Représenter Haïti: entre fiction et réalité

La question de représentation haïtienne est d’actualité ces derniers temps. Wyclef Jean voudrait avoir le droit de représenter Haïti au plus haut niveau – même sans tenir compte des prescrits légaux du pays. La semaine dernière, Sarodj Bertin à participé à la phase finale du concours Miss Universe à Las Vegas aux Etats-Unis. Le problème est qu’il n’y a pas eu de concours Miss Haiti, mais plutôt une sélection à laquelle a participé Jean Bertin, le père de la « gagnante ». Donc, Sarodj Bertin, elle aussi, a choisi de représenter le pays, sans tenir compte des principes de base de l’éthique.

Les questions de légitimité dans le cadre d’une compétition spécifique sont assez faciles à résoudre. Pour être éligible à la présidence de la république, Jean doit avoir vécu au moins cinq ans dans le pays et Bertin doit avoir participé à un concours et non à une sélection pour être légitime comme Miss Haïti.

Là où le problème devient plus difficile est quand il ne s’agit plus de concours ni d’élections, mais de la vie de tous les jours. Qui a le droit de parler pour les Haïtiens ? Au nom des Haïtiens ? Et qui désigne ces représentants ?

En dépit de ce que les médias étrangers voudraient nous faire croire, tous les Haïtiens ne se ressemblent pas. Déterminer « l’opinion haïtienne » est une opération aussi délicate que de vouloir déterminer l’opinion américaine ou française, d’autant plus que dans le cas d’Haïti, on n’utilise presque jamais les statistiques.

De même qu’on ne fait pas appel aux statistiques pour affirmer qu’il n’y a pas de classe moyenne en Haïti. Dans quelle catégorie ranger les professeurs et médecins et fonctionnaires et agents de police ? Seraient-ils tous riches ? Tous pauvres ? Mystère.

Les différentes discussions soulevées par les cas Wyclef Jean et Sarodj Bertin montrent l’urgence d’analyser les critères selon lesquels on rejette ou confirme l’identité haïtienne de chacun : son phénotype, les langues parlées, le niveau de langage, sa classe socioéconomique, son niveau d’éducation, son lieu de naissance, son lieu de résidence, le passeport qu’il détient.

En insistant à ce que les Haïtiens correspondent tous à une seule image, on nie la grande diversité de la population haïtienne. Si pour être authentique, un Haïtien doit être pauvre et illettré, il n’y a aucune raison de changer l’état actuel de la majorité de la population. Trouver des solutions à la misère impliquerait la destruction de l’identité haïtienne. Un tel raisonnement est certes absurde. Il faudrait donc des réflexions sérieuses autour de l’identité haïtienne et de ses différentes composantes. Il ne s'agit pas de nier que Wyclef Jean et Sarodj Bertin sont des Haïtiens authentiques, mais de dire qu’en tant que tels, ils devraient montrer un peu plus de respect pour les institutions du pays et sa population.

NM

Haiti on My Mind, Review

 Haiti on My Mind:  Stories by Haitian American Teens is a recent collection of essays by youth of Haitian descent edited by Dana Vincent.  The book was published by Youth Communication, a non-profit youth journalism program that publishes teen stories in books, magazines and other venues.  When I received a message about the book from a colleague, I was intrigued by the premise and immediately ordered it, eager to see youth perspective documented in essay form.

The foreword is written by Edwidge Danticat who herself began writing stories as a youth and had the opportunity to participate in the Youth Communication program. Danticat immediately acknowledges the Haitian issue at the forefront of our minds as she describes traveling to Haiti for the first time after the earthquake.  She writes about observing children of all ages that ‘these children, in many ways, are the symbol of Haiti that is to come.  We can either shield and protect them from a very difficult start or we can turn away and let their stories and voices fade…The young people of Youth Communication have decided not to let these stories fade or die…Haiti is on the mind of these young talented writers at this moment just as it has been on the mind of many others.  However, even before this disaster, as these essays poignantly show, Haiti was already deep in the minds, and hearts, of the teen writers at Youth Communication.”  (7) This is perhaps the strongest point of the book, that it reveals how teenagers—some recent immigrants, some the children of immigrants—conceptualize, imagine, and long for Haiti and how these thoughts translate in their daily lives.  

