Haiti: Bloodied Shaken—and Beloved by Edwidge Danticat Lyrics
(Miami Herald, January 17, 2010)
Haitians like to say that Haiti is tè grave, glise, slippery ground. Even
under the best of circumstances, the country can be stable one moment,
then crumbling the next. Haiti has never been more slippery
ground than it is right now. Bodies littering the streets. Entire communities
buried in rubble. Homes pancaked to dust.
For those of us who know and love Haiti, now our hearts are also
slippery ground. We are hopeful one moment then filled with despair
the next. Has 200 years of existence finally reached its abyss, we
wonder? But now even the ground is no more.
Our love has not changed. In fact it is even deeper. But Haiti, or what
is left of it, has changed. It has changed physically, earthquake fault
lines catastrophically rearranging its landscape. The mountains that
have been stripped of their trees and mined for construction materials
then crowded with unsteady homes have crumbled, leaving both
the poor and the rich homeless.
This is a natural disaster, but one that has been in the making for a
long time. In part due to neglectful and even vicious import-favoring
agricultural policies that have driven Haitians off their land into a
city built for 200,000 that was forced to house nearly three million.
If a tropical storm can bury an entire city under water as tropical
storm Jeanne did to Gonaives five years ago, if a mudslide can bring
down entire neighborhoods as many have on a regular basis, then
what chance did Port-au-Prince have with a 7.0 earthquake? Not to
mention the aftershocks that may continue for months. “The ground
keeps shaking,” one, thankfully fine, friend told us from Carrefour,
the epicenter. “The ground keeps shaking.”
An Unfair Share
Haiti has gotten more than its share of attention since the earthquake
this past week. We who know and love Haiti have long been pained,
and sometimes frustrated, that it's a place that can only be noticed
when it is on its knees. Still no one is more grateful than I for all this
attention as I await news from loved ones.
From my cousin Maxo, who had recently returned to Haiti to continue
the work of his father, my uncle Joseph, a minister who had
died here in Miami in the custody of the Department of Homeland
Security five years ago.
From my aunt Rezia, who, when I was diagnosed with tuberculosis as
a young girl, was the only person who kissed me on my face anyway.
From my cousin Fritzner, who ran for mayor in Delmas.
From my artist friend Jhon Charles, whom my husband and I hosted
in our home during Art Basel and who at the time told the Miami
Herald's Lydia Martin, in Haitian art, we use whatever materials we
can find.
But walking around the fairs, I was amazed at how many
materials artists from other parts of the world have. I see all endless
possibilities now.
I live and breathe every moment hoping to hear from them and literally
hundreds of other people whom I cannot imagine my life without.
Looking Listening
Watching the news and seeing the desperate, hungry crowds, I look
for their faces. In those assembled outside to sleep, I look for their
shapes. Over the sound bites on Haitian radio stations, I listen for
their voices. Seeing wounded children wandering the streets alone, I
see my daughters. I see myself.
Still I am grateful. I am grateful, even if prematurely and perhaps
wrongly, at the possibility of their survival. I am grateful for every
country in the world that has offered the help that might make it possible.
I am grateful for every dollar that’s been donated. But even as I
am grateful I am also fearful. With so many people sleeping outside,
I am fearful of the first rain. I am fearful for the looming specter
of food shortages and contaminated soil and airborne diseases from
disintegrating bodies. I am fearful that this won’t make for dramatic
television anymore and all the care and attention that is being given
to Haiti now will go away.
Haiti needs, and will continue to need, the kind of love and commitment
that is not slippery. It needs our attention and care now,
but it will also need it months, years, and perhaps decades from now.
Haitians are resilient.
We will do our part. However, Haiti’s friends and neighbors must
remain as attentive and committed to it in the long run as they are
now. Only then can Haiti not only rise, but remain out of the abyss.
And above what is now, with corpses in every corner of every street, not just slippery ground, but sacred ground.
Haitians like to say that Haiti is tè grave, glise, slippery ground. Even
under the best of circumstances, the country can be stable one moment,
then crumbling the next. Haiti has never been more slippery
ground than it is right now. Bodies littering the streets. Entire communities
buried in rubble. Homes pancaked to dust.
For those of us who know and love Haiti, now our hearts are also
slippery ground. We are hopeful one moment then filled with despair
the next. Has 200 years of existence finally reached its abyss, we
wonder? But now even the ground is no more.
Our love has not changed. In fact it is even deeper. But Haiti, or what
is left of it, has changed. It has changed physically, earthquake fault
lines catastrophically rearranging its landscape. The mountains that
have been stripped of their trees and mined for construction materials
then crowded with unsteady homes have crumbled, leaving both
the poor and the rich homeless.
This is a natural disaster, but one that has been in the making for a
long time. In part due to neglectful and even vicious import-favoring
agricultural policies that have driven Haitians off their land into a
city built for 200,000 that was forced to house nearly three million.
If a tropical storm can bury an entire city under water as tropical
storm Jeanne did to Gonaives five years ago, if a mudslide can bring
down entire neighborhoods as many have on a regular basis, then
what chance did Port-au-Prince have with a 7.0 earthquake? Not to
mention the aftershocks that may continue for months. “The ground
keeps shaking,” one, thankfully fine, friend told us from Carrefour,
the epicenter. “The ground keeps shaking.”
An Unfair Share
Haiti has gotten more than its share of attention since the earthquake
this past week. We who know and love Haiti have long been pained,
and sometimes frustrated, that it's a place that can only be noticed
when it is on its knees. Still no one is more grateful than I for all this
attention as I await news from loved ones.
From my cousin Maxo, who had recently returned to Haiti to continue
the work of his father, my uncle Joseph, a minister who had
died here in Miami in the custody of the Department of Homeland
Security five years ago.
From my aunt Rezia, who, when I was diagnosed with tuberculosis as
a young girl, was the only person who kissed me on my face anyway.
From my cousin Fritzner, who ran for mayor in Delmas.
From my artist friend Jhon Charles, whom my husband and I hosted
in our home during Art Basel and who at the time told the Miami
Herald's Lydia Martin, in Haitian art, we use whatever materials we
can find.
But walking around the fairs, I was amazed at how many
materials artists from other parts of the world have. I see all endless
possibilities now.
I live and breathe every moment hoping to hear from them and literally
hundreds of other people whom I cannot imagine my life without.
Looking Listening
Watching the news and seeing the desperate, hungry crowds, I look
for their faces. In those assembled outside to sleep, I look for their
shapes. Over the sound bites on Haitian radio stations, I listen for
their voices. Seeing wounded children wandering the streets alone, I
see my daughters. I see myself.
Still I am grateful. I am grateful, even if prematurely and perhaps
wrongly, at the possibility of their survival. I am grateful for every
country in the world that has offered the help that might make it possible.
I am grateful for every dollar that’s been donated. But even as I
am grateful I am also fearful. With so many people sleeping outside,
I am fearful of the first rain. I am fearful for the looming specter
of food shortages and contaminated soil and airborne diseases from
disintegrating bodies. I am fearful that this won’t make for dramatic
television anymore and all the care and attention that is being given
to Haiti now will go away.
Haiti needs, and will continue to need, the kind of love and commitment
that is not slippery. It needs our attention and care now,
but it will also need it months, years, and perhaps decades from now.
Haitians are resilient.
We will do our part. However, Haiti’s friends and neighbors must
remain as attentive and committed to it in the long run as they are
now. Only then can Haiti not only rise, but remain out of the abyss.
And above what is now, with corpses in every corner of every street, not just slippery ground, but sacred ground.