By Jessica Hsu. Written late Oct./ Nov. 2022
Why we can not ignore the pleas for yonti souf (a moment to breathe)? From where I sit[1], it is easy to advocate against another military intervention. This is similar to many of my colleagues and friends both in Haiti and foreign that are activists, intellectuals, professionals, and others. There are so many legitimate reasons to be against a military intervention, especially if it is to prop up the current acting prime minister Ariel Henry who came into power after the assassination of President Jovenel Moise last July. Henry’s request for military assistance came in early October. This was just days after Haitian Chancellor Jean Victor Généus stated before the UN Security Council that the “...situation is generally under control”, provoking strong reactions in Haiti and memes all over social media reflecting the shocking disconnect of his statement to reality. It is not the first time this disconnect has been clear between the current interim government and the realities of the country or for that matter, many preceding governments. Despite these realities, the US has responded by proposing two resolutions to the UN security council. The first for sanctions and the second for a military force that would not be led, but supported by the U.S. Not surprisingly, the private sector is largely in support of an intervention because armed groups and the lack of gas have made it nearly impossible for businesses to function. Over the last few weeks, what has made me question my stance are conversations with other friends and colleagues that I would have assumed as unlikely supporters of an intervention. The most unexpected are those who live in some of the popular neighborhoods that would be most harshly impacted by another intervention where armed groups are based and also clashing. Others are in andeyo (outside of Port-au-Prince, outside of the cities) places that have not recovered from the 2016 Hurricane or the recent earthquakes that are struggling to piece together the day-to-day due to the blockages of the major routes into the provinces, only to be further exacerbated by the blockage of gas at Terminal Varreux now at over seven weeks. Many of them live in the neighborhoods that would be most harshly impacted by another intervention. They are in some of the popular neighborhoods where the clashes between armed groups have been intense and ongoing where people are hoping for yonti souf (a moment to breathe). A community leader told me, “I lived in Cite Soleil through the 2004/2004 MINUSTAH interventions where many people lost their lives. Honestly, I would still like to see another intervention now”. He continued to say, “When we could move about, at least I could go load or unload cargo and be able to buy some food for my son to eat, even if there were bullets flying. Right now even drinking water is extremely difficult.” He continued to tell me that many of the kids he used to play soccer with now either have big guns or are dead. “They did not want to suffer in the ways that I am able to,” he says. There are so many legitimate reasons to be against a military intervention in Haiti. Despite these past realities, what we are not hearing are the voices of this same population living in popular neighborhoods and in andeyo places (outside of Port-au-Prince and the cities). It is simply not true that all Haitians are fully against an intervention. Yes, we hear the interim government’s request, members of the private sector in support, activists, professionals, intellectuals and protestors against intervention, but we are not hearing the many voices wanting a military intervention immediately, needing yonti souf (a moment to breathe - a pause). For us to ignore and silence these pleas is to perpetuate paternalistic patterns that say, “we know what is best for them”. Instead, we must ask why and work to understand how to support these demands in ways that address the urgency of now as well as moving forward. At this moment, like what preceded it, these same people wanting intervention see no hope in the State or any process that is being proposed. No one is seen on the streets in support of any proposed process, accord or transition of the State. Although some initiatives have been hard won through a broader consensus of politically-concerned actors, it is clear, it does not have roots in pep la or the people, more specifically the marginalized majority. When I have asked friends in different rural communities and popular neighborhoods about these processes, many have chuckled saying it is the status quo. Others have acknowledged the real efforts, but still do not see how it will impact their future. It has not included them. It has not invited them to the table. Their daily struggles continue to be unrecognized. For them, there is still no sign that a real social or national project exists, but still the same day-to-day politics that do not include their interests. The Experience of Military Intervention During the US Occupation from 1915-1934, the Marines targeted the peasantry that resisted occupation, killing Charlemagne Peralt and many other Cacos. In 2004/2005, MINUSTAH targeted armed group leaders in Cite Soleil, as well as mothers and children living in those same stigmatized and criminalized neighborhoods. Between 2014-2017, MINUSTAH introduced cholera killing those who did not have regular access to clean drinking water or healthcare in addition to innumerous cases of sexual abuse. This is the same population that a military invention today would most affect and could harm again. The experience of military intervention differs between the urban poor and the rural peasantry, but they are intimately linked. They are the same people whose families had their birth certificates marked paysannes (peasant) and were required permission to enter the cities. They are the same populations most impacted by hyper centralization and neglect by the State. Most country dwellers have family members in Port-au-Prince and although this moment is not characterized by physical violence created by armed groups in rural settings, the struggle is more than real to access water, food and other basic necessities. The inability