“If you have abandoned one faith, do not abandon all faith. There is always an alternative to the faith we lose. Or is it the same faith under another mask?”
This post will begin with an important cautionary note. I am not an election observer, I have no firsthand knowledge of the vote-counting process, and I do not know everything about the criteria used by international organizations and governments used to determine the validity of an electoral process. I have no concrete evidential basis for my opinions other than those of anyone else who observed the situation leading up to, during, and immediately after the election. What I mean is, I only know what I see and hear. When we base our opinions solely on our senses, we leave ourselves most open to bias or outright error. Such observations are, admittedly, very fallible. However, when articulated correctly, these perceptions are also incredibly direct conduits into the experiences of others, given the genuine passion they elicit in the speaker. I hope you will forgive my subjectivity and use this as an opportunity to understand the angst of the Haitian people are showing and will likely continue to show.
Yet again, electoral strife has arrived in full force in Haiti. The country woke this morning to anger on the talk radio stations (the preferred media forum for dissent and discussion), chatter among anyone old enough to grasp the situation, and widespread manifestacion in the streets.
Everyone sits by their radio, telephone at the ready, waiting to hear how the events of the day will unfold. In Kenscoff, children are still walking or taking motorcycles to school. But this flood of young people going on foot and the little boom in motorcycle business is indicative of greater trouble. The taptaps, which every day carry hundreds of people into the city or to the towns on the way down the mountain, aren’t running today. It is the first time, including 3 holidays, a hurricane, and the tense Election Day, that I’ve witnessed this since my arrival.
Last night, the electoral commission declared that the top two vote-getters of last week’s election were Madam Mirlande Manigat and Mr. Jude Celestin. Since neither received over 50% of the vote, these two will go to a runoff in early January. The commission did not declare a winner last night, but, with the aid of the international community that oversaw the elections, it did declare several losers. Among these were 17 official presidential candidates and the greater Haitian populace. The latter of the two lost in several ways; some regardless of the results given. First, to the results:
Jude Celestin is the presidential candidate of the INITE (UNITY) party, formed by current President Rene Preval, who is constitutionally barred from running for reelection. He is the former head of the government road-building division and thus preceding his candidacy was a relative unknown in the national political climate. A kind assessment would refer to Celestin as Preval’s hand-picked successor; a blunter one would call him Preval’s stooge. Writing on the reaction and mobilization of supporters following the election, an Associated Press report noted on Tuesday, “While Martelly and Manigat supporters were in ready supply, AP journalists had to search specifically for Celestin backers.”
On and before Election Day, I watched vociferous, excited Haitians dance through the street carrying posters of the third place finisher, konpa musician Michael Martelly. Sweet Mickey’s (as Martelly is also known) supporters showed an incredible outward fanfare for their candidate to a degree that even Manigat did not receive. Comparably, the most I saw for Celestin was among those he (read ‘he’: the Preval government, which used state funds to back his candidacy) employed to hold posters and wear t-shirts. It is important to note that the populace has grown increasingly impatient with Celestin’s patron given the lack of progress since the earthquake.
Yet as I mentioned earlier, the people have lost regardless of the results. Maybe the announced numbers were correct after all, though, and Celestin did narrowly beat out Mickey; it’s not completely improbable. It was also not improbable, if you conversed with prospective voters on election day, to have spoken with more people who either a) could not find their names on the list at their local polling place even if they were previously registered voters or b) never received their voter identification cards even if they applied months earlier (official estimates are in the neighborhood of 400,000 undistributed cards) than people who actually cast a vote. This, in case you’re wondering, was my experience. In addition, members of the international press reported several cases of sacked polling places, cases of stuffed ballot boxes, political intimidation outside polling places, and polling places closing early. The night that the election finished, 12 of the candidates, including future winner Madame Manigat, collectively accused the government of “massive fraud” in a downtown hotel while the crowd outside chanted, “Arrest Preval!”
These responsibilities, for accuracy of the lists and card distribution, are those of the current government. Yet since the election, Organization of American States, the chief election observation group, has said several times that the OAS “does not believe that these irregularities, serious as they were, necessarily invalidated the process." Similarly, the Miami Herald writes, “The problems do not add up to a `nefarious plan to steal the election,' said Mark Schneider, a longtime Haiti observer with the International Crisis Group. `They were overwhelmed.'"