Just as the editor Vincent does through a game of word association in her introduction, the writers share “what comes to mind when you hear the words Haiti or Haitians” (9).  Few of us will not find the list familiar, “boat people, political instability, illegal aliens, refugees, poorest country in the…and [now] earthquake” (9).  Throughout the book different writers express their own troubling encounters with different variations of these stereotypes.  It is a reductive litany that we are all too familiar with given the dominant negative representations that saturate the media.  The voices of Haiti on My Mind engage these stereotypes directly and in many cases manage to move beyond them. 

For example, in “I May Not Look Haitian, But….” Marsha Dupiton recounts her uncomfortable experience with classmates who had reduced our culture to physical characteristics with which she did not identify.  The story describes Dupiton’s struggle from being embarrassed about her Haitian identity to transforming into a self-assured and self-loving young woman with great pride in her cultural heritage.  For Marsha the change was gradual, a major catalyst on her journey was the poetry of Prosper Sylvain Jr., who in “I Don’t Look Haitian”  the author’s imagined interlocutor  is someone who tells him that he does not look Haitian, to which Sylvain replies with a historical and cultural lesson that goes beyond the glare of media stereotypes.  He writes, “I apologize if there is more to me than voodoo dolls,
and I apologize if there is more to my country than slums, poverty and hunger, and I apologize if my poetry makes you wonder if I am really Haitian, product of years of miscegenation. 
I apologize if your idea and concept of me
is not what I have proven to be.”  By citing Sylvain’s poem and explaining its impact on her life, Dupiton displays the power of creative work to impact youth identity, just as the essays of Haiti on My Mind will surely impact the generation after her. 

Sabrina Rencher details a similar trajectory as Dupiton, chronicling her journey into self-love and self-acceptance after many desperate attempts to fit in with those around her.  For her the transition from Haiti to the United States involves changes on how her own aesthetics are perceived.  She explains “I’m originally from Haiti, there I felt gorgeous.  I felt as if I didn’t have to do anything to fit in with people at school” at the very beginning to introduce the sharp contrast with how she struggled to receive affirmation from her peers in the United States (99).  The first piece by Cassandra Charles, “Tomorrow is Promised to No One,” is actually the only essay with the earthquake of 2010 as its thematic focus, and is the first essay of the book. Charles’ heart-wrenching story is about learning that her cousin had died in the earthquake and her continued struggle with that grief. 

While many of the stories in the collection deal with the challenges of being a teenager, being an immigrant or child of immigrants, being cross-cultural, or multilingual, some of them simply narrate mundane aspects of life.  Among these we find a story about a boy falling in love as a child, and another of a girl who loses a precious pair of earrings that her mother had given her.  Another such story by Claude Fravien takes on the complexity of parent-child relationships across the cultural divide. As Fravien shares some of the conflicts he faced in dealing with his own parents, whether it was their restricted ideas about how he should dress or their stereotypical opinion about African Americans, he explains that his predicament is not unique.  “So far I have never met one Haitian teenager who thinks of his parents as friends,” although he does clarify the generalization by writing “I am not trying to say that all Haitian parents are like mine”(91). As such, the stories offer a range of experience and attempt to cover Haitian youth experience in its complexity.  

This book is ideal for middle and high school students, whether or not they are of Haitian descent.  It is especially effective as a tool for teaching and reflection since the end of each chapter contains a “Think About it” section with detailed questions directly related to the essay but that delve deeper into the issues addressed.  The penultimate essay, “Haiti’s Part in America’s History” by Cassandra Worrell reviews the intersections of Haitian and U.S. history, reframing that history by beginning,  “Except for the United States, Haiti is the oldest republic in the Western hempishere,” in my opinion a welcome change from the other superlative adjective in the Western Hemisphere more commonly invoked (124).  The final piece is a review essay of Edwidge Danticat’s memoir Brother, I’m Dying written by Kaela Bezard.  The book also contains a timeline of Haitian history that helps to contextualize some of the time periods referred to.  The purpose of Haiti on My Mind is largely educational.  Part of that education is more traditional as in the detailed timeline of Haitian history and section about vodou.  In the latter section, for example the authors distinguish between the term “voodoo” which is used throughout the book, the academic term “vodou” or “vodun,” and the way the religion is referred to as “serving the spirits”  (138). The deeper value of this book as an educational tool can be found in how it corrects popular misconceptions about Haitian culture and uses the voice of teens to do so. 