to access clean drinking water has contributed to the reappearance of cholera. What is available has skyrocketed 3-4 times paired with less income for most families due to highly limited movement of cars, trucks and motorcycles from the lack of circulating gas. In parts of the Grand Anse department where I lived for many years, one of the names given to the invasive lionfish species was MINUSTAH. When I asked fishermen why that name, a few chuckled before their explanation saying, “li gen anpil koule, epi li fè anpil dezod”, translated to mean they have many colors (indicating the diversity of mission) and they create a lot of trouble.” Almost everyone remembers the jokes about the group of MINUSTAH soldiers who were caught stealing goats who responded that they were not in fact stealing goats, but eating them. In the countryside, MINUSTAH soldiers were frequently called tourists, seen at the local beaches on weekends. I have made it a habit of asking friends both residing in popular neighborhoods and the rural regions their perspective on military intervention on Haitian territory since the de facto government requested military support in early October. This sentiment has been repeated by other community leaders and members from Cite Soleil to Martissant. It has also been told to me by so many who are trying to maneuver and survive in popular neighborhoods and in andeyo spaces. It is being repeated by motorcycle chauffeurs, domestic workers, factory workers, soccer coaches, community leaders, teachers, farmers, the unemployed and so many more who degaje (hustle) everyday. A few friends have estimated the percentage of those in support of intervention to be around 60% of the population, others estimate significantly more. Although a real estimation is difficult, it is clear the numbers are significant. More important than numbers are where these voices are situated in Haitian society. “Another military intervention would be a dishonor to the legacy of Dessaline (a revolutionary leader who defeated and expelled the French from the territory), cited another community leader, “but amongst the elderly in neighborhoods such as Martissant or Cite Soleil that feel this in their bones, an intervention would really help them,” he continued. “There is truth and reality right now,” says another community leader from Cite Soleil, “The truth from my perspective is that we don’t really want an intervention, but the reality is that the Haitian National Police (PNH), the Haitian State don’t really have the political will or capacity to resolve this current situation.” For the many who I’ve spoken to in the past week, they do support an intervention, but a different type of intervention from the past. One that does not kill indiscriminately or act driven by foreign interest. But they agree, outside help is needed. Others have talked about Haitian National Police (PNH) led missions, and accompaniment where the PNH is monitored closely, since it is well-known some have direct ties to the different gangs. The irony of the PNH is that it is also an institution created and trained by the US. This is in contrast to my other friends and colleagues that are either foreign colleagues, Haiti-based activists, professionals and intellectuals. It is in contrast to my own knee jerk reaction against intervention when I first heard about it being a possibility in Haiti again. Those who spoke with me still living in Cite Soleil are being silenced. Some have been killed by armed groups because they vocalized their support for intervention. A situation so dangerous and fraught, we are protecting the names of those who are willing to speak. When I asked residents of Cite Soleil why they support an intervention, they said it was because the gangs themselves recognize that an intervention would spell the end of them. For others outside of Port-au-Prince like this young school teacher in the Central Plateau, “I have no problem with [an intervention]. On the contrary, we need proper peace in the country. We need to stop all acts of banditry and kidnapping in the country,”, but he adds, “this is not the only problem the country has. Our biggest problem has always been our leaders.” Another young unemployed agronomist from the Grand Anse had a similar sentiment, but added, “what we need is for every Haitian to become conscious and take back the strength of our collectivity.” He notes that the situation has become untenable and his family is really fighting to survive at this moment. Perception of the Haitian State It is not that my friends and others do not know the histories and impacts of past military interventions. Some can say they are the lucky ones that survived them. They are also the ones who frequently say when parting n ap we demen (see you tomorrow) followed by a si dye vle (if God wants) as if there is recognition that their fates are largely out of their hands. They are fully aware that they live in a system and society that does not care whether they live or die. What many believe is that a foreign force might possibly be ‘kinder’ and have more regard for their lives than local institutions such as the police and the State in general. At this moment, there seems to be no better option than that outside force on Dessaline land that will relieve them from their current plight. Proceeding Hurricane Matthew in 2016, a study led by Dr. Mark Schuller asked different communities outside of Port-au-Prince their perceptions of their State and of NGOs. They were asked to rate on a scale of zero -10, zero being the lowest score and 10 being the highest. The ratings of the State were significantly lower than NGOs. Although people were highly critical of NGOs, especially international ones. Their reasoning? “Leta Absan”, or the state is absent. This has been echoed by friends from popular neighborhoods and from rural areas. It has also been written about extensively in books such as Chelsea Kivland’s book “Street Sovereigns: young men and the state in urban Haiti”. Her book provides a different analysis of baz (bases) in the neighborhood of Bel Air. It details in depth, the ways in which residents have had to negotiate these spaces where the State is not present in order to access