Heavily-armed police have surrounded the Karibe Hotel where Jean-Claude Duvalier is staying. Haitian authorites have entered Baby Doc’s hotel room, as UN helicopters circle over-head. There’s speculation that an arrest is imminent!
Tag Archives: Petion-ville
Another “If only I (k)NEW(s)!” update from Haiti
I have a confession to make—
I’m a tad bit apprehensive here in Haiti today—
Since, as many of you know by now, Jean-Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier arrived in Port-au-Prince Sunday evening. If that doesn’t blow your ever-lovin’-Haitian mind, nothing can, nothing will.
It’s in honor of this less-than-happy happening, that today I offer another “If only I (k)NEW(s)!” update from Port-au-Prince.
First, a brief overview:
Sunday night former Haitian dictator Jean-Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier landed unexpectedly at the Port-au-Prince airport. He had been exiled in France for nearly 25 years. Duvalier, son of the infamous and brutal “Papa Doc” became “president for life” when his father died in 1971 and he himself continued to brutalize the Haitian people for 15 years, until exiled in 1986. Many believe he may have ulterior political motives for returning at this time, wanting to fill the power vacuum left here after a fraudulent presidential election in November.
Duvalier history in Haiti:
–Francois “Papa Doc,” Duvalier, a medical doctor, served as president from 1957-1986.
–In 1959 Papa Doc established the Tonton Macoutes, a secret police, that terrorized Haitians for nearly 27 years.
–Papa Doc had political opponents imprisoned and/or executed. Some estimate as many as 30,000 were killed.
–Papa Doc died in 1971, having named his 19-year-old son as his successor.
–Baby Doc continued the atrocities begun by his father: “prison camps, torture, arbitrary executions, extrajudicial killings . . .” in the words of Amy Wilentz (see her book The Rainy Season).
–In 1986 a coup exiled Baby Doc and his family to France.
–Haitians danced in the street, knowing he was gone.
Current developments:
On Sunday at 5:50 pm Duvalier, along with his wife, arrived in Port-au-Prince aboard an Air France flight from Paris. 59-year-old Baby Doc, wearing a dark blue suit and tie, is said to have kissed the ground upon deplaning. From the airport, where he told reporters only, “I’m here to help,” Duvalier traveled in an SUV to Petion-ville’s Karibe Hotel. (Petion-ville is the up-scale Port-au-Prince suburb Sara and I call home.)
Sources indicated that Baby Doc traveled to Haiti on a diplomatic passport, but it’s not clear which country issued it. Though most find this hard to believe, a senior aid of current President Preval said it did not become clear to Haitian officials that Duvalier was returning until the plane he traveled on stopped on the Caribbean island of Guadaloupe.
It’s the timing of the former dictator’s return to Haiti that seems suspect, his arriving on the day a final run-off presidential election was to be held, one day before the head of the OAS (Organization of American States) was scheduled to meet with President Preval to discuss the outcome of a vote recount. The OAS findings were leaked to the press a week ago and suggested the OAS would recommend that Jude Celestin, candidate from president Preval’s political party, and Preval’s hand-picked successor, be eliminated from a final round of elections, due to massive election “irregularities”—namely ballot boxes having arrived at polling places already stuffed with votes for Celestine.
Because of this, some, both in Haiti and abroad, believe Duvalier has arrived for political purposes, hoping to fill a power vacuum here in Port-au-Prince. It’s this fear that has lead the United Nations to restrict the movement of its staff until further notice (or until Baby Doc’s motives for coming can be clarified).
We can only wait ourselves, since Duvalier’s press conference scheduled for Monday was postponed and is expected to be held today, Tuesday, instead.
Finally and, perhaps, more importantly, some journalists and academic experts are asking if this return of Baby Doc’s will prompt Jean-Bertrande Aristide to come home, as well, or at the very least drive Aristide supporters to the streets demanding that their exiled hero be allowed to return.
A few good news articles you might want to read:
–“’Baby Doc’ Duvalier returns to Haiti in a surprise move”—a piece from CNN.com.
