Haiti and We: Reflections from Kenya

One sunny Saturday morning in April this year, over 30 of us sat in a community hall in Mlango Kubwa, Mathare, listening and reflecting. From different homes, social classes and countries, we had come together to commemorate the revolutionary history of Haiti and most importantly to show our solidarity with the people of this land.

Certainly, there were many people in the room who did not have a sufficient morning meal. In addition, there were few of us with more than just basic knowledge of Haiti. Nonetheless, we were ready to listen, and the more we heard, watched and shared, the more we felt a swelling in our hearts, our eyes widening with sorrow. Could it be that there was such a relentless campaign to ignore the basic rights of the Haitian people? An unequivocal operation to negate the revolutionary spirit of this country?

Even with experiential knowledge of our own dismal living conditions (or dying conditions – however you may see them), it became evident that Haiti represents a place of dire inequality. Even so, we felt strongly and recognised incontrovertibly that our struggles are the same. This is because the forces that unceasingly mete out injustice on the people of this Caribbean island are equally persistent in their campaign against us.

Haiti is We, We are Haiti.

When we heard about Jean-Bertrand Aristide and the circumstances of his abduction, we remembered Dedan Kimathi, Patrice Lumumba, Thomas Sankara and John Garang. When we heard that the IMF and the World Bank sadistically insisted that Haiti pay back US$1 million per month regardless of perpetual hunger and its exacerbation due to recent hurricanes, we smiled wryly, painfully. We too know the effects of the sinister and wilful mortgaging of our country to fictitiously altruistic institutions (with equally fictitious agendas), who make a holiday, conference, summit, or forum out of debating whether people should eat or not. We also recall these institutions when we remember the privatisation of water in our own country, and the neighbourhoods where it is indistinguishable from sewage.

Haiti, we too know what it feels like to pay back onerous debts that contribute to the fantastic and unsustainable implementation of a conjured agenda, while in national hospitals patients sleep three to a bed.

When we watch how the United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH) administers by coercion, our brother talks about the UN forces in Congo which guard the paths that lead to diamond mines while families look on in awe, wondering what the real purpose of these blue helmets may be. As we see images of those who have been killed and bodies drastically disfigured by the powerful weapons of this ‘peace force’, we remember our own experiences during the post-election violence that plagued our country. In particular, we remember when those who allegedly exist to offer ‘protection to all’ sought to wipe out generations – as they were and still are doing – in poor neighbourhoods all over the country.

Later on that same day we watched a documentary on Sierra Leone; in the countenance and action of many of those soldiers from the Economic Community of West African States Monitoring Group (ECOMOG), we also remembered the practices of MINUSTAH.

In one part of the documentary titled ‘What is going on in Haiti now’, made by the Haiti Solidarity Committee, Haitian human rights activist Lovinsky Pierre-Antoine spoke to us about the deaths of citizens killed by UN forces in his country.

We later discovered that Lovinsky Pierre-Antoine ‘disappeared’ almost two years ago.

We too have had many dedicated speakers who despite the known danger proceeded to ensure their voices were heard, as they believed there could be no other way to achieve social justice. Akin to this brave man Lovinsky Pierre-Antoine, many of Kenya’s activists have also ‘disappeared’.

In this same documentary, we witnessed a young woman lose her unborn child after she was shot in the belly by MINUSTAH forces. In her posture, in her pained silence, we recognised our mothers who have lost many children to these government-sanctioned genocidal campaigns. I particularly remember one mother – her heart a deep well of sorrow – who has lost four children to the reckless guns of the Kenyan police force.

We observed the images of over 100,000 people demanding the return of their president, and concomitantly heard the downplaying of these enormous and inspirational protests by the international media. Oh Haiti, we relate to this as we remember how our fervent calls for a political alternative, lower food prices, and an end to Israel’s infliction of terror in Gaza were not considered. Our protests were also perceived as no more than the unruly noisemaking of unemployed troublemakers. The periodic mutterings from the street-based ‘cult of the careless’.

The same question was asked repeatedly both in our hearts and within that hall, ‘How could it be that this country, which achieved independence over 200 years ago through the only successful slave revolution in the world, can now be the poorest country in the Americas?’

No water, no food, high infant mortality, and a severe environmental crisis as over 90 per cent of the forest cover has been cut down.

Haiti, we share your woes.

And so we came to this room to remember you, because even in our own suffering (and because of our suffering) we recognise the need to connect with each other’s struggles. Moreover, we want to remember the unparalleled example that was set for us by the Haitian revolution. It is an inspiration to us, just as it was a significant catalyst for slave rebellions in many other countries such as Brazil and Colombia. We remember because for too long this continent has refused to acknowledge those who unwillingly went across the Atlantic, and in addition, to recognise that the ominous phenomenon that afflicts us all has the same origin and motivations, and as a consequence, the same transgressions of human dignity.

Haiti is We, We are Haiti.

In this community hall and in other spheres, we have encountered Haitian women preparing ‘dirt cakes’ to offer to their children as a meal. Our own novel delicacies – when we are not going hungry of course – are rats, lizards, and poisonous berries.

Our poverty, hunger and deforestation is all linked in a bond as tight as the veneer created by the forces that seek to deny this. Do not be lied to dear Kenya. If we keep forgetting each other, participating in our own denial, our fate is and will be the same. No food, no water, no land, and ultimately, the abduction of our leaders.

The numerous statistics that will continue to be manufactured in a quest to define our condition will keep many northern bureaucrats employed, fat and wealthy for more credit crunches to come.

Our commemoration began with a little geography lesson, as many of us had never heard of this little Caribbean island (as mentioned earlier, the campaign to forget Haiti has been waged very successfully). Nevertheless, soon after it began, it was hard to imagine Haiti as a very different place from Kenya.

None of those present had to be born on this Caribbean island to understand that Haiti is We and We are Haiti.

* Wangui Kimari is an Anthropology student and researcher in Nairobi.
* Please send comments to [email protected] or comment online at http://www.pambazuka.org/.