resources and livelihoods for their communities and themselves. Many others have written historical accounts such as Michel Rolph-Trouillot’s, ‘State against Nation’ or Robert Fatton’s ‘Predatory Republic’. Although there has been a bit more confidence in local authorities, this is seemingly declining as well, as witnessed in many places after Hurricane Matthew. While we saw ‘aid’ delivery into hurricane affected areas from competing presidential candidates with campaign messaging, mayors and other local officials frequently channeled aid intended for those in the most need to family members, friends, and people who support their political power. Centering the Impoverished Population in Haiti This Monday marks seven weeks where the country has not had a proper distribution of gas from Terminal Varreux. The major terminal that receives and distributes gas has been blocked by G-9 led by Jimmy “Barbecue” Cherizier. Gas propels the production and also the flow of basic necessities such as drinking water (and water in general), food, propane, etc. G-9 and G-pep battles are raging almost everywhere in Port-au-Prince. From where I sit, I know that I can not just ignore my friends and their communities that are asking for yonti souf. Many of these voices must be central to the conversations not just now, but moving forward. These are the people who would be most affected, and therefore are the ones that should be consulted and given priority in decision making not only about this moment, but their futures. They want to be recognized and included. They want to live, not just survive. Like everyone else, they have dreams. They want to feel like involvement with politics is not just an implication of corruption and foul play. That armed groups in their neighborhoods do not become more active when elections approach. I have heard so many times, “m pa nan bagay politik” or I am not involved in this political thing. They want those who are concerned with the State to acknowledge these everyday struggles creating hope that a real social project that is inclusive is beginning. Resistance has been survival for so many Haitians. Resistance means that even when they are hungry, shirts are pressed and one sits with a smile so that no one knows they are struggling. I have also been asking friends in recent days when they had their last meal. Almost every time, there is a chuckle followed by a “ou konnen kijan bagay yo ye, Tika (the nickname given to me by many friends)” or “you know how things are”. A friend I have known for 20 years says to me, “M pral peri, men mwen vreman kontan tande vwa w.” (I am going to perish, but I am very happy to hear your voice). For my friends and so many others, I am torn about my position on intervention. What I do know is that so many of my friends who are a part of the marginalized majority are so overwhelmed and see no other option being offered. We cannot simply say no intervention without taking into consideration the direness of the immediate that so many are illuminating. There must be another option if we are to say no intervention. If there is a Haitian solution right now, which Haitians would be proposing it? Even if Haitians were allowed to decide right now, Haiti would not be sovereign. Its institutions continue to be infused with remnants of French colonization and US imperialism. The scars and fresh wounds from everyday ‘peaceful’ interventions continue to mark the Haitian landscape. Haitian feminist and sociologist Sabine Lamour talks about the ‘1915 paradigm’ where every US policy that continues to the present was born out of the 1915 occupation. It was a time when the U.S. on their own territory still had Jim Crow Laws. These policies must change. We must support the decolonization of Haiti and, as the U.S, examine how our own racism continues to impact Haiti; the first Black Republic. Although there is not the threat of physical violence in the rural areas by armed groups at this moment, many of my friends and their neighbors who have still yet to recover from Hurricane Matthew and the recent earthquakes, I hope life becomes less precarious. For those in popular neighborhoods, I remember the truce amongst neighborhood armed groups around 2016/2017 where there was an agreement that violence would not happen within Cite Soleil’s 34 neighborhoods. It was one of the safest areas in Port-au-Prince during those days. I slept in Cite Soleil a few nights while other foreigners lived in the different neighborhoods. I remember riding my motorcycle in and out to help coordinate activities with Konbit Bibliyotèk Site Soley (Cite Soleil’s Library Collective) such as the concert at the Cite Soleil High School hosting artists like Mikaben who tragically just passed, Princess Eud, BIC, DJ Gardy Girault alongside local Cite Soleil artists in front of thousands of people. My friends were not trapped in their blocks, but able to move around. People were hopeful. They were building a grassroot movement for change and my friends and so many others looked lighter then, a burden had been lifted. Evading bullets and violent battles no longer marked their bodies daily. I wish this for them again and continuing into their future. [1] I am currently in my family’s apartment in Manhattan ‘waiting out’ the gas blockage so that I can return to my apartment in Port-au-Prince where I have been living for the last seven years and working as an anthropologist and solidarity activist. For almost 14 years before, I was living and then traveling regularly to the rural village of Abricots on the Southwestern-most point only about 185 miles from Port-au-Prince, but far from the big city politics. I have worked closely on different community-led movements for peace and development in different popular neighborhoods (shantytowns), with community leaders and members against a State driven tourist project on Ile-a-Vache that threatened to displace many, in Abricots where with community leaders and members we are collectively drafting and circulating a ‘Community Guide to Humanitarian Aid’, issues of aid localization, and with migrants who are being expelled to Haiti from the US/Mexico border, amongst other things.
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