–“Haiti’s ‘Baby Doc’ in surprise return from exile”—at Yahoo news.
–“Duvalier Meets with Advisers as Haiti Holds its Breath”—from the New York Times.
Disclaimer:
Remember, as I’ve said before, that here in Haiti it’s hellaciously hard to get good news. And by “good news” I mean accurate news. More often than not I throw my hands in the air and exclaim in utter and complete newsless-ness, “C’est la vie, la vie.” Indeed—whatever will be will be—cause I’m not gonna be able to change it and I’m sure as hell not gonna know about it ahead of time.
Happy Holidays from Haiti: a Christmas letter
Dear Friends and Family,
Sara and I, along with our dogs Ralph and Lucy, would like to wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays both from our home-away-from-home in Port-au-Prince, Haiti and from our home in Lexington where Sara will join me on Christmas Eve.
2010 has been a challenging year for us, as we have tried to settle in yet another international location, tried to create a home for ourselves away from the family and friends we hold so dear and miss so often.
Though last year we didn’t make it home for the holidays, Sara and I spent Christmas itself on a stunningly secluded beach in central Vietnam, playing in the sun and sea, eating food so delicious we salivate now even thinking about it.
However, just two weeks after that lovely holiday in paradise, the January 12th earthquake in Haiti brought our life in Hanoi to a premature end. By the first week of February Sara was on the ground in Port-au-Prince, having had a mere 18 hours at our home in Lexington to transition. Since that time she has still not had more than 5 consecutive days in Kentucky, not more than a week in close to 2 years. And though, of course, Sara loves her work and is passionate about providing homes for those displaced by the earthquake, she’s saddened that time away from her own home distances her from those she loves, forcing her to think about from far away.
I, on the other hand, was fortunate to spend most of February, March, and April in Lexington, with only 1 week during March in Port-au-Prince and 2 weeks during May in the slums of New Delhi with 12 University of Kentucky students (completing in a service-learning project with Habitat for Humanity India). It was not until June that I, along with our two dogs Ralph and Lucy, transitioned to Haiti more “full time” or at least as close to full time as risk management allow. Security challenges abound in Port-au-Prince, where there is at least one kidnapping a day and we have two armed guards at our house around the clock.
However, we DO have a lovely, mountain-side home in the Port-au-Prince suburb of Petion-Ville—a home Sara’s left for only brief visits to the US and one longer trip to the Pacific Northwest, where we enjoyed 2 days in Seattle and a week with 12 other friends on Whidbey Island—a fabulous time of fun, feasting, and fellowship with a group of women we dearly love.
And though we feel fairly well-settled in Port-au-Prince by now, settled enough to have hosted a sit-down Thanksgiving dinner for 24, Haiti itself is far from peaceful this Holiday Season. Not only did the earthquake last January kill close to a quarter of a million, but it has left, still 11 months later, more than 1.3 million people homeless in the city of Port-au-Prince alone. Not only did the Haitian people suffer destruction again in the wake of Hurricane Tomas, but they are continuing to fight a cholera epidemic that has killed and sickened thousands more. Not only did they face fraudulent presidential elections last month—they have dealt with the resulting social unrest, especially in the form of rioting by people who have suffered unimaginable losses in the last year, people who feel disenfranchised not only by the international community, but also by their own political leaders who would steal their right to a free and fair election. It’s sad for us to see so much loss and suffering in such close proximity to our own lives of comfort, surplus, and blessing.
Despite all of this, however, the Haitian people are strong. They are resilient. They persevere. Sara and I are proud to call the beautiful people of this tiny island our neighbors, our friends, our family, and we would ask you to not only pray for us this Christmas, but more importantly to keep our new Haitian brothers and sisters in your hearts and prayers, as well.
As the mountains that circle Port-au-Prince brighten on Christmas morning, the Haitian people will be left with little to do but pray—
But we ask that you too pray for peace in Port-au-Prince streets—for peace in those mountains beyond—those mountains beyond mountains—
Please pray those hills would be alive with the sound of peaceful music–
A peace that passes understanding–
May God bring peace to you and your family this Holiday Season!
