By Adele DellaValle-Rauth
Usually upon return from Haiti I tend to focus on the good things – the incredible hospitality, the industriousness of the people, their courage, their spirituality – and indeed these were ever present. However, this time I find myself sitting with feelings of angst and sadness, and a case of guilt. Maybe it’s just good old “Catholic guilt” that we can all be subject to, but it won’t go away. I know deep inside, that what I saw and experienced must be told.
Our itinerary this time, because of ongoing reports of abuses of human rights, included visiting prisons. We began by meeting with Anne Sosin, Director of the Institute for Justice and Democracy in Haiti. Anne encouraged us and said it was crucial that people from “outside” witness what is truly happening in Haiti. “The justice system in Haiti is broken. Over 90% of the prisoners do not know why they are there. Supporters of democracy and anyone labeled “Lavalas” are targets. The HNP (Haitian National Police), with UN support, are putting people in prison without charges, without warrants, who may never see a judge.”
We were not able to gain clearance at Apena, the Central Police Authority, because the office was closed on Saturday but a policeman assured us that we could probably get into the prisons anyway. At Delmas 33 the official was willing to negotiate. We - all ten of us – could visit as long as we “only prayed.” We entered and stood before one of two cells. Facing us were 20 young men, crowded in a 12 x 15 ft. space. There was standing room only. No cots, no toilet. They looked intently at us with piercing eyes. No sooner did we begin to pray when one man cried out: “You got to pray for this country. It’s terrible what is happening. They don’t care what happens to us – I don’t even know why I am in here.” He spoke with fervor, and fear. The guard, who was also guarding us, tapped on the bars as soon as he sensed this deviation from praying. We sang “O Lespri Sen” and spontaneous prayer erupted. Those closest grasped at the bars with their hands so we could touch them. Theirs were faces of angels in a hellhole. Our allotted minutes went quickly. I asked if we could get them anything. The outspoken one said yes, a bible “in English” and others held up their hands saying “in French.” We took this as a mission. What I cannot forget is their eyes. They just looked at us – directly – with a mixture of despair and hope. The one who spoke out was courageous – I can only imagine the repercussion from the guards when we left.
Next we walked to the juvenile detention center nearby. Seeing little boys, 45 in all, ranging from 12-17, caged like animals, in three small cells that had no toilets, no water, lights or windows, was an assault to the senses. They pressed their faces against the bars, some lying down and others standing on them to get closer to us. We prayed again – for them, for their families, and I told them, in Creole, that we would remember them every day when we return to the US.
At the women’s’ prison in Petionville, where popular folk singer So’Anne is being held, we were denied entrance but observed a young girl being detained until the food and clothes she had brought for a prisoner were inspected. The guard fed the girl a spoonful of food and a carrot to make sure she was not poisoning the inmate. We formed a circle and prayed for all those unjustly imprisoned in Haiti and throughout the world.
In the days that followed we went downtown. There were serious signs of deterioration, vandalism, and neglect. Garbage was piling up. The famous statue of the Neg Maron has been stripped of the chain on his ankle and the machete at his side. The bust of President Aristide’s guard, Captain Pierre, the first victim of the 1991 coup, is gone from the palace grounds. The streets, normally teeming with people, were empty. Throughout the city we saw truckloads of UN peacekeepers, “blue hats”, cruising the streets. Our driver, Timothe, cautiously followed what he said was a “safe” route back from downtown.
On the road to Hinche we passed 3 encampments of the UN – the men, Brazilian and Nepalese, waved in a friendly fashion and signaled us on. But the feeling one gets is that Haiti is an occupied country – no longer a democracy. In Hinche the pastor, Pere Robert Michel, welcomed us heartily. He had just returned from studies in France and had not even unpacked his belongings. He made us feel like we were doing him an honor: “You are my first guests”. Rooms for 10 were prepared with care - and the food was plentiful. The toilets clogged up, predictably, and Pere Robert helped carry the buckets of water upstairs. It was Mardi gras the day we arrived. That evening we watched the revelers, masquerading in elaborate costumes made of paper, step-dance to a syncopated beat round and round the town square – led by an armored police vehicle – as if there was some danger. We secured bibles in nearby Papaye and delivered them to the prisoners upon our return to the capital.
Nowhere in the course of our trip did we see any violence on the part of the people. On the surface everything seemed calm and “normal”. But those first 3 days of pilgrimage to the prisons told us that things are anything but normal. There are men, women and children behind bars who have no hope of release, without advocacy. They languish, under subhuman conditions, in 100-degree heat, without hope of ever being free again. Haiti, today, is in the throes of a deliberate attempt to submerge the poor masses and to wipe out all vestiges of democracy. Many are killed every day in the poorest sections of the city.
Upon our return February 14 my husband, Bob, arranged for a visit on March 7 with the US State Dept. representative at the Haiti Desk. We were told the US government interest in Haiti is “to return the country of Haiti to stability and prosperity,” and that to do this “a holy trinity” must exist, i.e. stability – law and order; economic conditions for development, and free and fair elections. It is hard to hear this when we know that the only democracy Haiti has ever known was exported on February 28, 2004, with the help of the US, France and Canada and that the US is supporting the illegal, de facto government now terrorizing the people.
As I said at the outset – I was feeling guilty. Does writing this assuage that guilt? If one person reading this is moved to be an advocate for Haiti, it will be worth the effort. For more background on ways to support the democratic movement and release of those unjustly imprisoned in Haiti, contact (540) 297-6493; delrauth@aol.com.
For myself, when I lapse into silence through procrastination or laziness all I have to do is remember my promise to those boy prisoners and the eyes that I cannot forget.
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