke. They're happy to hear that. Maybe they took me seriously. I hope not. Well, they start talking politics. At first, I think they're joking. Then I realize that I am with two young men, partisans of the Convergence.
They start talking. The first target? You guessed it! Aristide!! Yeah!! They hit him hard, real hard!! They can't stand him and wish him hell, literally hell!! They sound so radical. I don't want to believe what I'm hearing. I really don't. The hatred is palpable in their voice. I guess they felt pretty safe with me, when I called myself, a Duvaliériste. Well, they are. But if they knew that I am sometimes harsh towards the Convergence, they would stop the car in the middle of Grand-Rue, gentlemanly ask my sister to get out, drag me out and scream: get the hell out of here!!
By now, we are near Champ de Mars. I asked them to show me the works done so far. They drive me through a pile of debris near the Air France building. I see a tractor there. I realize they're repairing one more parc. They defiantly tell me: "that is the work you want to see; they've done nothing for the country those Lavalas!!" At that point, I realize there is too much passion. I simply asked to be dropped off past the National Palace. I have to go somewhere else, I said. They say okay. My sister and I got out. I am walking. As I'm nearing Portail Léogâne, I see a group of young men sitting in the front porch of a home. They're talking too, politics. One is Lavalas. The others are critical of everyone. From Aristide to Manigat to Pierre-Charles to De Ronceray to Duvalier. Democracy, I said. It's true. People can freely express themselves.
Once on Portail Léogâne, I get on a bus with my sister. We're going to Carrefour. Some family affairs I have to go take care of. This job is done pretty quickly. It was just an inspection. I return before it gets dark. I want to see the Champ de Mars, I said. We take a cab to the Champ de Mars. I see. I see some works that have been done. It is true after all. Dessalines statue stands tall. Students are studying. Lovers are talking. Others are romancing. Not great but not too bad, I say. We hop on another bus and return home. Fascinating two days, I said. I had a limited look at civil society in Haiti. I heard the radio, watched TV heard people talking. Vision 2000 is still in my hears. So is Radio Haiti Inter. Sauveur Pierre Etienne, spokesman for the Convergence, I heard. I also heard Jonas Petit, spokesman for the Lavalas régime. I even heard Gourgue and Aristide. Two very different men. The real issue to me after that visit, Haiti's civil society. This is crucial. Absolutely crucial. Here is my take on it.