To me, the stories are especially compelling because they came from an age group that is often neglected in the sense that teenagers too old to be children and too young to be adults, can be overlooked.  Earlier this summer, the International Labour Organization reported that global youth unemployment is at an all time high. Programs such Youth Communication in New York, and A Long Walk Home’s Girl/Friends in Chicago harness the energy and the talents of young people through the use of the arts.  I could not help but think of the large number of unemployed teenagers in Haiti and wonder about the kinds of stories they could tell if given the opportunity as the writers on Haiti on My Mind had been given. Having worked with this age group through youth enrichment groups like AFAB’s (The Association of Haitian Women of Boston) Ayiti demen, I have been struck by the rawness and emotional realness of the experiences they share.  Haiti on My Mind captures this raw and real essence without any pretense.  It is an important collection in which youth not only educate others about Haiti, but also empower those of their generation to tell their own stories for themselves.  

RMJC

Making the case against exile

For many people, summer means travel. My daughter and I recently left Haiti. Our first stop: Miami, Florida. We both have US passports. The immigration officer at Miami International Airport asked me if we live in Haiti, to which I responded in the affirmative. He then asked me why we live in Haiti, to which I responded “why not?” He replied he asked the questions. I told him that I was under the impression that I could live anywhere. He said “No, you can’t”. I guess my surprise showed on my face because he amended that answer: “You can with time, but you can live here now.” I was clearly getting impatient with him, especially when he tried to justify his interrogation by saying that things are so hard in Haiti, “especially with a little one,” gesturing to my daughter. In response to my impatience, he said “the sooner you answer my questions, the sooner I’ll let you go.” Okay, then. I told him I live in Haiti because Haiti has always been part of my life, because my family is there. It’s not something I spent a long time thinking about, actually. Living in Haiti comes naturally to me. The immigration officer was clearly not satisfied, but he did let us go.

Much as this particular immigration officer annoyed me, I cannot brush his questions aside as mere evidence of his ignorance. This is the third time I’ve been faced with such an interrogation upon entry to the United States. Each time with the same amount of hostility and distrust emanating from the immigration or customs officer. My sister and cousins who also travel between Haiti and the United States with US passports tell me of similar stories. So, I’ve begun thinking about what is behind these questions. (And to be clear, I noticed this trend well before 2010.)

To my mind, there are two things at play here: the image of the United States of America -- land of the brave, home of the free -- and the image of Haiti -- poor and troubled black nation. For an immigration officer whose job consists of making sure that people who don’t belong in the US stay out, it must be troubling to come across someone who is allowed to live freely in the US and yet chooses to live elsewhere. Especially when that elsewhere is the antithesis of the US in so many ways. If the US is the greatest nation in the world as oft-repeated, what does it mean when some of its citizens decide to live in a nation as poor and troubled as Haiti? Does that call into question its greatness? I think it might. Perceptions of race also factor into the equation. How can a black person (one who is clearly not wealthy) not be doing everything in his/her power to move to the United States and fulfill the American dream? And if US citizens can choose to live in Haiti, then surely there are Haitian citizens who choose to live there as well. Who would not overstay their visa or try to find illegal employment in the US. Imagine that. I doubt the immigration officer would have had the same attitude had I lived in England or Canada. I obviously don’t know this for a fact, but those countries are probably not as loaded ideologically in the average US immigration officer’s mind. What really astounds me is the suspicion. The attitude that I am doing something wrong by living in Haiti.

