How are Things in Haiti?

I must have been asked this question at least weekly during the past two years.  I’m always somewhat at a loss as to how to answer.  If I say “fine” — I am clearly a liar.  If I begin to try to explain… I am almost certain to leave my questioner with an altogether wrong impression. 

 Whether the question is asked on the more general plane of “the country at large”, or the more specific one of “the Church in Haiti”, makes not too much difference.  The chaos and instability to which I have referred elsewhere make any definitive answer false, if not outright impossible. 

 But there is another dimension also, which I am coming to see more clearly as time goes on, equally true in whatever scale one looks at it.  In a profound sense, I think there is no “Haiti”, just as there is no Kenya or Uganda, though by quite different mechanisms descending from colonialism… and, in the case, of Haiti, slavery.  The “country” of Haiti is, in the most profound sense, a geographical and historical accident.  “Freedom” approaching two hundred years has done little to change this.  The successful slave revolt which expelled most of the French colonists (and later massacred the remainder) did not create a nation, either in the classic European sense (a people largely united by a common culture, language and, most often, religion), or in the more heterogeneous North American sense.  There were no existing tribes in Haiti, as in Africa… and indeed there was essentially nothing uniting the newly-freed slaves of Haiti except their hatred of bondage and forced labor.  Even the language which they all, to greater or lesser extent with greater or lesser variation, spoke, was the creation of their enslaved condition.  Recent reading suggests that what happened in this vacuum was essentially the re-creation of a tribal society… but one based almost entirely on self-interest and “might makes right”, rather than on any real, historical bonding.  It also suggests that, to all intents and purposes, this has never really changed.  Tragically, the suggestion rings true. 

 After “liberation”, Haiti was, during a long period of time, “served” (for reasons too complex to explore here) entirely by renegade, outcast, frequently deposed Roman Catholic priests, noted for their shocking lack of morality and venality.  The invasion by the US Marines in the early part of the 20th century brought in its train a horde of Protestant missionaries… all eager to “acquire” converts to make good impressions with the missions boards back home:  “rice Christians”, as they were called in India.  The resulting tragicomedy:  with rare exceptions, people in Haiti have either been ruthlessly exploited by their “pastors”, or paid (either grossly or subtly) to be members of “a church” — or both.  The inevitable question, then, is “what’s in this for me” — and/or “what do you get out of this.”  All too often, it is all but impossible to get past these questions. 

 Against this background of fragmentation and exploitation, our Mission in Haiti must live and grow today.  The most challenging task, it seems to me, is for the Orthodox Church to implant a true sense of community, of communality.  There is little we can do, of course, for Haitian society at large.  But on the microscopic scale of the Church, the task looms large.  We must somehow overcome the fragmentation, and develop a sense, both of the Church as community, and of the responsibility of the Church community to all those, floundering in this sea of indifference and self-interest, who surround it. 

 The seeds are here, but much nurturing is required, much careful tending.  Always, we must be aware that there is not one “Haiti” to be evangelized, but rather an infinitude of Haitian micro-communities.  What is accomplished at one small parish in Port-au-Prince is but the beginning, and it would be entirely unrealistic to suppose that this parish can in any ultimate sense serve a widespread Haitian Orthodox Church.
Desperately, we need not only funds from abroad, but also prayers and persons — warm bodies, as has been said in our past, souls willing to put their lives and livelihoods on the line.  Due to the virtual impossibilities of free travel in Haiti (economic, not political), even people who (in some inchoate sense) want to be Orthodox, living at seemingly short distances from our one parish, are unable in any practical sense to be part of it.  The costs of travel are prohibitive, unless offset by wages gained. 

 The infant catechetical community at La Plaine is starved for any living contact with the Church… 80¢ round trip for each journey to the parish church— in a country with an average per capita income of less than $300/year.  Figure it… for a would-be faithful Orthodox Christian (one only to a family) to be present for Vigil and Liturgy each Saturday/Sunday (to say nothing of feasts) would require 1/8 of the average annual income.  For those at Cap-Haïtien, an exhausting overnight or all-day journey costing about $20US for a round-trip, more than a third.  For those at Jacmel (see elsewhere for latest news), about half as much; the trip is a bit less strenuous.  And now, word of a number of inquirers at Les Cayes, home city of Fr. Deacon Grégoire and his Matushka… even farther.  “The harvest is rich, but the laborers are few!” 

 This fragmentation, this distance (even from one neighborhood to the next) is all but inconceivable to us in our life of ease.  Yet, even in our luxury, we use our “great distance” from the nearest parish as our excuse for not going to Vigil, perhaps not even going for Liturgy but every other Sunday or every now and then.  At the same time, we think little of driving an hour away to go out for dinner or a movie or a party. 

 Ultimately, of course, the only answer is Haitian catechists and readers and deacons and priests… more of them, many more.  But in the interim, even one or two full-time workers, already fluent in French and/or Créole, or willing to learn (not so formidable a task) could be of untold value.  Alongside (or the same people), someone with even a rudimentary knowledge (and the willingness to learn more) of basic medicine could perform a great service.  There are well-developed medical facilities in Haiti (at least in Port-au-Prince), but they are in practice only available to those with substantial incomes.  Then there is schooling… and feeding undernourished children (who probably form a majority of the country’s population). 

 Which leads again to the thousands of Haitis.  To all intents and purposes, I know only urban Haiti (and see ever more clearly how unintegrated, if not disintegrated, it is).  Beyond, there are the mountains, what is left of the forests… vast numbers of people struggling to live under the most primitive of conditions.  What is the best which could be done for them… along with bringing them the Light of Christ?  It is not to equip them for life in the cities (which is, for the vast majority of their populations, truly awful).  Rather, it is to help to bring them small things, small understandings, which will help to make their lives, where and as they are now, less of a desperate struggle simply to stay alive. 

 How can this be done?  Again, people… what are you doing with your life?  Again, steady economic support from the faithful throughout the world… are you tithing?  If not, what will you say at the Judgement?  Again, and again, prayers and more prayers. 

 More than once, I have nearly given way to despair, to the (seeming) utter hopelessness of so few of us confronting such an overwhelming task.  Then I remember the apostles.  Then I see the small shoots sprouting up here and there in Haiti.  Then I remember the time when the entire “Southern Deanery” of the Eastern America Diocese of our Church (it didn’t exist then) consisted of seven parishes and missions, stretching from Washington DC to Arizona, and our nearest neighboring parish (in another diocese) was a day’s drive away.  Today, there are twenty or more, encompassing that span… with a little side-trip to Haiti and Costa Rica… and I am awed at the wondrous works of the Holy Spirit, and I am ashamed at my temptation.