May God bring peace to Haiti!
With blessings from Port-au-Prince,
Sara and Kathy
Cabin Fever Takes Hold in Haiti
(symptoms include: a dire need to make light of what is indeed a dire situation in Port-au-Prince, a flippancy induced by the inhalation of burning rubber, and a need to beg forgiveness in advance for any and all perceived irreverence)
Okay—it’s official—
I’m climbing the walls—
Not to mention ready to pull my proverbially-blonde-bob out by its not-so-proverbially-graying-roots.
Not a pretty sight.
Not only am I not able to leave the house and the confines of our small compound—fully equipped with two armed guards, two women madly in love, two dogs dearer that dirt, and, as of yet, no turtle doves to round out the group—but I’m at a virtual stand-still, as well.
I can’t get anywhere on the internet—anywhere that involves navigating beyond the breadth and depth of options offered on my Yahoo home page, options that include, but are not limited to, commentary on Oprah’s sexual orientation (she’s not gay), a discussion of what landlords won’t tell you (your neighbor is not his problem), an explanation of what makes stomachs growl (gases caught in churning digestive juices), and how to know he’s just not that into you (his arms are folded tightly over his chest)—if you really must know—clearly I’m well informed on all of these matters.
Then there’s the noise—yesterday multiple explosions and periodic bursts of gunshot—today the clamor of protesters close enough to hear, but not close enough to watch. I’m sorry, but I simply must insist that all rioters on the Petion-ville side of Port-au-Prince, at least have the rioting decency to circle by my house once in the course of general looting and plundering—what any civilized plunderer wouldn’t have to think twice about.
Then there’s my neighbor’s music—
I can only say that it’s loud, Hispanic, and involves a lot of drumming. And just in the last few minutes, they’ve added clapping to the percussion already well-represented in the piece. The neighbors, too, could be suffering from cabin fever, as evidenced by an overwhelming urge to paddy-cake themselves to comfort. But, actually, I think there may be alcohol involved.
Please be assured that the rambling nature of this rant is likely caused by cabin fever and won’t continue once the cabin has been put on ice, the international airport has been re-opened, and all aid workers have been evacuated and repatriated.
(Seriously, it’s really getting to me. You probably should pray.)
A Holiday Prayer for Haiti
This morning Sara’s office is closed for a second day in a row, as announced results in the Haitian presidential election, have thrown much of the country into chaos.
Yesterday hundreds of protesters rioted past out house in the Port-au-Prince suburb of Petion-ville, and shots rang out across the city. Throughout the day we could hear explosions and smell tires burning. The toxic fumes of burnt rubber and tear gas left me with a near blinding headache and induced an allergic reaction in Sara, her eyes watering, face swollen from irritants in the air.
Given the seemingly insurmountable series of obstacles the country has faced since the January 12th earthquake leveled most of Port-au-Prince—hurricane Tomas, cholera, and now election fraud—I’m reminded of the Haitian proverb, “dye mon, gen mon,” which roughly translates into English as “beyond the mountains, more mountains.”
Here the expression images topographically the never-ending struggle of the Haitian people, outlining a belief shared by many, that conquering one challenge only brings the next one into focus—a belief mapped in the furrowed brows of many who fight the good fight one day, only to see the sun rise the following morning on the summit of the next.
As the mountains that circle Port-au-Prince are brightening today, those of us holed up in our houses are left with little to do but pray—
Pray for peace on these angry streets—
And in the mountains—the mountains beyond mountains—
May the hills be alive with a sound of peaceful music–
A peace that passes understanding–
May God bring peace to Haiti this holiday season!
Haiti–poker-faced amid post-election violence
Yesterday morning, very early—not yet 4 am—
Eyes opening—through a blur, I see Sara on the bed next to me—Blackberry in face—fingers flying. This is not an uncommon sight, by any means. Often by 3 in the morning, Sara is awake responding to email—and as soon at the day’s online edition of the New York Times is posted—almost always by 4:30, she’s reading that via Blackberry.