The more I think about my run-ins with immigration officers and custom officials, the more I make connections with theories I’ve come across in my professional life. Minus the hostility, thank goodness. But the identification of exile as the dominant trope in Haitian literature has always bothered me. In one of her essays, Maryse Condé claims that the majority of Haitian (and Cuban) writers live in exile. So many conference papers, articles and books including the recent Exile and Post-1946 Haitian literature claim that exile is the most important theme in Haitian literature, that it’s become almost a given in the Haitian studies community. But what of the works of Trouillot (any one of them), Lahens, Mars, Victor? In his novels, Dalembert seems to focus more on migration than exile per se. In fact, the term exile is often used a catch-all term, describing everything from voluntary migration to transnationalism to diasporic writers.

What is it about people’s image of Haiti that makes it so hard to believe that someone with a choice could choose to live there? I think that everyone who deals with Haiti, including those on the academic side of things needs to be willing to ask themselves that question. When people in academia claim to love and respect Haiti, what does that really mean? Because if it remains unimaginable that writers and their readers could choose to live there, then there’s a problem. We need to be willing to look at Haiti from within. Instead of saying what a difficult place it is and wondering how anyone can live there, maybe the question should be what is it about this place that makes so many people passionate about it? What makes people love it so much? Let’s talk about return migration. How can we explain that? Haitians move around a lot. Simply focusing on exile means we’re leaving out a lot of the story. People leave Haiti and they return. Then they leave again. Or not.

When fellow critics and professors talk about the number of Haitian writers living “in exile” – here I’m using quotes because I really can’t think of any Haitian writer who is in true exile today – because it is so difficult for them to live within, I automatically think of the Haitian writers I know and the vast majority of them are living in Haiti. That does not mean that there’s anything wrong with living somewhere else. But why is it so important to be able to affirm that most of our writers live outside of the country? What is really being said with that statement? To me, it seems like the underlying message is that Haiti is not good enough or worthy of these writers and their works. To either produce or nourish them. That is problematic to me.

Even before the devastating January earthquake, people professed admiration for me because I choose to live in Haiti. I always feel vaguely guilty when faced with this sentiment. Moving to Haiti was not some selfless act. I did not give up much to go there. But I did gain a lot. Yes, I do work that I think is important at the State University, but I am not under the illusion that it will change anyone’s life, even less the country. I am not a national hero because I choose to live in Haiti. Nor do I have some hidden agenda. I live in Haiti because I want to. Imagine that. Now imagine many others like me.


NM

Ayiti Afrik in Addis Ababa

This past week I've been in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia attending the Callaloo Conference on literature and culture entitled “Black Movements: Poetics and Praxis.” Like every time I travel to the African continent, I have been consciously and deliberately in search of Haiti. This being my first trip to East Africa, I have been particularly intrigued to uncover similarities and differences with Haiti as compared to in West Africa, where the links are far more historically and culturally rooted as a result of the transatlantic slave trade. Although both Haiti and Ethiopia inhabit important roles in the African and African diasporic imaginary in terms of their relationships to liberation and freedom from colonialism and imperialism (Ethiopia as the only country in Africa to have never been colonized and Haiti as the first country to successfully overthrow slavery) the connections between the two countries are far more tenuous.


Would I find in Addis Ababa as I had in Accra enthusiastic recognition and celebration of the Haitian Revolution and its ubiquitous leaders? Would I be able to locate, as I had in Dakar, a few Haitian writer left remaining from what had once been a vibrant community of Haitian writers living in exile that included Jean Brierre, Roger Dorsinville, and the recently deceased Lucien Lemoine? Would the Ethiopians want to claim me as their sister or cousin like the Beninois I had encountered in Paris and other places? Would they, like my friends and colleagues from Benin, remind me that Benin is ancient Dahomey where many of our Haitian ancestors had come from? Might I happen upon, in this African city known for its international presence that has designated it as the seat of the African Union, any Haitians?