The prevailing attitude here seems to be “It already happened. It will have to be good enough.” Forget the blaring indications of inadequacy; that masses of people who wanted to vote were denied the ability. Forget that instead of funneling money and effort into distributing cards or correctly preparing voting lists, the government poured money and time into the candidacy of its hand-picked successor, who just happens to have advanced to the second round despite clear indications that the populace is disenchanted with him and his friends. It will have to be good enough.
So have said the people in power, notably the Haitian government and some international observers. The conspicuous missing interest group is the Haitian populace, who are and will likely continue to voice their discontent in some productive and some unproductive ways. Their dissent, while justified only to the point that it does not involve violence, is entirely necessary. The attitude of “good enough” is the reason that 1 million Haitians are still living in tents 11 months after one of the most devastating and widely publicized natural disasters in recent world history. “Good enough” will continue to suppress the voices of KCH’s students and the future leaders of Haiti.
For our students, and young people like them, the situation surrounding the elections exemplifies the short and long term implications of growing up in Haiti. In the short term, they will face danger to life and limb in walking the streets to go about their daily business, and their educational pursuits will be put on hold as their country grapples with its political difficulties. It’s another set of things to worry about: the difficulties could add hours to already long commutes, spontaneous protests and clashes could erupt without warning, and they will have to be especially vigilant in attending to their personal safety.
“I’m not going anywhere,” my friend and KCH colleague Frantz Blanc explained to me this morning. “You will be safe; they won’t kill white people. I’m black – they don’t care what happens to me.”
This brings us to the long term implications of growing up in Haiti. They are much like the long term implications of growing up in other places where life seems readily disposable.
In the way the electoral process is carried out, powerful actors degrade the voices of youth like Frantz. Their ability to express their individuality in a safe, supportive, and productive way under a democratic system is tainted in the name of forward progress. As follows, they will witness the disregard of their individual ability to impact the conditions (and even general direction) of their country and their lives. At the same time they can readily view the abilities that powerful actors, many of them foreigners and as such white people, have in impacting these processes. If that observation alone does not incite some level of distrust and bring about questions of one’s own relative worth in the eyes of the powerful, then the outward difference in their safety vs. that of rich people and white people (as Frantz stated outright) almost certainly will.
In the absence of the ability to officially voice their opinion and stripped of the blanket of self-worth, angst and distrust can be expected to appear. These are great preconditions for anger, stubbornness, and violence. When the value of a life is perceived as degraded, affected people begin to treat life as such, throwing themselves into violence, apathy, or apathy to violence. It’s an act that’s been played out far too many times in Haitian history, from the revolution through the 21st century. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard even the most hopeful and intelligent Haitians say, “I don’t care about this life. It’s not important, this life. I put my trust only in God.”
Go to bed in a tent, wake up to drink water that could kill you, eat sparingly. Attempt to do your civic duty only to find that your government is not acknowledging your existence. Wait for a solution only to hear that the people who so adamantly claim they want to help you have deemed the problems that have denied hundreds of thousands their right to expression and participation do not, “necessarily invalidat[e] the process.”
While your blood begins to boil and your children starve, you wait and wait and wait. You wait for justice – or at least some clean water.
Graham Greene wrote the quote at the top of the page in 1966 in his book The Comedians, which described the situation of Haiti under the rule of a dictator. What of our faith, and that of the Haitian people, in democracy? What has it given them since the end of dictatorship? Is it real; is it meaningful? Or is this faith just a substitute, another mask for “good enough?” There certainly seem to be some similarities today.
Lavi pa dim anyen (Life can’t tell me nothing) – Haitian proverb
Note: My personal opinion is that the election results should be annulled and a re-vote should be held. After apologizing for the botched first round, electoral officials promised to have problems fixed by the second round – so why not treat the first round as a practice and re-do things, letting the Haitian people really let their voices be heard? It’s better than tones of violence, tension, and injustice prevailing throughout the country. Many international observers are well-intentioned, hardworking people who want justice - let’s hope they do something to get the people out of danger.