However, this morning I notice her brow furrowed with more intensity than I’m accustomed to. So through the fog of not yet total consciousness, I ask—
“What are you doing?”
“Poker,” she grunts.
“Oh,“ I respond, rolling over to doze a moment more—since I myself have no serious gaming to attend to.
But I’m thinking:
Is it the challenge of poker she responds to?
—any challenge—new challenge—big challenge—challenge I wouldn’t touch if my creative-driven life depended on it.
Sara does challenge recreationally.
Imagine what that’s like to live with!
Fortunately, however, it’s this drive to conquer the complicated and seemingly impossible that equips her to deal with the kind of challenge Haiti faces today.
Things aren’t good here this morning.
The announcement last night of preliminary results for the recent presidential election has resulted today in widespread chaos and rioting ,this in a country already in crisis, not only from last January’s earthquake, but more recently from a cholera epidemic that has killed thousands.
Even in our usually quiet Port-au-Prince suburb of Petion-ville, the streets are barricaded this morning with burning tires. Hundreds of protesters riot past our house, as UN helicopters circle over-head and gun-shoots ring out across the city.
Last night stone throwing protesters broke Sara’s office windows.
Today American Airlines has cancelled all flights into and out of the country.
In a setting like this, I’m fortunate to be with a woman who loves a good challenge—
Especially since I sit cowering in a some writerly corner—a blog my only defense against what seem overwhelming odds—odds not in Haiti’s favor, I’m afraid.
But—I have on my poker face.
Sort of———
Risk Management in Port-au-Prince: a note of clarification
My blogging buddy Lisa (again at “Notes from Africa”) raises an important point in a comment to yesterday’s post—one, in fact, that helps me realize just how lost I sometimes am inside my own perspective—looking at Haiti from the inside out—(not that I’m a real “insider” by any means). It’s just that, as the name of this blog suggests (“reinventing the event horizon”) to come to Haiti is, in many ways, to cross a virtual “event horizon.” Things get twisted here, turned inside out, spit out, inverted, and reinvented! So I should try untangling a few details for the sake of clarity.
More specifically, Lisa notes how casually I mention someone from security, namely Samuel, not meeting my plane and how that makes me sound like some kind of celebrity.
Now the fact of the matter is—when Samuel escorts you through the airport you do FEEL like a celebrity—by-passing the lines at immigration and security check points. However, this perception has more to do with how well Samuel does his job, than anything about my status as a 5” 2’-artist-writer-nobody hoping, sometimes even praying, to get through the chaos, the outer edge of insanity, that IS the Port-au-Prince airport.
And even more importantly to do with the insanity itself, the degree of danger, the security risks Sara’s NGO cannot afford to take, and the willingness of my partner herself to forgo as much risk as possible where MY safety is concerned. In other words, the woman loves me. What more can I say?
But about the risk itself—
Port-au-Prince is a dangerous place. The risk-management folks at Sara’s NGO, for example, won’t allow her to travel through the traffic, streets still clogged with rubble from the January 12th earthquake, to the airport itself without an armed escort, in addition to a driver. In fact, any expat working for the organization is NOT allowed to drive outside of Petion-ville—never supposed to drive alone—even in the relative safety of our upscale suburb where President Preval himself lives. We drive with seatbelts on, windows up, doors locked. It’s harder to be pulled from a car that way.
To violate these rules would be to face the wrath of Richard, head of security for the organization’s operation in Haiti, the one responsible for the safety of a few ex-pats too many, someone we affectionately refer to as “Papa Bear.” Not to mention the wrath of Jack at headquarters in Atlanta! (Jack sometimes reads my blog, so I need to give him the credit he’s due.)
On average—there’s a kidnapping a day in Port-au-Prince—usually of foreigners, often of expats working for NGOs on earthquake reconstruction. And in fact, a number of these kidnappings actually happen in Petion-ville itself, since most NGOs have set up their operations from this location.