Thus far the answer to all of these questions has been a resounding no. It has been interesting to watch some of my Trinidadian and Jamaican colleagues find links and affirmation of their own cultural identities. One professor from Trinidad travelled to Shashemane a few hours south of Addis Ababa in order to visit the community of Rastafarians to whom Ethiopian emperor Haile Selassie had dedicated lands that have been settled by Rastas for many years now. Listening to her stories about drinking sorrel in East Africa surrounded by people who so reminded her of home, I wondered what the Haitian equivalent of that experience would look like for me. Another colleague was constantly mistaken for Ethiopian, and we discussed how for her this recognition made the entire city feel familiar and welcoming.

For me, that familiarity was for the most part visual. The roads, the signs, the landscape, the pace of urban life... At times, the tastes were also faintly familiar, the savory and spicy sauces and well cooked meats. On my first day in Ethiopia, I was reminded that I preferred to taste these sauces with rice when I looked down at my plate and noticed that two huge pieces of njera remained although all the other food was gone. Of course, there were the animals as well-- I saw goats walking down the streets, dogs that looked unclaimed as they roamed about, and a panoply of colorful birds. But it ended there. Since July is winter in Ethiopia, it was actually quite cold during my entire stay, making it difficult for me to associate the climate with Haiti. I remember descending the plane in Dakar and smelling the air for the first time, inhaling the familiar smell of the tropical air that is known only to those who have smelled it. In Ethiopia I shivered as soon as I walked out of the airport…and every day I kicked myself for not having dressed more warmly.

But none of this surprised me, mostly because of how aware I am that Ethiopia and Haiti have virtually no ties. Since one of the heavily discussed topics at the conference was Pan-Africanism, Haiti did come up in the panels as well as in discussions that I had with various colleagues. As someone whose work involves comparative literatures and cultures, I often look for the continuities in literatures, cultures, languages and texts across Africa and its diaspora. This trip has made me realize that despite my own admonishments to always account for the heterogeneity of African and African diaspora studies, I may not have fully considered just how facile our desires to link these countries may sometimes be. My underlying desire to find Haiti in Ethiopia despite my awareness that there was perhaps no reason (such as shared language, historic origin, religion, etc) for this to be so, has made me think more concretely about what we talk about when we talk about Africa in relation to Haiti. Haiti is, in many ways one of the "most African" islands of the Caribbean especially when we consider the literary legacy of Jean Price Mars' Ainsi parla l'oncle and those who followed him. The literary, cultural, religious and even linguistic links to Africa are of course undeniable, but they are also very specific.

Speaking to people I met during my short stay, I learned that Haile Selassie may have traveled to Haiti during his reign, but there was no additional information about this trip such as the year or the occasion, etc. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to look into this further and wonder if there might be archival data for me to locate in Port-au-Prince or in Addis Ababa on the topic. If anything the possibility made the point that, from a comparative perspective there is more research to be done about Haiti's connection to different countries both on the African continent and around the world, in many different fields.
 
RMJC

Pour enseigner Le Sari Vert

Comme professeur du département de Lettres Modernes à l’Ecole Normale Supérieure, j’enseigne des cours de littérature haïtienne et de litterature francophone des Caraïbes. Le gros de mon corpus se constitue donc de nouvelles et de romans haïtiens. Mais j'essaie de varier mes propres lectures un peu plus. Il y a quelques mois j’ai eu un coup de cœur pour Le Sari Vert d'Ananda Devi. J’ai trouvé l’écriture d’une beauté étonnante et je me suis dit que le thème saurait interpeller mes étudiants. L'histoire d'un père mourant et sa fille soumise mais rebelle s'apparente à certains des textes que nous lisons dans le cadre du cours sur la litterature haïtienne contemporaine. Elle est donc sure de provoquer des discussions passionnantes. Le problème est que je ne pourrai pas l’enseigner.

Pourquoi? Il y a le fait que ce roman ne rentre pas dans le cadre de mes cours actuels, mais je pourrai toujours modifier ou changer un cours. Mais où trouver le livre pour les étudiants ? S'il m'est possible d'avoir des livres récemment publiés en dehors d’Haïti par le biais des parents ou des amis qui voyagent, si je peux même me permettre d’acheter quelques livres étrangers en ligne ou en librairie chaque année, tel n'est pas le cas pour mes étudiants. Et ceci depuis bien avant le séisme du 12 janvier. Chaque semestre, en faisant mon plan de cours, je passe une matinée à la bibliothèque de l’ENS à recenser les ouvrages disponibles pour les cours que je dispense. J’essaie le plus que possible de bâtir mes cours autour de ces ouvrages. Sinon la majorité des étudiants ne liront pas les textes étudiés. Or, Le Sari Vert ne se trouvait pas à la bibliothèque. Reste toujours l’option des photocopies, mais pour des romans, ça fait long, en dehors de toutes les considérations sur le photocopiage. Avec des initiatives de rapatriement littéraire comme celle des Editions des Presses Nationales d’Haïti et plus récemment celle des Ateliers de Jeudi Soir, des textes d'auteurs haïtiens publiés à l’étranger peuvent maintenant être disponibles en Haïti à des prix plus ou moins abordables. Des collègues maghrébins me disent qu’un système similaire est disponible dans certains pays d’Afrique. Ces initiatives sont certes louables, mais ne facilitent pas la lecture encore moins l’étude des textes mauriciens par des Haïtiens ou des textes haïtiens par des Algériens, par exemple. On pourrait se dire que la littérature francophone en sa totalité n’est vraiment accessible qu’aux francophones des pays riches. Et si tel est le cas, comment enseigner les littératures de langue française dans des pays francophones où les populations ont un faible revenu économique ?  La situation est encore plus critique ici depuis le tremblement de terre qui a ravagé tant d’institutions supérieures dans le pays.


Le facteur du pouvoir d'achat peut expliquer en partie la grande importance des études francophones aux Etats-Unis et leur moindre importance en Haïti, par exemple.Or, les étudiants haïtiens ont eux aussi besoin de lire des textes mauriciens, sénégalais et marocains. Il n’est pas normal que les références littéraires des étudiants haïtiens se limitent aux seuls auteurs haïtiens et français avec quelques très rares exceptions. Il faut en finir avec la dynamique d'une litterature originelle et une autre qui en serait dérivée. Malheureusement, c'est en ces termes que de nombreux lecteurs perçoivent les littératures française et haïtienne. J’ai appris d’un professeur de l’Ile Maurice que les littératures francophones sont enseignées à l’Université de Maurice en cours de littérature comparée avec la littérature mauricienne. Ainsi les oeuvres des auteurs haïtiens tels Emile Ollivier, René Depestre et Marie-Célie Agnant sont enseignées à côté  de celles des auteurs mauriciens comme Ananda Devi. J'aimerais bien trouver les moyens d'offrir un cours pareil aux étudiants de premier cycle de l'ENS. Je crois que je viens de me donner un nouveau projet!

NM

In Search of (Grass)Roots

The New York Times’ most recent story about Haiti summarizes the current situation of growing dissatisfaction and impatience with the little progress that has been made five months after the earthquake. This atmosphere that political scientist Robert Fatton describes as a period of “perilous stagnation,” has descended upon Port-au-Prince and surrounding areas is highlighted by people’s increased frustration with the Haitian government and major non-governmental organizations. Among the organizations that have dominated coverage of relief work are The Red Cross and the United Nations both of which has received thousands in donations towards relief work.

Yet untold numbers of grassroots organizations are also at work in Haiti, some that were created long before and some that have sprung up since, organizing locally since the earthquake. Mainstream media sources in the United States have rarely mentioned this type of local organizing initiated by activists and every day Haitians. Despite this inattention that we find in conventional news sources, there are many examples of people organizing as individuals and in groups and using their networks to do so. I am devoting this post to looking at a few of these in the hopes that people will follow the work that they are doing and look for more information about the different types of organizing taking place on the ground.