Though most of Port-au-Prince proper was left in ruins following the earthquake, much of our small suburb was still left standing. The actual earthquake only measured a magnitude 7.0, but because there’s no building code, to speak of, in Haiti, people take engineering shortcuts to save money and establish shelter without “excess” expense. These kinds of structures pancake in the face of earthquakes. Remember the earthquake in Chile soon after the one here. It was a magnitude 8.0, but because of rigidly enforced building codes, the country ultimately suffered far less damage than Haiti did.
In Petion-ville, however, people have the funds to build safer structures. These more stable buildings survived the earthquake with far less damage, so it’s in these that NGOs have set up offices to oversee the recovery process.
But about the danger itself—back to the risk of kidnapping—
I should specifically mention an “attempted” but soon failed abduction that took place outside the gym where I work-out most mornings. In this instance, the Haitian driver was let go because he supposedly “had no money” to pay a ransom, while the “foreigner” (as they’re referred to here) was essentially car-jacked (but soon escaped)—physically unharmed, thank God—though I’m sure emotionally quite unsettled by the event.
Around the same time, the wife of the Petion-ville chief of police was assassinated just yards (meters) from her house and another NGO employee was shot and killed by gunmen while working “in the field”—essentially anywhere outside of Petion-ville where reconstruction is taking place.
The bottom line, actually, is this—
Sara oversees operations, on the ground here in Haiti, for a large NGO that works in almost 100 countries around the world—one that, for legal reasons, is forced to manage risk quite closely—so the security protocol is extensive.
It means that every day I live with two armed guards outside my door—in shifts that rotate every 12 hours.
It means sometimes a security escort at the airport.
Why the airport specifically, you might ask. Ah—that “outer edge of insanity”—that’s tomorrow’s story to tell—
—“Adventuring at the Port-au-Prince Airport: Another Event Horizon Redefined.”
A Haitian Tale of Two Cities
Sara and I finally left out house this morning, left our home in Petion-ville for the first time since election fraud plunged Haiti into violent protests. Sara insisted she had too much work to do; I wanted out for any and all conceivable reasons—a Haitian version of cabin fever—I was not so much climbing the walls as I was willing to bulldoze them down the mountain, if doing so would assure escape—from our guards, the fence, razor wire spiraling above, our personal crown of thorns—
I—Wanted—Out!
But getting out was strangely anti-climactic—
As the streets were quiet and, though not literally deserted, they were largely empty of the activities I see most mornings driving to the gym—fewer vehicles, only a handful of children—little girls, usually braided and bowed, hand-in-hand with parents or one another, on their way to school, uniforms laundered and pressed. These children were largely absent this morning.
So I exercised—I worked out—ultimately working out next to nothing in a gym whose wall of fifth floor windows overlooks the whole of Port-au-Prince—below the bay, the grit and grime of the city itself and treeless mountains circling beyond. It’s a lovely view, as long as you don’t think too much about the details, about what’s actually happening there—the poverty, the hunger, the cholera, the fraud.
As long as you don’t think, you’re not sickened in the least—
But now I’m home—safe behind these walls privilege provides—nauseated by trying—wanting—
A truth, any truth—
The news I read online doesn’t so much offer conflicting stories—as differing ones:
–A Reuters’ piece published by Yahoo News saying presidential candidate, Michel “Sweet Mickey” Martelly has reversed his call to have election results annulled, insisting now the votes should indeed be counted.
—The Haitian Times indicating that Martelly is now calling the process “ an electoral coup d’etat,” promising that he will “contest the elections if he is not declared the winner”—that he’s the people’s choice.
The bottom line is this—
In Haiti it’s hard to grab hold of any singular story—
In Haiti there’s a soup of story—
In Haiti the story is itself unsafe—a cholera of narrative and news—
Here in Haiti there is story so dis-eased—dis-ease so full of story, there simply is no rhyme or reason to be had—no heads, no tails—and yet so many tales to tell . . . .
Kathryn M. McCullough 