As an organization that addresses the issue of violence, KOFAVIV the Commission of Women Victims for Victims, is a coalition of survivors of different forms of violence who have joined together to advocate for victims of violence and affect change by educating and preventing future violence. The group, which lost about 300 members in the earthquake continues to organize out of dire necessity. Members have taken the protection of women and girls in the tents into their own hands, setting up watch in the night or accompanying people on their way to the latrines. This type of intervention has become necessary due to the lack of protective measures and the ineffective procedures offered by the police and MINUSTAH. Today Malya Villard-Appollon, a member of KOFAVIV, will testify before the United Nations Human Rights Council in Geneva along with lawyers from MADRE and the Institute for Justice and Democracy in Haiti. As she herself has stated, Villard-Appollon heads to Geneva with the following goals: “We want to tell the Human Rights Council that the systems for protecting women in the camps are broken. We get no protection from the police, or the peacekeepers. We feel we do not have access to the rooms where decisions about our safety are made. We need the support and commitment of the international community.”

Papaye Peasant Movement (MPP), based in the Central Plateau, is a peasant movement for a sustainable economy and participatory democracy. Since the earthquake MPP has been instrumental is responding to the vast numbers of people leaving Port-au-Prince to resettle in more rural areas. Among the efforts they have taken on since the earthquake, there is the provision of food for people in the hospital in Hinche as well as the provision of food to assist peasant families taking in survivors, and the creation of a shelter to be run out of the Papaye training Center. Because MPP has a long history of grassroots organizing they have been well positioned to respond to the new needs coming out of the earthquake. 

Many of these groups have a history of local organizing that precedes January 12, 2010, while others have been formed in response to post-earthquake needs. Biwo Doleans Sosyal was started by the staff of Bibliothèque Soleil in Carrefour-Feuilles. Bibliothèque Soleil is a community library that was started by Haitian author Pierre Clitandre and his daughter Nadège Clitandre, in order to empower and invest in the youth of Carrefour-Feuilles. The purpose of Biwo Doleans Sosyal, which emerged as an outgrowth of Biblotheque Soleil, is to offer emotional support to those in the Carrefour-Feuilles area who lost loved ones in the earthquake, as well as provide them with other types of assistance. Most notably, this Biwo Doleans has initiated a documentation plan, creating oral histories by documenting the stories of what people were doing as the earthquake happened and what they have been doing in the aftermath. This important step demonstrates how solidarity can translate into the creation of history.

Similarly, the students of the Ciné Lekol in Jacmel, have also turned to history making—using their training to document the footage of the quake as well as the stories of people affected by it. The Cine Institute Recovery and Reportage Blog is devoted to using visual imagery and cinema to document the devastation from the earthquake as well as the reconstruction process. The work of Ciné Institute highlights the role of art as a form of advocacy and memory preservation. Through the use of film, the Institute has gone from being a center for education to becoming a movement for educating others in the aftermath of the earthquake.

Another group of women that have joined together in Port-au-Prince to create change is Plateforme des femmes citoyennes, a coalition of women’s organizations whose goal is to lobby for the inclusion of women’s needs in the rebuilding process. The coalition carries on intentionally in the spirit of the work begun by Myriam Merlet, Anne-Marie Coriolan, and Magali Marcelin three Haitian feminist leaders who perished in the earthquake. This group is a reminder of how devastating loss can transform into new opportunity. By harnessing the energy of those committed to honoring the legacy of what was lost, Plateforme des femmes citoyennes is a reminder that women’s movements did not end with the earthquake.

There have also been transnational efforts likewise centered around women such as Poto Fanm + Fi , a global solidarity initiative made up of women’s rights advocates from Haiti and in the diaspora in order to “to support the needs, voices, and leadership of Haitian women and girls, and grassroots organizations in Rebuilding Haiti.” Poto Fanm was responsible for creating a “Gender Shadow Report” of the official PDNA in order to account for some of the gaps concerning women and girls and to offer solutions for how to account for their future needs in the reconstruction process as well as to advocate for women’s leadership and incorporation.


The grassroots nature of Haitian activism goes as far back as the Revolution (1791-1804) when slaves organized themselves to topple slavery and begin a nation from the bottom up. In many ways grassroots are an integral part of our Haitian roots. The wide-ranging responses by both established and newly formed organizations demonstrates Haitians' ability and constant commitment to effecting change in innovative ways. Besides these organizations there are countless individuals who organized in their neighborhoods to pull people out from underneath rubble, to establish places for shelter from the rain, to provide for medical, health, and food needs of those around them. Indeed, grassroots organizing at its best simply means taking matters into one’s own hands to get something done from the bottom up.

RMJC

Daso-Miss

Nouvèl la fin gaye kounye a. Depi 16 me, gen yon nouvo Miss Ayiti. Sarodj Bertin pral reprezante Ayiti nan konkou Miss Universe k ap fèt ozetazini nan mwa dout. (Se espre mwen fè m pa met foto Sarodj Bertin ak tèks sa a.)

Men Bertin pa genyen okenn konkou nasyonal ki ta ba l dwa al reprezante Ayiti nan konkou Miss Universe. Dapre atik ki pibliye nan jounal Le Nouvelliste, se plis yon seleksyon ki te fèt. Plizyè lòt medam ki te patisipe nan evènman dimanch 16 me a di se pa nan konkou yo te envite yo. Yo byen sezi lè yo wè kouronn ap bay. Dayè, menm si yo ta konnen se yon konpetisyon pou tit Miss Ayiti ki t ap fèt, nenpòt moun ta gen dwa konteste rezilta yo. Òganizatè evènman sa a (m pa alèz pou m t a rele l konkou) se Repiblik Dominikenn yo sòti. Preske tout manm jiri a, se panyòl yo pale jistan yon tradiktè te nesesè pou kandida yo ak jiri te ka pale youn ak lòt. M pa fin konprann poukisa se Dominiken ki t a vin chwazi yon Miss Ayiti ann Ayiti. Premye enfòmasyon k te bay te fè konprann papa Sarodj Bertin, Jean Bertin, nan gwoup òganizatè a. M pa konn nan ki peyi, nan ki konkou, li nòmal pou pitit òganizatè a ta ka patisipe nan yon konkou. Jean Bertin bay vèsyon pa l nan edisyon 28 me jounal Le Nouvelliste. Li di li pa t patisipe nan òganizasyon konpetisyon an. Li pa eksplike poukisa se li ki t ap ede chèche ajans pou jwenn medam pou kanpe anfas pitit li nan konpetisyon an. Li pa eksplike poukisa se Dominiken ki pou òganize konkou Miss Ayiti. Si gen anpil pale anpil sou istwa sa a nan medya ak sou entènèt, jiskaprezan pa gen anyen k di Sarodj Bertin p ap ka reprezante Ayiti nan konkou Miss Universe la. Kijan sa fè posib ?

Repons lan pa twò difisil. Poukisa pou Dominiken pa vin òganize konkou Miss Ayiti pou nou, lè konsèy ki pral dirije peyi nou a, se Repiblik Dominikenn l ap rankontre ? Desizyon k ap pran sou inivèsite ayisyen an, se aletranje y ap pran. Sèl fòròm sou inivèsite a k te fèt isit, ministè edikasyon Repiblik Dominikenn lan te nan òganizasyon l. Valè ONG ki debake nan peyi a depi 12 janvye, pesonn pa gen kontwòl yo, se nòmal Ministè Lakilti pa konnen gen yon konkou Miss Ayiti k ap fèt, ni nan ki kondisyon li dewoule.

Men gen bagay ki kapab fèt toujou. Ministè Lakilti kapab fè sòti yon kominike pou di li pa rekonèt Miss Ayiti sa a. Ministè a kapab di « Miss Ayiti » sa a pa otorize reprezante peyi a. Si konpayi Miss Universe la vann franchiz bay moun nan chak peyi pou òganize konkou nasyonal la, fòk leta ta chèche konnen poukisa se Dominiken ki gen franchiz pou Miss Ayiti a. Menm si ni Ministè Lakilti ni ankenn lòt òganis leta pa reyaji, se pa pou sitwayen ayisyen rete bèbè. Tout moun ki santi yo angaje nan kesyon sa a kapab fè tande vwa yo pou di sosyete ayisyen an pa rekonèt Miss Ayiti sa a, pou nou denonse kalite pratik sa yo.

Fòk nou veye pou zòt pa pran ni kilti nou ni peyi nou daso.

NM